Chapter 8
L ater that night, the Shoreline Bistro in Polson buzzed with gentle conversation and the soft clink of wine glasses.
It was the kind of upscale restaurant that Kathleen and her friends had once considered too fancy for young moms stretching grocery budgets. Now, in their sixties, they could afford such luxuries—and more importantly, they understood how precious these moments together were.
“To Isabel,” Kathleen said, raising her glass of wine, “and to Frank, who clearly has excellent taste in women.”
“Hear, hear,” Susan and Lynda chorused, their glasses meeting Isabel’s with a gentle chime.
Isabel’s cheeks flushed pink, though whether from the wine or the attention, Kathleen couldn’t tell. “You’re all being ridiculous,” she said, but her smile was radiant. “I can’t believe I’m getting married on Sunday.”
“I can,” Susan said, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied expression. “You’ve been glowing for weeks. Even when you video called me, I could see how happy you were.”
Lynda nodded, cutting another piece of her salmon. “You look the way I remember you looking at camp when you received a letter from that boy back home—what was his name? The one with the motorcycle?”
“Danny Morrison,” Isabel laughed. “Oh my goodness, I haven’t thought about him in decades. He had that terrible mustache.”
“It was terrible,” Kathleen said with a chuckle. “But his motorcycle made up for it. It’s funny what impressed us when we were teenagers.”
“And now look at us,” Susan said, gesturing around the table with her fork. “Isabel’s marrying a wonderful man, Lynda’s found Matt, and we’re having a meal in a restaurant that will cost more than we used to spend on groceries for a week.”
The conversation flowed as easily as the wine, decades of shared history creating a comfortable rhythm.
They talked about Isabel’s dress and laughed about Lynda’s reluctance to wear anything other than a pantsuit.
Susan regaled them with stories from her catering business, and Kathleen relaxed in a way she rarely did anymore.
“Do you remember,” Isabel said, setting down her wine glass, “that night at camp when we made that pact? We must have been seventeen.”
Kathleen smiled at the memory. “The summer romance pact. We swore we’d all find our Prince Charming by the time we were twenty-one.”
“And if we didn’t,” Lynda continued, “we’d meet back at Sapphire Bay when we were old and gray and become eccentric spinsters together.”
“Well, we’re certainly old and gray,” Susan said, touching her silver hair self-consciously.
“Speak for yourself,” Isabel said with a grin. “I prefer distinguished with silver highlights”
They dissolved into the kind of helpless laughter that only old friends could share, the kind that made other diners turn and smile at them. When they finally composed themselves, a comfortable silence settled over them.
“I never thought,” Isabel said quietly, “that I’d find love again. Not like this. Not at my age.”
“What do you mean, ‘your age’?” Lynda demanded. “You’re not dead yet.”
“You know what I mean,” Isabel said gently. “After James died, I thought that part of my life was over. I was grateful for what we’d had, but I’d accepted that those feelings belonged to my past.”
Kathleen understood completely. After her divorce, she’d built such a careful, controlled life. The idea of opening her heart again had seemed not only risky, but impossible.
“What changed?” Susan asked. “What made you willing to try again?”
Isabel considered the question, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “Frank makes me feel like myself again. Not the widow I became, or the careful version of myself I created to survive—but the woman I was before I forgot she existed.”
The honesty in her friend’s voice made Kathleen’s chest tight with emotion. When she spent time with Patrick, she glimpsed parts of herself she’d thought were gone forever. The woman who laughed easily and believed in possibilities.
“I’m so happy for you,” Kathleen told Isabel. “You deserve to be happy.”
“We all do,” Isabel said, her gaze moving around the table. “That’s what I’ve learned. We all deserve to be happy, no matter what we’ve been through or how old we are.”
Susan nodded slowly. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. About my business, and about whether I’m just staying busy to avoid dealing with loneliness.” She paused, then added with a small smile, “It might be time for some new adventures.”
“Would that include moving to Montana?” Lynda asked hopefully.
“Maybe,” Susan admitted. “I used to think security meant controlling everything. Now I’m wondering if real security means trusting that good things can happen when you stop trying so hard to manage them.”
Kathleen felt tears prick her eyes as she listened to her friend. They were all learning the same lesson in different ways—that happiness was possible at any age, and that love came in many forms, often finding you when you least expected it.
“What about you, Kathleen?” Isabel asked gently. “Are you ready for some adventures of your own?”
The question hung in the air, and Kathleen thought about Patrick. About the way her heart sped up when she saw his truck parked outside the café, and how he made even the most mundane tasks feel important.
“I think about my ex-husband sometimes,” she said slowly, surprising herself by voicing thoughts she’d kept private. “David and I were so young when we got married. We thought we knew what love was, but we were really just playing house, trying to be the people we thought we should be.”
She took a sip of wine, gathering her courage. “I was never as happy with him as you are with Frank, Isabel. Not even in the beginning. We were compatible and we worked well together, but there was never that... spark. That feeling like you’ve found your person.”
“Do you think you might have found it now?” Lynda asked quietly.
Kathleen felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s terrifying to even think about.”
“Why terrifying?” Susan wanted to know.
“Because I’m sixty-six years old, and I feel like a teenager when I’m around Patrick,” Kathleen admitted.
“Because I’ve spent so many years being independent, being strong, being the woman who doesn’t need anyone.
What if I’m wrong about what I’m feeling?
What if I’m just lonely and projecting something that isn’t there? ”
“And what if you’re not wrong?” Isabel asked gently. “What if this is your chance at the kind of happiness you’ve never had before?”
The server appeared to refill their wine glasses, giving Kathleen a moment to compose herself.
Around them, the restaurant continued its gentle hum of conversation and laughter, but their corner table felt removed from it all, a sacred space where four women could be completely honest with each other.
Kathleen looked at her friends. “When we were teenagers, we were so sure we’d have our lives figured out by the time we were twenty-one.”
“Maybe we’re late bloomers,” Susan said with a sigh. “Prince Charming was waiting for us to become the women we were meant to be.”
Kathleen felt something shift inside her chest—a loosening of the careful control she’d maintained for so long. “I think it’s time I found out if I’m a late bloomer.”
Isabel raised her glass. “I’ll make a toast to that. Here’s to Kathleen finding her happy ever after.”
As they lingered over dessert and coffee, sharing stories and dreams and gentle encouragement, Kathleen was grateful for her friends.
Tomorrow, Isabel would marry Frank in a celebration of the love they’d found later in life.
And if Kathleen had the courage, she might discover what possibilities were waiting for her, too.