She said it like it was important, but without any buildup, as if she had just told them a tornado was heading their way.
Claire and Harper stood there, frozen.
“His name is Sam,” Nina said. “He’s a landscape architect who lives on James Island. He lost his wife to breast cancer two years ago.” She was looking at the ground, at her shoes, actually, at anything but their faces. “He was very kind, didn’t try too hard, asked me all about Edisto, and I told him about the marsh. He told me about the garden he designed for the hospice center where his wife was. We just talked. It wasn’t a romantic thing. It wasn’t anything, really, I guess. But when the bell rang, I didn’t want him to leave the table. That hasn’t happened to me since David.”
The parking lot was quiet. A car passed. Somewhere in the bar, they were playing music that leaked through the walls.
“That’s great, Nina,” Claire said.
“Is it? Because I feel super guilty. Like, I feel as though I just betrayed David by enjoying a four-minute conversation with a man who designs gardens.”
“You didn’t betray anyone,” Harper said. “David wouldn’t consider a conversation a betrayal. He would consider it a new beginning for you.”
“I know that in my head. I really do. My head is very reasonable about all this. I have a very reasonable head, but my heart is less cooperative.”
“So did you check his name on the card?” Claire asked.
Nina was quiet for a moment.
“Yes.”
Claire reached over and squeezed her arm.
Harper made a squeal that sounded like delight, which she quickly converted into a cough.
“Let’s not make it a thing,” Nina said, pleadingly.
“We would never,” Harper responded.
“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Claire said.
“It is not a thing. It’s just a card with a little name written on it, and I checked the little box at a speed dating event, of all things, for a man I spoke to for about four minutes. That is the whole thing, and it is definitely not a thing.”
“It’s a little bit of a thing,” Harper said, holding up her thumb and forefinger.
Nina looked at them, the two women leaning against the car, grinning at her. She shook her head and smiled. It was an embarrassed, hopeful, scared smile.
“If he calls, I’ll have coffee with him, but that’s it. Coffee, in a public place during daylight hours. Plus, maybe he didn’t write my name down. That’s entirely possible.”
“Those are reasonable terms, but you are acting like he’s an axe murderer,” Harper said. “Anyway, I approve.”
“I wasn’t asking for approval.”
“Well, you have it anyway.”
They got into the car. Claire drove with the windows down and the salt air coming off the harbor. They crossed over the bridge in Charleston, lights spreading out behind them.
Nina was quiet in the backseat, and Harper was quiet in the front.
Claire drove through the dark toward Beaufort, thinking about Richard and his sport coat and his elbow patches and his forward-leaning. She would’ve never thought someone leaning forward was so important to her.
And then she thought about Greg and his recliner. His backward leaning. His “have fun.” She thought about the gap between those two responses and what it meant about the life she built.
She got home at midnight. The house was dark. Greg was snoring. The porch light was off again. He didn’t even leave it on to make sure she got in okay.
Claire stood in the kitchen. She stared at the napkin on the fridge. She looked at the junk drawer where the gift card still sat.
She looked at the dark hallway leading to their bedroom, where her husband would definitely be sleeping on his side, facing the wall.
