Free Breakwater Beach by Carole Ann Moleti Page A

flannel nightgown and robe, likely more to do with Bill Jeffers than the weather, she tried to get comfortable in the living room. In the real-life funk she was in, the sit-coms were ridiculous and the thrillers too disconcerting. She couldn’t concentrate on reading. The sofa was far too narrow. She longed to stretch out in her bed, curl up to her pillow, and feel someone touch her with love and desire, not just lust. Gerry. 
    She wandered into her bedroom, stared in the mirror, and didn’t recognize the woman looking back. It seemed she was out of her body, standing above, staring down at a too-thin, too pale stranger with stringy hair that badly needed a touch-up. Gray snaked from the roots on her crown and around the temples like a visible infestation of grief, staining what used to be a vibrant auburn a dull, lifeless ochre. Dark circles and worry lines bled through the cover-up. Who was this dried up crone? Drained of all energy—emotional and physical—she flopped down on the bare mattress to rest.
    Gerry, healthy and strong, lay next to her. “Liz, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I love you.”
    It had been so long since they’d made love. Her skin tingled as his hands traveled to all the spots he knew so well. She traced his back and searched out the places he liked her to touch. Her foot traced down his leg, her arms drew him toward her. He pressed against her, into her, all the while kissing her face and tousling her hair until an orgasm overtook them both.
    “Please don’t go, Gerry.” Liz held on, trying to recapture the feeling of being tangled up in him, relaxed and comfortable, safe and cherished. She awoke to only flannel keeping her warm. The bare mattress, with no pillows, no blankets, and no one else on it reminded her all too quickly it had been a dream.
    “You promised to always be there for me. I can’t do this alone.” The silence that greeted her only intensified the anguish. “Goddammit, Gerry, tell me what to do!”
    Pent-up fury at the unfairness of it all propelled Liz to her feet. Here, in the middle of what used to be their bedroom, the same pictures on the dresser, his clothes still handing in the closets, everything reminded her of Gerry, so everything that reminded her she no longer had Gerry needed to go. She been holding his hand, and it turned limp, blue, and cold when he’d died in that bed. Not even the glorious dream of his return visit could erase that horrible memory.
    Liz shoved the mattress off the frame onto the floor. She tried to drag it out of the bedroom and down the stairs, but it was too big to handle alone. As she struggled to lift and push, it bent and got stuck in the balusters. Liz pounded her fist into the mattress until her hand and wrist ached from hitting the springs. Defeated, she sat on the floor at the top of the stairs and cried.
    Jay shuffled out of his room in baggy sweats. His sleepy eyes widened at the scene. “What the hell are you doing, Mom? It’s the middle of the night.” He sat down next to her and draped his arm around her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
    Gone was his usual confrontational manner. She’d probably scared him. She’d scared herself.
    “Help me take this outside to the curb for the trash.” Liz wiped tears away with the sleeve of her nightgown.
    “Where are you going to sleep if you throw your mattress away?” Sleepiness softened his voice.
    The touch of his arm around her shoulders reminded Liz of when he was very little and still liked to be hugged, which only furthered her sense of loss and sadness at the passage of time. “Jay, I haven’t slept in this bed since your father died. Until tonight.”
    “You must have had a bad dream.”
    “Actually, it was a very good dream. That’s why I have to move. I can’t live here without your father. And when you leave, it will be even worse. I have to get rid of everything. Start over. Build something new.” There were no more tears to cry. She