Long Walk, Short Pier

Long Walk, Short Pier

Linda Rettstatt

Long Walk, Short Pier

3rd Act Books

Editing: lindaedits4u

Cover design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ mary60

Smashwords Edition

ISBN:

© 2018, Linda Rettstatt

All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.

For every woman who has endured hot flashes, fatigue, mood swings, night sweats, irritability, and that feeling of suddenly becoming insignificant and invisible. For every woman who has then stepped back from her life, taken time for herself, and listened to that small voice inside that rises up to remind her of the girl she was once and the woman she is still becoming.

This is your time.

Take the walk, find your pier, and embrace the change.

Chapter One

Some people should take a long walk off a short pier. This had been a favorite saying of Blaire’s father. Her appreciation for the phrase grew once she reached thirty with two young children. She wanted to run away from home, and a long walk sounded perfect, even if the sudden drop at the end took her by surprise. Of course, her husband’s response was to hire a nanny. She had convinced Martin to hire someone only part-time. She enjoyed being a mother and didn’t want to miss out on anything with her son and daughter, though they could exhaust her. Her mother once commented that Blaire had nerves of steel where the kids were concerned.

Lately everything—every little thing, got on Blaire’s last nerve. She had been feeling tired, looking bloated, and her moods swung like the pendulum on the Grandfather Clock in the front hall. She was sure she had some horrible illness. Her doctor—a man who should know better—looked at her with a smile and said, You’re fine, Blaire. You’re just going through the change. Just going through the change. He said it as if she might be morphing into an alien. And, if she were to be perfectly honest, there were times when that’s exactly how it felt. At fifty-four, she figured she’d missed this particular part of the menopause journey. She expected to look into the bathroom mirror and see a monstrous green form with horns and blazing eyes staring back. It was there, right under the surface. It was only a matter of time.

Which was, of course, what Dr. Greenfield said. Just a matter of time. Then he prescribed a medication that, Blaire discovered when she played internet medical researcher, had unimaginable possible side effects. She was sure she’d experience every one of them, or at least the worst of them. She never got the prescription filled. What would be the point? She was going through the change. It couldn’t last forever. Could it?

~ * ~

Blaire sat in the arm chair and faced her adult children seated on the sofa. They were twenty-seven and twenty-six, but looked so young to her as they sat with worried expressions. She’d faced them like this before—when she had to tell them the family dog had cancer and had to be put to sleep, when their grandfather had died suddenly of a heart attack and, more recently, when she announced that she and their father were getting divorced. Martin was supposed to be there to help her break the news but, as usual, something ‘came up.’

Oh, God, it’s Grammy, isn’t it? Michelle asked with a trembling chin.

Your grandmother is fine. It’s me.

You? Mom, no. I knew something was wrong. You’ve looked so tired lately. And you’ve been a little snappish. She nudged her brother. Max, say something.

Uh….

Tired? Snappish? Blaire held up a hand. I’m fine. I called you both here to tell you I’m going away for a while. Probably for a month.

Her son’s head shot up. A whole month?

Now she had Max’s attention. Possibly.

Where are you going? Michelle asked.

The house at Isle of Hope. Eventide. I need a break.

Max frowned. A break from what? You don’t do anything. I mean, not like a job.

She glared at him. You might want to rethink that comment and consider you live here and you eat here. You do not, however, pay rent or cook.

You know what I mean.

Max, quit while you’re ahead. Blaire shifted her gaze to her daughter. I’d like to leave some money with you to handle the household bills in my absence. I don’t like having funds automatically withdrawn from the bank account.

Why not me? I live here, Max said.

Because Michelle will remember to pay the bills. Don’t worry, I’m giving you a pre-paid card for groceries.

But I can’t cook.

Then perhaps it’s time to learn. Your grandmother’s recipes are in a binder in the pantry. I know you can read, so you should be fine.

Rita’s still coming in to clean and do laundry, isn’t she?

Blaire hesitated. For now.

Max slid a glance at his sister.

And do not expect your sister to look after you. It’s time you learned to take care of yourself. She stood. I’m going to visit your grandmother now and let her know I’ll be away. I expect the two of you to work out a schedule so that she gets a visit at least four times a week. Michelle, I’ll give the senior complex your number for emergencies, if that’s all right.

Sure, Mom. When are you leaving?

I’m packing the car this evening and leaving in the morning.

By yourself?

Blaire laughed. Yes, thankfully, by myself. I’ll break up the drive, stop somewhere for the night. I’ll call when I reach a stopping point.

Max shook his head. I don’t like this. It’s not safe for a woman your age to travel alone.

Blaire arched an eyebrow. A woman my age?

"Yes. You’re vulnerable. Don’t you see those signs at shopping malls—do not leave vulnerable adults unattended."

Michelle elbowed him again. That’s for senior citizens, you dolt. Mom’s not there yet. Not for a few more years, at least. No wonder you’re still single.

A few more years? A hot flash erupted, turning Blaire’s insides into a lava flow. Beads of perspiration sprouted on her forehead and upper lip.

Are you okay? Michelle asked. You’re flushed, and you’re sweating.

That’s been happening a lot, Max added. See, you shouldn’t travel alone. Something is wrong with you.

