Free The Surfing Lesson (Digital Original) by Elin Hilderbrand Page B

Margot would stare at Hadley’s waifish, sexless figure and wonder what it was that had been so attractive. Then Margot admitted that there were certain women who possessed magic powers, they bewitched and captivated, they got in a man’s bloodstream like a virus that never died—and Hadley Axelram was one. Every time they had happened across Hadley in the past ten years, Drum got a look on his face like a kid who wanted a puppy.
    But now that Margot’s reservoir of romantic feelings for Drum had run dry—and when she said dry, she meant DRY—she found herself excited, happy even, to have an unexpected encounter with Hadley Axelram. This might be just what Margot needed. Hadley Axelram’s presence at the Juice Bar might be seen as a miracle, a last lifeline. Jealousy as defibrillator.
    From her spot a chess move away, Margot listened to Hadley Axelram order. Double scoop of butter pecan in a waffle cup with caramel sauce and crushed Heath bars for the older son, a kiddie cup of cookie dough for the younger son, and… pistachio in a waffle cone for Hadley.
    Margot almost couldn’t believe it. But then she recalled that in the periods of their dating—not only the summer of 1999 on Nantucket, but also part of the summer of 2001 on Nantucket and briefly in the winter of 2002 in Aspen—Hadley had exerted enormous influence over Drum. She was the reason he got the tattoo of the god Ganesh on his hip, she was the reason he listened to Better Than Ezra, and apparently she was also the reason he always ordered pistachio ice cream. For all Margot knew, Drum and Hadley had come to the Juice Bar together times too numerous to count and had ordered pistachio ice cream together.
    Margot wanted to care. She yearned to care.
    Once Hadley had received her cones and cup, Margot beamed in her direction, her smile as bright as a searchlight.
    Hadley turned, saw Margot and Drum, and her expression appeared to be one of genuine delight. Not to see Margot, of course, but to see Drum.
    “Hey!” Hadley said. She had her hands full with her ice cream and the child’s ice cream and the child, and she had to twist and maneuver through the crowd toward Margot and Drum, which was not a path anyone else waiting in line wanted to clear for her.
    Margot heard Drum mutter. “Oh, Jesus.”
    Normally, it was Margot who would have said this. Years before they had bumped into Hadley at the art gallery, they had seen her at the Matterhorn, in Stowe, Vermont. She had been wearing a white cashmere sweater and jeans and long feather earrings. She had been drinking a beer at the bar, surrounded by men ten years her junior. Margot had spotted her first and said, “Oh, shit.” She and Drum had had both boys in tow, Carson was pitching a fit after having spent all day in the Kinderhut, and all Margot had wanted was a glass of wine. She was the one who had insisted they stop at the Matterhorn, but once Drum saw Hadley, Margot’s dream of a fun, relaxing après ski was ruined. Hadley had shrieked with joy upon seeing Drum, causing her other suitors to scatter. Margot had been left to deal with her recalcitrant and exhausted children while Hadley and Drum “caught up,” Drum with that insipid look on his face. Margot had been bitterly jealous then, her stomach roiling with concealed rage.
    She wanted rage now. She wanted to feel
something
.
    “Hey, Hadley!” Margot said. She bent in and kissed the woman’s tanned cheek. Soft as suede.
    “Hey, guys!” Hadley said. “Hey, Drum!”
    “Hey,” Drum said. He gave her half a wave.
    Suddenly, it was their turn to order. No time for a reunion. Margot said to Hadley, “Why don’t you wait for us outside? We’d love to catch up!”
    Hadley said, “Yes, of course!”
    She scooted past Margot and Drum and the kids and Margot caught the scent of Hadley’s intoxicating perfume, a scent that had nearly caused her to vomit at the Matterhorn, and again at the art gallery. Did Drum smell it? She looked at him.