“You’ve been kind of quiet tonight,” Jean said.
“Sorry.” Adrienne shrugged. “I’m just a little tired. I guess I’m just ready to go home.”
“I’m sure. I was counting the miles as soon as I left Savannah, but at least there wasn’t much traffic. Off-season, you know.”
Adrienne nodded.
Jean leaned back in her chair. “Did it go okay with Paul Flanner? I hope the storm didn’t ruin his stay.”
Hearing his name made Adrienne’s throat catch, but she tried to appear calm. “I don’t think the storm bothered him at all,” she said.
“Tell me about him. From his voice, I got the impression that he was kind of stuffy.”
“No, not all. He was… nice.”
“Was it strange being alone with him?”
“No. Not once I got used to it.”
Jean waited to see if Adrienne would add anything else, but she didn’t.
“Well… good,” Jean continued. “And you didn’t have any trouble boarding up the house?”
“No.”
“I’m glad. I appreciate your doing that for me. I know you were hoping for a quiet weekend, but I guess fate wasn’t on your side, huh?”
“I suppose not.”
Perhaps it was the way she said it that drew Jean’s glance, a curious expression on her face. Suddenly needing space, Adrienne finished her tea.
“I hate to do this to you, Jean,” she said, trying her best to make her voice sound natural, “but I think I’ll call it a night. I’m tired, and I’ve got a long drive tomorrow. I’m glad you had a good time at the wedding.”
Jean’s eyebrows rose slightly at her friend’s abrupt ending to the evening.
“Oh… well, thank you,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
Adrienne could feel Jean’s uncertain gaze on her, even as she made her way up the stairs. After unlocking the door to the blue room, she slipped out of her clothes and crawled into the bed, naked and alone.
She could smell Paul on the pillow and on the sheets, and she absently traced her breast as she buried herself in the smell, fighting sleep until she could do so no longer. When she rose the following morning, she started a pot of coffee and took another walk on the beach.
She passed two other couples in the half hour she spent outside. A front had pushed warmer air over the island, and she knew the day would lure even more people to the water’s edge.
Paul would have arrived at the clinic by now, and she wondered what it was like. She had an image in her mind, something she might have seen on one of the nature channels—a series of hastily assembled buildings surrounded by an encroaching jungle, ruts in a curving dirt road out front, exotic birds chirping in the background—but she doubted that she was right. She wondered if he had talked to Mark yet and how the meeting had gone, and whether Paul, like she, was still reliving the weekend in his mind.
The kitchen was empty when she got back. She could see the sugar bowl open by the coffeemaker with an empty cup beside it. Upstairs, she could hear the faint sound of someone humming.
Adrienne followed the sound, and when she reached the second floor, she could see the door to the blue room cracked open. Adrienne drew nearer, pushing the door open farther, and saw Jean bending over, tucking in the final corner of a fresh sheet. The old linens, the linen that had once wrapped her and Paul together, had been bundled and tossed on the floor.
Adrienne stared at the sheets, knowing it was ridiculous to be upset but suddenly realizing it would be at least a year until she smelled Paul Flanner again. She inhaled raggedly, trying to stifle a cry.
Jean turned in surprise at the sound, her eyes wide.
“Adrienne?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
But Adrienne couldn’t answer. All she could do was bring her hands to her face, aware that from this point on, she would be marking the days on the calendar until Paul returned.
“Paul,” Adrienne answered her daughter, “is in Ecuador.” Her voice, she noted, was surprisingly steady.
“Ecuador,” Amanda repeated. Her fingers tapped the table as she stared at her mother. “Why didn’t he come back?”
“He couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Instead of answering, Adrienne lifted the lid of the stationery box. From inside, she pulled out a piece of paper that looked to Amanda as if it had been torn from a student’s notebook. Folded over, it had yellowed with age. Amanda saw her mother’s name written across the front.
“Before I tell you,” Adrienne went on, “I want to answer your other question.”
“What other question?”
Adrienne smiled. “You asked whether I was sure that Paul loved me.” She slid the piece of paper across the table to her daughter. “This is the note he wrote to me on the day that he left.”
Amanda hesitated before taking it, then slowly unfolded the paper. With her mother sitting across from her, she began to read.
Dear Adrienne,
You weren’t beside me when I woke this morning, and though I know why you left, I wish you hadn’t. I know that’s selfish of me, but I suppose that’s one of the traits that’s stayed with me, the one constant in my life.
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve left. When I’m finished writing, I’m going to go downstairs and ask to stay with you longer, but I’m under no illusions as to what you’re going to say to me.
This isn’t a good-bye, and I don’t want you to think for a moment that it’s the reason for this letter. Rather, I’m going to look at the year ahead as a chance to get to know you even better than I do. I’ve heard of people falling in love through letters, and though we’re already there, it doesn’t mean our love can’t grow deeper, does it? I’d like to think it’s possible, and if you want to know the truth, that conviction is the only thing I expect to help me make it through the next year without you.