I’m fine. It’s just…. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words—the change. He wouldn’t understand it anyway. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and fanned herself. I’m quite capable of driving myself to Georgia. This is not open for further discussion. I’m going to visit your grandmother and let her know my plans. I’ll have dinner with her. She picked up her purse and car keys, then faced Max. This would be a good time for you to practice. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen.

Max looked at his sister. You want to stay for dinner?

Oh, no. I’m not cooking for you. I have a husband at home who will be expecting dinner soon. And before you ask, no, you’re not invited.

Fine.

Blaire smiled as she opened the front door. She was feeling better already.

~ * ~

Blaire used her key to let herself into her mother’s apartment. Alice had moved to the assisted living complex a few months earlier after she had an episode of arrhythmia and fainted. Blaire was insistent that Alice move in with her and Max. But Alice’s pride stood firm. Instead, she found an assisted living apartment complex that met her standards and would have round-the-clock emergency care at her fingertips. And she seemed to be happy there, something that surprised Blaire.

Mom, I’m here.

I saw you on the TV, Alice called back.

Her mother loved watching the closed-circuit TV that showed everyone coming and going through the main entrance of the building. It was Alice’s favorite new reality show.

Blaire bent over the recliner and kissed her mother’s cheek. I brought dinner—your favorite.

Linguini with clam sauce?

That’s not your favorite. I brought roast turkey and stuffing from Abel’s.

Her mother leaned forward and forced the footrest down, then stood and straightened her dress. Turkey was last month’s favorite. Have you ever had linguini with clam sauce?

I have. It’s very good. So you don’t want the turkey dinner? Blaire was already removing containers from the large plastic bag.

I’ll eat it. We can have linguini another time.

Once the food was warmed in the microwave and plated, Blaire sat down and said, There’s something I want to talk with you about.

You’re getting remarried?

Hardly. No. I want to use the house at Isle of Hope for a while.

Oh. A vacation. Are the kids going with you?

Just me. I need to take some time away. Alone. And Eventide is the perfect place.

I see.

The tone in her mother’s voice made her think perhaps Alice wanted to go with her. That would, however, defeat her purpose. Blaire needed to be with Blaire.

I might stay for a month. Will that be okay with you? She watched for a reaction.

You hardly need my permission. Eventide’s as much yours as it is mine. And you don’t need to worry. I’ll be fine.

Eventide, an old Victorian that sat on the Bluff above the Skidaway River in Isle of Hope, Georgia, had been handed down through three generations to Blaire’s mother. The family had never lived in the house full-time, but would make a few trips a year to spend a week or two there. Other family members occasionally asked to use the house, and Alice always granted permission. To her mother’s mind it was a family home.

Blaire sighed and set down her fork. Mom, if you don’t want me to go….

Her mother dropped her own fork with a clink. Blaire, you need to go. This is your time.

My time? Oh, yes. Tears stung her eyes. Dr. Greenfield told me I’m going through the change. That explains the mood swings, the bloating, the hot flashes, but I can’t believe I’m this old. I’m not ready for this Mom. She felt like crawling into her mother’s lap and crying.

You’re as ready as you’ll ever be. Her mother sipped the wine Blaire had poured and dabbed her mouth with her cloth napkin. Do you remember when you were pregnant with Michelle, and I went down to Isle of Hope? You were afraid I wouldn’t be back when the baby was born, but I told you I had to go.

Of course, I remember. I couldn’t understand what was so important that you couldn’t wait.

It was my time. Every woman has her time to go off alone, to be with herself, to get to know herself all over again without the trappings of family and work and responsibility. And this is your time.

Mom, I have nothing but time. I don’t work. The foundation demands little from me. Time to do what?

Not to do, to be. To listen.

Okay, listen to what?

Some folks call it intuition. It’s a little voice inside that’s finally ready to speak up.

What will it say?

I can’t tell you that. Every woman’s inner voice is different. It depends on what you need to hear. You just stay quiet and listen. You’ll know when you hear it.

Now that her mother put it this way, it made sense. It also scared her just a little. She hadn’t thought of this trip as having so much significance. She understood intuition, and listening to her own intuition had saved her more than once from potential tragedy. Like taking a different route at the last minute and missing an accident on the interstate. She wasn’t sure what she needed saving from now. What if she went all that way for nothing?

Don’t second-guess yourself.

How did you know?

Alice laughed. I’m your mother. I know everything, especially that look on your face. You always did over-think things. Alice lifted her glass. Here’s to your journey.

Blaire took a hesitant sip. What did you learn when you went on your journey?

I’ll tell you that sometime, after you return. Every woman’s journey is different. I don’t want you to go with any expectations, especially not from me.

Sometimes I feel as if I’ve done nothing with my life. I look at Cheryl and Tess who both have meaningful jobs. I have a college degree I’ve done nothing with. I went right from home to college and then into marriage. I’ve never worked outside the home, other than managing the foundation. I have a trust fund I’ve never even touched that will keep me for the rest of my life. Even now, after the divorce settlement, I don’t know what it means to struggle. Some women would have to find extra jobs to survive. I’m spoiled.

Her mother reached across the table and covered Blaire’s hand with her own. "Your life has not been wasted. I’m very proud of you, you know. You’ve raised two wonderful children. You did your best to make your marriage