Summer had come and gone. Leaves were beginning to turn along with the temperature, which dropped from a three-month stint of ninety-degree days to sixty-five. Healthy lawns prayed for a little rain, but Margo’s lawn begged for strangers to come and stake their claim as the new owner of the house on Andover Street.
Margo walked from room to room, remembering times past. She ran her fingers along the frame of the French doors that separated the dining room from the kitchen. She moved into the room and looked through the floor-to-ceiling, beveled windows that gave a breathtaking view of the saltwater cove and beyond.
She turned and looked at the empty room where her beautiful dining room set with the French Empire chairs circling the table once sat. She remembered the last big Christmas meal she shared with her family and friends. Allen Myles, Sr. said grace in such an eloquent way. After grace, the others sat devouring the succulent turkey and ham she’d cooked, and then came the bad news that Blake Montgomery was dead.
Margo’s mind began to race as thoughts of Jefferson’s infidelity tried to consume her. Who would have thought her archenemy was her next-door neighbor, Linda, Blake’s wife? And now, to learn five years later that Linda had a baby by Jefferson was a bitter pill to swallow.
The memories were too many. She crossed back into the kitchen and then into the family room, stopping at the luggage parked in the doorway. A month-long trip to Europe was what she needed.
Almost as if her arm was ejected from its position, Margo reached for her head. She felt faint, dizzy, and lightheaded. She moved from the room and found the stairs that went to the second floor and plopped down on them.
The moment passed and she was on her feet again. She walked back into the kitchen, hit the answering machine that sat on the counter and listened to Angelica’s voice one last time. Hey Margo, this is Angelica. Ari and I are doing great. We’re getting married-sometime next June. I haven’t been this happy in years. I sure hope you and Jefferson can come. It’ll be in New York. Call me sometime when you get a moment. I know you’re busy. Talk to you later.
The message over, Margo pressed the delete button. Opening a small portfolio, she pulled out a group of papers and fumbled through them.
“Boarding passes for London, Paris, and Germany; passport; and, ahh, separation papers.” She looked at the document long and hard and then rubbed her slightly protruding stomach with her hand.
“Jefferson,” Margo said out loud to no one, “you were right about divorcing all the negative people and things from your life. It frees your mind and helps you to see things much clearer. Thanks for that tidbit of good information. No more Angelica, no more Malik, no more Jefferson.” She put the papers away.
Prying herself away from her thoughts, she clutched the side of the counter as a wave of nausea hit her again. She rushed to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and regurgitated. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before turning on the cold water and splashing it onto her face. Turning the water off, she sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. “I had no desire to be a mother again at forty-eight years old, but I’ll be a good mother.”
Margo moved quickly to the family room and picked up her luggage so she could put it in the car. She took another glance around the house as far as her eyes could see. The house was empty now-empty of hope, false dreams, and empty promises.
There was no way she was going through another bad storm with a husband she had vowed to spend the rest of her days with because it would probably kill her, even though she was still very much in love with him.