Something in his silent embrace felt different from the usual way he held her. It was only now, standing at the counter holding his note, that she put her finger on what exactly she’d felt as he’d tightened his arms around her the night before. It had felt final. He’d been saying goodbye.
* * *
That night Lily poured herself a glass of wine and carried it to the patio. Sitting in the same chair she’d sat in the night before, she gazed across the table at Worth’s seat, empty but for a single dragonfly perched on the back. Its iridescent wings glimmered, reflecting the light of another sunset.
She’d spent the day absorbing, digesting, and reframing Worth’s disappearance to the best of her ability, yet she’d come up with nothing more than this: she was alone. Again. But this time there was no one else to jump in and save her. Her mom was gone, everything she had that had been connected to her was gone, and now Worth had left too, effectively pulling off the bandage that had been covering up all those wounds. Lily was the only one who remained.
She closed her eyes and took a long sip of her wine, willing it to dull the day’s sharp edges. Letting herself sink would be so easy, just like falling asleep. She could cover herself in grief like a blanket and never get up again. But all day something had been prodding her, way at the back of her mind like a dream she’d mostly forgotten. Whatever it was, it was the thing that kept her from sinking. From letting go.
She slowed her breathing and stilled her movements. She felt the weight of her arms and legs, the substantial there-ness of her body. Her pumping heart, the breath in and out of her lungs.
Everyone else is gone, but I’m here.
I’m still here.
That night when Mertha called, Lily answered.
“What do you mean, he left you a note?” Mertha asked. “What did it say?”
“The note was for me, but he did leave me a stack of papers. They’re divorce papers, Mertha.” The steadiness of her own voice surprised her, and she leaned into it, thankful for the stubborn resolve that coursed through her.
Mertha was quiet, and Lily could imagine the shock and fury crisscrossing her mother-in-law’s face as she tried to formulate her thoughts. “That’s . . . that’s insane,” she finally managed. “You must be mistaken.”
“It’s hard to mistake something like this. He’s signed his name, so I think he’s pretty sure about it.”
“He can’t be sure about it. Bishops don’t get divorced, Lily. We make things work.” She let out a short, hard breath. “This is so unlike him. Did you do something? In all his years, Worth has never gone this long without talking to me, and it just happens to be right after the two of you up and moved away. I knew something was wrong.”
Lily pinched her lips together, willing herself to remain calm. “Mertha, your son is thirty years old. He’s a grown man and he’s making his own decisions. Trust me, I’m not standing in the way of him talking to you. I’m not standing in the way of him doing anything.”
“Have you called him? Why don’t I try calling him again?”
Lily had called him, in fact. Only once. The call went to voice mail, and she hadn’t left a message. What was there to say? After that, she called Worth’s office, but no one there had seen or heard from him.
“If it makes you feel better, try calling him,” Lily said. “Maybe he’ll answer you this time.”
“I’ll do that. I’ll give him a call and see what in the world is going on. Just go easy on him.” Mertha paused. “With this new job and the sudden move, he’s been under a lot of stress. If you do talk to him, have him call me.”
Lily sighed. “We both know you’ll hear from him before I will. And when you do . . .” Lily paused, but the impulse to say the words was still there, so she continued. “Tell him not to come back.”
There. The words were out. She was done. She’d expected anger, and it was there, in part, but what she felt most of all was relief.
Mertha was silent, and her shocked breaths whispered through the phone. When she finally spoke, her voice was icy. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Lily’s retort was a jab of assertion. And it was true. She did mean it. She almost laughed at her unexpected boldness.
“You don’t,” Mertha jabbed back. “You don’t get to tell my son to stay away. He made a serious misstep when he married you, but what’s done is done and we make the best of it. You do what you need to do to calm yourself down, but when all this blows over—and I will make sure it blows over—you’ll need to be able to pick up the pieces, put them back together, and move forward. Trust me on this. You’re his wife.”
“But I’m not,” Lily said gently. “Not anymore.”
Two
The secretary tapped lightly on the door, then opened it a crack.
“Lily Bishop is here. Are you ready?” Her voice was perky, her eyebrows planted high on her forehead.
“Send her in, please,” Lily heard from the other side of the door.
With a flourish, the secretary opened the door a few feet and gestured with her free hand. “Go right on in.” The woman’s smile was wide and tight. Behind her, Lily saw another receptionist furtively glancing in their direction.
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat and put one foot in front of the other. As she crossed the threshold, she eyed the temporary nameplate on the wall next to the door. Worth hadn’t been there long enough to get a real nameplate. Instead, his name was written in Sharpie on a sheet of paper.
It was strange to walk into her husband’s office and see Harold Pender sitting behind the desk. Mr. Pender, a fixture back home in Atlanta, had recently hired Worth to head up the south Alabama branch of his real estate development company, Pender Properties, despite the fact that Worth had no real estate experience. The Bishop business was lumber, and everyone in the family had their fingers in it, including Worth, right up until the day he told his mother he wanted out.
Mr. Pender’s jacket was draped across the back of the desk chair, his briefcase open on an adjacent seat. It was as if Worth had never been there at all. But there on the table under the window was the fern Lily had given him on his first day of work. When she bought it, the fern had vivid green leaves and healthy stems. Now the poor plant was in need of a good watering and dry leaves were scattered across the tabletop.
Mr. Pender motioned for her to have a seat across from the desk. When she was settled, he pushed aside a laptop and propped his hands on top of a pile of papers on the desk. She took in the deep red smudges beneath his eyes, the defeated slump of his shoulders. Instead of being back in Atlanta, presiding over council meetings and land acquisition dealings, Worth’s boss was here, in Foley, Alabama, cleaning up Worth’s mess.
“I’m sorry for the . . .” He gestured to the stacks of papers. “I was in the middle of a lot of projects back home when I heard what had happened here. This was a good deal for Worth. I’m still not sure what . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I know I don’t need to rehash all this with you.”
He paused, clearly waiting for her to speak, but she didn’t have anything to say. After an awkward moment, he continued. “Things were already behind schedule when Worth arrived, and this new . . . situation . . . has slowed things down even more. There’s a deal that’s pending, and if I don’t have someone here to handle it in the right way . . .” He spread his hands out on the desktop. “I’m sure you can see the difficult position this puts me in.”