Free Moon Shell Beach: A Novel by Nancy Thayer

hours he put in at the gym, he was gaining weight and growing a belly. But that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t have mattered if she loved him. She did not love him, but she didn’t hate him, either. She only seemed to see him very clearly.
    She took a deep breath. “Ed, I want a divorce.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Gloria means nothing to me.”
    “She meant something to me.”
    “Oh, grow up.”
    “Actually, I have. Grown up. And you’ve been very kind to me. But now I want a divorce.”
    He waved his hands in a “stop” motion. “Lexi, calm down a moment.”
    “Don’t I look calm?” She was lucid and composed. “You’ve been cheating on me all along, haven’t you?”
    “Don’t be so dramatic. It never means anything. I married
you
.”
    That was true, and Lexi knew it was important. For a moment she hesitated, considering his needs and her responsibilities. Then he did the thing that really set her free. He sneaked a glance at his watch.
    “Ed,” she said firmly, “I really do want a divorce.”



SEVEN
    2007
    W hen the phone rang, Clare was idly doing the breakfast dishes, gazing from the kitchen window to the end of the yard, where two bird feeders stood, their platforms heaped with sunflower seeds and cracked corn. The cardinal couple was there, the vivid male eating while the duller female perched on the rim, keeping watch. It was April, a shimmery quicksilver month, with days of wind and rain interrupted by long, surprisingly warm twilights and a come-hither sun winking promises as it set.
    “Hello?” She clamped the handset between her shoulder and ear, leaving her hands free to finish scrubbing the skillet. Even if, during the rest of the day, her father forgot to eat, she knew she’d started him off well with a stack of bacon, a huge pile of cheesy eggs, and thickly buttered rye toast.
    Penny’s voice exploded over the air waves. “
Scoop,
honey!
Big scoop!
”
    Clare grinned. “What? Has the Little Genius started walking?”
    “Stop it.” In the background, Penny’s baby boy was making the funny guzzling noises he made when he nursed. “This is so not about babies. And it’s going to make your eyes pop, I promise. But you have to come over to hear about it.”
    “Tell me now. Pleeeeese? You know you want to.” The large handsome blue jay she’d privately named Johnny Depp swooped down, claiming the bird feeder, and the cardinal couple flew off in a flash of red.
    “No way. I want to see your face when you hear this.”
    Clare hesitated.
    “Are you still there?” Penny demanded.
    “Yeah, just thinking. How about this. I’ll come over for coffee this afternoon. Four-ish. I’ll bring some clam chowder and corn bread and salad for dinner tonight.”
    “You’re an angel.” Little Mike let out a wail. “Oops. Burp time. See you later.”
    Clare moved around the kitchen, mixing the corn bread, enough for Penny and her father. Since her mother’s death last fall, her father had become even more vague and forgetful. Retired from teaching high school English, he was sixty-two years old and lost in sorrow. On good days he stayed in his study, researching and writing his book on island mythology, but on bad days he roamed the house, restless in his loneliness and misery, forgetting to shave, dress properly, or eat sensibly. Clare had become the one to nurture him.
    She put a batch in the oven, set the timer, then raced upstairs to take a quick shower and dress. Sweet Hart’s was closed for two more weeks, so she had time to play around with a new recipe. Jesse would be working today, custom building cabinets for a gazillion-dollar new house, and he might come by for dinner and a video tonight, but even if he did, she could slop around in these jeans and the comfy blue cashmere pullover she’d bought on sale two Januarys ago at Murray’s Toggery. It had been washed so many times it felt like satin, and it set off her dark eyes and short, tousled brown hair.
    She slid her feet