Free A Gift Upon the Shore by M.K. Wren

if she weren’t sure she wanted to go on. But she did. “About twenty years ago, not long after I moved to Amarna, I shared it with a young man. A lawyer.” She laughed as she added, “If you’re going to have a live-in, pick a lawyer, a doctor, or a plumber. They’re handy to have around. Anyway, that lasted two years, then Ben had a chance to join a law firm in Portland. Very prestigious and all that. So, that was the end of it.”
    â€œHe wasn’t willing to join his prestigious law firm with a live-in?”
    Rachel shook her head. “That wasn’t the problem. Ben was willing to flout the stodgy mores of the firm. Or he was willing to marry me, if that’s what I wanted. The trouble was, I wasn’t willing to give up Amarna, to give up the sea, to give up my painting. It would’ve been a disaster, really, and I guess we both knew it.”
    Mary was silent, watching Rachel. The years seemed to have smoothed out the regret, leaving only a patina of melancholy. “Haven’t there been other . . . Bens in your life?”
    Rachel sent her a bemused smile. “No. I guess I expected too much—or needed too little—of men. Anyway, Shiloh was always a small town, and now it’s even smaller, so my choices have been limited. Actually, Shiloh attracted some very interesting people. You get odd demographics in a coast town. But I never met that interesting man who was also interested in me. That’s one of the disadvantages of living here, and it’s something you’ll have to consider.”
    Mary tried to consider it. But what had her choices been in Portland? Brief meetings and partings, firefly encounters that left her unchanged. Except for Evan. That was in her college days. Everything seemed to mean more then. And Dean. Yes, but that relationship always had its portents of disaster, however sweet it was to be so intensely in love. “It will not last the night. . . .” Dean made that his watchword. Yet it had, for them, lasted a year. Off and on.
    She let her breath out in a long sigh. She would miss Dean, miss the constant shots of emotional adrenaline, the physical high he brought to love and making love.
    Rachel said, “You’re thinking of someone you left behind.”
    â€œYes. Someone who preferred it that way, I think. Rachel, don’t you miss having a family, children . . . that sort of thing?”
    â€œNo,” she replied emphatically, “not children. I’d have been a lousy mother.”
    â€œI don’t believe that. The way you treat Shadow and Topaz—not many children get half that much love and care.”
    â€œThat may be true. Unfortunately, it probably is. But there are already too many children in this world. As for family—yes, I miss that. My parents are both dead and have been for over twenty years. Plane crash. They went down together. I was an only child, so I don’t suppose I’ll ever really understand—or miss—sibling relationships, and I have no other relations this side of the Mississippi. As for sex . . .” She glanced obliquely at Mary, a hint of irony in her eyes. “That’s what you meant by ‘that sort of thing,’ isn’t it?”
    Mary had to laugh. “Yes, I guess so.”
    â€œWell, I don’t miss that as much as you might think. It’s one part of living, but I don’t believe you
can
have it all. You have to consider the cost of things. I am a serious painter. Since I was a child, that’s all I ever wanted to be, and that takes more than brushes and paint.”
    Mary nodded, thinking of
October Flowers
, of the disks of short stories and essays she’d left for safekeeping with her mother. “I understand that.”
    â€œYes, I know you do.” Then she turned her absorbed gaze on the tree, letting the silence move in, and Mary accepted it, savored this silence that asked nothing of her, that