Free Distant Shores by Kristin Hannah Page A

mascara around her blue eyes was thick as soot.
    She pushed through the crowd like a linebacker. “God almighty,” she said instead of hello. “That was the worst flight of my life. The child next to me should be institutionalized.”
    Nothing was ever in between to Jamie; it was either the best or the worst.
    She kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. “Hi, Mom. You look tired. Where’s Dad?”
    Elizabeth laughed. “Thanks, honey. Your dad had to stay behind for a day. Some big story.”
    â€œGee, what a shock.” Jamie barely paused for a breath and started talking again. “Could they
put
more seats in that plane? I mean, really. When the guy in front of me leaned back, my tray dropped down and almost snapped my jaw off. And you have to be Calista Flockhart to get out of your seat.”
    Jamie was still talking when they pulled up to the house.
    Daddy and Anita must have heard the car drive up (they’d probably been standing at the window for the last thirty minutes, waiting impatiently); they were already on the porch, holding hands, grinning.
    Jamie bounded out of the car, hair flying, arms outstretched. She launched into her grandfather’s open arms.
    Elizabeth and Stephanie gathered the bags together and followed her.
    â€œStephie,” Anita said, teary-eyed, taking her granddaughter in her arms.
    After a quick round of
hello-we-missed-you-how-was-your-flight?
they all went inside.
    The house smelled like Christmas; fresh-cut evergreen boughs draped the mantel and corkscrewed up the banisters; the cinnamony scent of newly baked pumpkin pies lingered in the air. On every table, vanilla-scented candles burned in cut crystal votive containers. There were artifacts of the girls’ childhoods everywhere—clay Christmas trees that leaned like the Tower of Pisa, papier-mâché snowmen covered in glitter and acrylic paint, egg cartons cut into nativity sets.
    They spent the rest of the day talking and playing cards, wrapping presents and shaking the packages already under the tree. By midafternoon, Stephanie and Anita had disappeared into the kitchen to make homemade dressing and a bake-ahead vegetable casserole.
    Elizabeth stayed in the living room, playing poker for toothpicks with Jamie and Daddy.
    â€œSo, missy,” Daddy said, puffing on his pipe as he studied his cards. “How’re things at Georgetown?”
    Jamie shrugged. “Hard.”
    That surprised Elizabeth. Jamie
never
admitted that anything was difficult, not this child who wanted to climb Everest and publish haiku and swim in the Olympics.
    â€œJamie?” she said, frowning. “What’s wrong at school?”
    â€œDon’t lapse into melodrama, Mom. It’s just a tough quarter, that’s all.”
    â€œHow’s Eric?”
    â€œThat is
so
over. I dumped him two weeks ago.”
    â€œOh.” Elizabeth felt oddly adrift suddenly, unconnected. Once she’d known every nuance in her daughters’ lives; now boyfriends appeared and disappeared without warning. In the other room, the phone rang and was answered. “Are you seeing anyone else?”
    â€œHell’s bells, Birdie. Who gives a rat’s hindquarters about boys? How’s the swimming, that’s what matters. Are we gonna get seats to see you at the next Olympics?”
    Jamie had vowed to win Olympic Gold when she was eleven years old. The day she’d won her first race at the Ray Ember Memorial Pool.
    â€œOf course,” she answered, smiling brightly.
    But there was something wrong with that smile, something off. Before Elizabeth could say anything, Anita walked into the room, heels clacking on the floor. She was holding the cordless phone to her ample breast.
    â€œBirdie, honey, it’s Jack.”
    Elizabeth knew instantly: bad news.
    Elizabeth hadn’t slept well. All night, she’d tossed and turned on her side of the bed. Finally, at about five a.m., she gave up, got