“Let’s go get a drink, hang out on the beach, sleep on it,” he said, sounding desperate.
He wasn’t hearing me. But we couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t fix Hayes, no matter how many times I tried. And it was time for me to accept that.
“Not this time, Hayes,” I said softly. “I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you. But we’re done.”
He looked at me blankly, as if not comprehending. So I walked through the sliding glass door of my room, rustled around in my suitcase, and, back on the porch, attempted to place my diamond solitaire in his palm. He put his hands up. “I don’t want that back,” he said. “I bought it for you. And I want you to keep it.”
I thought it was another ploy, but the way he looked at me, I knew that he finally understood. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, and I let him, tears flowing. This was goodbye. As he left my room, I felt like practically half of my life was walking away down the stairs.
I watched him step onto the path. He stopped, standing still. Then he looked up and called, “Jules, I was trying to do a dramatic leaving scene, but I seriously don’t have anywhere to go. The hotel is full, and there aren’t any flights until tomorrow.”
I sighed. We were pretty remote here. It wasn’t like he could run over to the closest Comfort Suites. I called down to him: “You can stay on a rollaway tonight. And then I want you gone.”
He nodded sadly.
I looked at him seriously.
“I hear you. I swear. We’re through.” He paused. “But don’t you think it shows growth that I didn’t try to pick up a girl on the beach and stay with her instead?”
I picked up one of the flowers in the vase between the two rocking chairs and threw it at him.
I would miss him. I knew I would. But I had decided my fate. One more night wouldn’t change a thing.
BABS Infatuation
I think the two-bedroom is going to suit you nicely, Mrs. Carlisle,” Anna, the perky woman showing me around Summer Acres, was saying. Her background led me to believe she was in her mid-forties, but her shiny ponytail, light dusting of freckles, and shorts made her seem much younger. I couldn’t help but think that “Summer Acres” sounded like the name of a farm where people sent their lame horses and biting dogs. But Summer Acres was absolutely lovely, more like one of those charming planned communities than an over-sixty retirement village.
As Anna opened the door to a beautifully built town home on a street of beautifully built town homes, I felt myself relax. It was small and bright with neighbors very close by.
“We can change the countertops to your liking,” she said as we entered the kitchen, despite the fact that the white Corian was clean, versatile, and perfect for me. “And the units on this street come with a screened porch—and, of course, a view of the lagoon.”
No, it wasn’t the ocean, and waking up and falling to sleep without the crash of the waves on the shore was going to take some getting used to. But the community’s “main house,” as they called it—which included assisted living in its wings but was essentially a huge, oceanfront beach club otherwise—was a two-minute walk and always full of people.
That was the thing I couldn’t explain to my daughters. I was lonely. I still had bridge club and book club and plenty of friends to visit, regular Wednesday night dinners and Saturday lunches with my girls. But it was more than that. After spending fifty-five years living with the same man and twenty-two years raising our children together, the house full of their friends and laughter, I felt so terribly alone.
I was certain I would spend many a day on this screened-in porch with my coffee and a book. But knowing I could pop up for a meal if I wished, that I could take up golf or join in on nightly happy hours, that I could learn to knit, take Zumba, and participate in daily devotionals, made me feel so joyful I could burst.
Anna smiled. “Mrs. Carlisle, do your children want to tour the unit?”
I controlled my eye roll. There it was again, that assumption that I was now the child, and my children were in charge of my goings-on. Maybe that would happen one day. But not yet.
“My children don’t actually know I’m here,” I said. “They aren’t thrilled about the idea of my downsizing, so I want to be extremely sure before I tell them.”
She nodded. “A woman who knows her own mind. I love it.”
I did know my own mind. But listening to myself instead of them was hard. Opening the door to the master suite, which was situated to also have a lovely lagoon view, Anna continued the tour. “And the bathrooms, of course, have walk-in tubs.”
I wanted to tell her—obstinately—that I was still perfectly capable of getting in and out of my own bathtub. But it was getting difficult. How many more years did I have of that, really? A walk-in tub might be a perfectly splendid contraption as I got older.
“Would you care to see the apartment options as well?” she asked, smiling.
I shook my head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Well then let’s go tour the rest of the facility!” she said excitedly.
We climbed into the yellow-and-white-striped Summer Acres golf cart waiting out front, which, if the brochure was to be believed, matched the umbrellas on the beach that I would be all too thrilled to sit under on summer days.
As we drove past the tennis and pickleball courts, a bocce area and basketball court, Anna said, “In the town-home area, we handle all medication delivery, and housekeeping visits for an hour each day to help with daily chores. On Fridays, they come for two hours to get you spic and span for the next week and change your sheets.”
“Really?” I asked, noting that I felt more excited about not having to change my sheets than I did about the main house’s ocean views.
I hadn’t yet been inside the clubhouse, so it made me a little nervous. But as I opened the large glass door and stepped onto the wide-plank hardwood floors, I found it even more beautiful than its pictures. A young man waved at me from the activities desk, where Anna led me. She handed me a glossy magazine that looked more like Town & Country than a brochure. “You will receive one of these each week with all the available activities. Of course, golf, tennis, the beach, the pool, and athletic club facilities are available anytime, but we love to see our residents at theme nights, band parties, mixers, dances…” She took a breath and continued. “We’re actually revamping our lifelong learning program to include not only more speakers but also six-week dedicated classes on everything from the French Revolution to Indian cuisine.”
“I feel like I’m back in college!” I said. Back in college with one glaring exception: I was very much without my Reid. I felt weepy at the thought. But, then again, Reid would not have been terribly fond of Summer Acres, so that was a small consolation.
“You’re going to love it here, Mrs. Carlisle,” the man behind the desk said. “There’s everything to do, and nothing if you prefer it.”
I smiled warmly at him. “What about dining?” I asked Anna.
“If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you,” she said.
She led me toward the full dining room, which had vaulted ceilings, huge windows, and French doors that took advantage of the peerless views of the sand dunes and the ocean beyond. “You’ll see here that there are many, many options. We don’t want residents to feel like they are being assigned a table, but we also don’t want anyone to feel alone before they have the chance to make friends, so we have a bit of a buddy system at the beginning while you’re getting acclimated. Afterward, you are welcome to sit with anyone you like, no one at all, or at the communal table.”