3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Sunday, June 23rd
“What do I wear to a Sons of Italy party?” Danielle muttered as, holding her phone aloft, she flipped through a rack of colorful hippie skirts in The Mermaid’s Cave Gift Shop, Fashion Boutique, and Saltwater Taffy Emporium.
“Why not ask your gelato friend?” Cari asked from Danielle’s phone screen and dug into her takeout carton. The most fashion-forward of their book club bunch, she’d joined Danielle’s shopping expedition via video call during her lunch break.
“That’d make me look too eager.” Danielle aimed her phone at a skirt in peacock blue, green, and purple, embroidered with feather designs and tiny mirrors. “Too much?”
“Not for a beach town. Besides, isn’t that the point? You’re breaking out of your drab routine.” Cari gestured with her fork, loaded with dangling noodles. “Can’t believe you didn’t send a picture of this Italian stallion.”
Danielle snorted. “Right. Shoulda snapped a pic for my friends’ approval. That wouldn’t be awkward at all.” She flipped through a rack of tops until she found a floaty peasant blouse in emerald green, a perfect match for the skirt. “You like this?”
Cari whistled. “Fahncy! Try it on.”
She carried both garments into the dressing room, propped her phone on the little shelf, and peeled off her boring blouse and skirt. “I have so few play clothes anymore. Just work outfits and gym clothes. That’s sad, right?”
“It is sad, but you’re taking steps to change that.” Cari clucked her tongue. “Better get a new bra while you’re at it. A woman with your assets should show them off, not squash them.”
Danielle frowned at her reflection. “This is my favorite sports bra. It’s comfortable.” She turned to examine her profile. “I’ll wear a better one tonight. Pokey wires and all.” She pulled the blouse over her head, cinched the skirt’s drawstring waist, and stepped back. Wow!
Cari gave a low whistle. “Oh, honey. That. Is. It. You look like a gypsy queen. What’s her name, Esmerelda?”
Danielle tugged off her headband and fluffed her hair. “Didn’t they hang her at the end of the book?”
“Not in the Disney version.”
Disney . Just like that, her pleasure in the new outfit evaporated. She slumped onto the little stool in the corner.
“Oh, hey, I’m sorry.” Cari clucked her tongue. “That was insensitive. Have you heard from your kids?”
“Just a few texts. They’re having a great time.” She blinked at the ceiling to hold back threatening tears. “Who am I kidding? Playing dress-up doesn’t change anything. I’m still the mama drudge they’ll come home to with stories about their cool new stepmom and their great vacation—”
Cari cut her off. “Jason’s marrying that bimbo?”
She shrugged. “Not likely. She’s the third new girlfriend since I finally kicked him out.” She cracked a wry smile. “I almost feel sorry for her. I mean, spending all that money to impress her new boyfriend’s kids, and he’ll probably drop her in a few months.”
“Yeah, but it still sucks.” A buzz from Cari’s end. “Judge is ready. Gotta go. But listen.” She stabbed a finger at her screen. “Promise me you’ll have fun tonight. I want a full report.”
Danielle pasted on a brave smile and snapped a salute. “Aye, aye, Ma’am. Esmerelda out.” She clicked off the call and surveyed her new look. The brilliant colors played up the contrast between her pale skin and dark hair and eyes. Would Matteo like it? She skimmed her fingertips along her exposed collarbone, imagining his plush lips there, the brush of his short, trim beard against her skin. Mamma mia! She fanned her flushed chest and throat, then slicked on rosy lipstick and snapped a few selfies.
She sent the best one to Olivia and Noah.
Going out to dinner with some new friends tonight. Hope you’re having fun .
Olivia’s reply pinged seconds later.
Pretty. Get dangly earrings, and don’t wear those ugly sandals.
Noah’s text came next.
Mom’s got a date? I’m telling Dad.
He added a wink emoji.
A wiser woman would tell her ten-year-old son it was just a potluck dinner with a bunch of strangers and the old gelato salesman. But in her heart of hearts, she hoped he would tell Jason. Maybe imagining her with another man would wipe that smug grin off her ex’s face.
On her way back to the rental house, she passed Auntie Annabelle’s Antique Attic, a sprawling shop that took up two adjacent houses. Bittersweet memories flashed across her mind’s eye—trawling Trappers Cove’s second-hand shops with her kids, hours of giggling as they tried on vintage hats, marveled at tin wind-up toys, and flipped through old comic books. Jason would grumble about “useless trinkets” and “worn-out junk” before leaving them to find a bar. It seemed with each passing year, he tried harder to spoil their fun.
And now he had. How could a rinky-dink beach town compete with Disneyland and Universal Studios? Though the shopping bags she carried weighed very little, her shoulders slumped—until she spotted something that jerked her upright.
Propped in the window behind cut-glass vases and creepy porcelain dolls sat a guitar. Not just any guitar, a gorgeous acoustic dreadnought, dark walnut with mother-of-pearl edging. How long since she’d played? Ten years? Fifteen?
Back in college, she was good enough to earn a hatful of tips on Saturdays in the little park behind Pike’s Place Market, or in coffee shops near campus.
But her garage band fizzled, her coursework grew more demanding, and Jason claimed her free time. Then came marriage, work, and kids. Music receded into the background, just another thing she used to do.
She glanced at her fingers. Once upon a time, she’d sported short nails with sturdy callouses on her fingertips. Now she had a standard-issue gel manicure, just like all her suburban mom friends.
A slow smile stretched her lips. New chapter. New beginning . She squared her shoulders and strode into the shop. Half an hour later, she emerged with a vintage denim jacket, dangly beaded earrings, and the guitar. And she’d swear the sun shone a bit brighter as she sashayed toward home. Well, home for now, and she was damn sure going to enjoy it.