She decided Didi’s advice was best followed. Something made the woman happy, peaceful, and easy to be around.
Maybe it was the kaftan!
She walked over a distressed wood floor, trying not to imagine refinishing them, and to the bedroom closet. She found several brightly colored flowy gowns neatly hung in a row.
“Wow! Mrs. Roper should be so lucky.”
She reached out at touched the fabric. She decided the coral with blue and teal looked about right. Ali got rid of her khaki pants, too-stiff white blouse, and loafers. She put on her bathing suit first and then reached for the kaftan.
She read the label:Emilio Pucci.
It gave her an idea. Maybe Didi would be able to help her value their late mother’s garments. She clearly also had an eye for designers, though looking at her today, she was all about the t-shirt and shorts.
Ali slipped into the kaftan, and another bit of the Midwest winter back home fluttered away.
She was starting to see what lured the migration of the snowbirds. Ali had time for a little rest before Didi and Jorge expected her outside.
Ali added Haven Beach to her weather app and then scanned the seven-day forecast:
Sunny, warm, sunny, warm, sunny, warm, sunny.
Seventeen
Ali
Ali napped. What was with her? Shenevernapped. But the salt air, the breeze, and the sound of the ocean right outside the little Key Lime Cottage had her more relaxed than she’d been in…she didn’t know how long. Had she ever been this relaxed?
It was past dinner when she woke up. She looked at her phone and slid the weather app to the weather in Toledo.Gray, slushy, blech.Everyone loved the fluffy snow in December, but January into February? Not so much. She’d made a career of convincing convention selection committees that Frogtown Convention Center would be lovely all year round. And it was, but she did have to offer good discounts in the winter to get the thing booked. Selling the Midwest in December was easy. In February or March? A bit of a slog.
Well, that wasn’t her challenge anymore. Let Jerry figure out how to book next winter. Or manage the custodial staff, who she knew, was getting very frustrated with the budget cuts Jerry wanted to make.
Not your problem Ali Kelly, not your problem.
Her problem was getting a divorce from Ted. She hadn’t let that be at the top of her mind since her marriage imploded the same day her father died. She’d used the endless tasks of the end of his life to avoid the end of her marriage. Ali supposed she should think about it all, though. Unpack what went wrong. But it all made her so sad, defeated. She decided to avoid that Pandora’s Box for now. Plus, there were no messages from Barb Burns, her divorce attorney, so she would just trust things on that depressing front were moving as they should.
She did miss the kids though; she always missed the kids. Even when she was in Toledo.
Maybe that was a condition of having adult kids and no grandkids? She’d have to get used to that, she supposed.
She had a group text with Katie and Tye, so she texted a few pictures of the Key Lime and the ocean.
No response from either. Which was typical. If they texted her, she responded like there was a fire. If she texted them, now that they were in college, she’d get a response a day or so later.
While they were in high school, there was a strict proof of life policy, a “you-have-one-minute-to-respond” situation for texting. But now that they were out in the world—well, over on Bancroft Street at the University—she didn’t make rules like that anymore. Though she did still pay for the cell phones.
She and Ted did, that was. There was going to be a fair amount to untangle. She couldn’t untangle it tonight, and she was getting a little hungry. Ali decided it was time to see this Grand Finale she’d heard about from the proprietor of the Seashell Shack and Didi.
She slid on her lone pair of flip-flops. And she really had to appreciate how getting in the right wardrobe got her in a more relaxed mindset. This vintage kaftan was light, cool, and, best of all, no binding anywhere. She didn’t feel compelled to suck anything in. She was so tired of sucking things in.
For a moment, she worried that she didn’t have something to bring to Didi and Jorge. Was that rude? Was this a social event? She had no idea.
Ali shrugged and went out the front door of Key Lime. At the end of the path that ran in the center of the little village of cottages, there was the gorgeous beach. She spied Jorge sitting in a lounge that looked quite comfortable. She saw Didi pouring wine for a lanky figure of a man. As she got closer, she realized it was the owner of the Seashell Shack. Apparently, Haven Beach was a small world.
Ali started toward them, but then sand weighed down her flip-flops. They were not necessary; the hot sand had cooled as the sun sank. She kicked them both off and hooked them on her left finger.
The sinking sun. That was the show, she now fully understood.
The sun looked like an over-ripe orange. The sky was a light blue tinged with pink. The horizon was a different blue and tinged with the orange.
