“The fridge is the most important surface in the house. Everything that matters ends up on the fridge.”
“She’s right,” Nina said. “I mean, permission slips, report cards, that kind of thing. Drawings, wedding invitations. It all goes on the fridge.”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Nothing goes on my fridge.”
“The fridge it is,” Claire said.
They stood on the front porch for another minute, the three of them, and Harper felt something she had not felt in so long.
Anticipation. Maybe even a little excitement.
“I should head back,” Nina said. “Lucia has probably burned the house down by now.”
“She’s sixteen, not six,” Claire said.
“Which is why I said burned, not flooded, because now she knows how to use the stove. Unfortunately, she does not always remember to turn it off.”
They pulled each other into a tight group hug, something they’d done when saying goodbye since they were in college.
They walked Nina to her car. The night air was thick and warm. All the stars were out, and the crickets were giving the frogs a run for their money in the who-can-be-louder competition.
Nina got into her car and started the engine. She rolled down her window.
“Harper?”
“Yeah?”
“Call him back.”
Before Harper could say anything else, Nina pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the dark road toward Edisto Island.
And Harper just stood there in Claire’s front yard at eleven o’clock at night, watching the taillights fade and thinking about the man who built rocking chairs out of old barns.
“You okay?” Claire asked from beside her.
“I’m fine.”
“Harper.”
“I’m terrified.”
Claire put her arm through Harper’s, and they stood there, two women in a front yard, looking at the place where Nina’s car used to be.
“Good,” Claire said. “I think that’s the whole point.”
CHAPTER 3
Nina woke up on the wrong side of the bed. David’s side, to be exact.
She had once again rolled over there in her sleep, the way she did at least a couple of times a week, reaching for the warmth she wanted that was no longer there.
She would always wake up with her face pressed into his pillow that had long since stopped smelling like him. She had kept the pillow anyway. She had kept everything.
His terry cloth robe was still on the hook behind the bathroom door, even though she hated it because it was so poofy and heavy that it made the door hard to open. No matter how many times she’d complained about it, somehow it would end up there again and again.
His reading glasses were still on the nightstand, even though she hated those too. The round ones never looked great on his face, but he said he liked them.
It was funny how all the little things that made a marriage interesting, and the things you may not love about your spouse’s fashion or decor choices, became so important when they were gone.
