Good Harbor by Anita Diamant Read Free Book Online Page A

summer. Marie offered
     her house for the September meeting, and the women said good-night to each other.
    Joyce and Alice walked out together. “That’s great news about your book,” Alice said.
     “But you seem a little tense. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. What about you? And how’s Petra taking this?”
    “Petra will be okay,” Alice said as she unlocked her car. “Kids are resilient. I stayed
     with Tim for a lot longer than I should have, for Petra’s sake. But I just can’t anymore.
     My marriage is empty, and I know it sounds stupid, but all I really want is to fall
     in love again. I want to feel alive like that again. Besides, it can’t be good for
     her if I’m miserable.”
    “Alice, I wish you all the best,” Joyce said. “It takes a lot of courage to do what
     you’re doing.”
    “Yeah. Or mental illness.”
    Joyce’s scalp prickled. Hadn’t Alice said she was taking antidepressants?
    “Call me?” asked Joyce.
    In the car, Joyce switched off the radio. She felt like a rat about the way she’d
     made fun of her own book. It’s not a bad book, she thought. It’s pretty good, actually.
     “Magnolia would spit on me,” Joyce muttered, glancing at herself in the rearview mirror.
     “And she’d be right.”
    Alice was a wonderful woman, a sweet person, but no great beauty. Her skin was leathery
     from all the years of working in her father’s landscaping business. What were the
     odds of her finding a new love?
    Joyce recognized the fantasy, though. After eighteen years, who didn’t? Her marriage
     was stuck in its own mud. All the conversations she and Frank had these days turned
     into skirmishes about Nina. They hadn’t been to a movie for ages. She could count
     on one hand the number of times they’d had sex in the last year.
    Sex with someone new. Conversation with a man whose eyes locked on hers. Shopping
     for new sheets hand in hand. She’d seen women her age in love, glowing like lanterns.
     Was it endorphins or gratitude? God, it would be great to feel like that again.
    But it would kill Nina. All that “resilient kid” stuff aside, Joyce could imagine
     the scene at the kitchen table: “Your father and I have decided . . .” Her daughter
     would crumble.
    Frank didn’t deserve that, either. He was a good husband. Not hostile, like Marie’s.
     Or arrogant, like Heidi’s. As for Alice’s Tim, Joyce had to admit, he was dull, bordering
     on dumb.
    The big problem with Frank was the way he withdrew into things — his work, his gardening,
     whatever book he was reading, or even a TV show. When they’d first met, Joyce had
     fallen in love with his self-sufficiency — especially after two high-maintenance boyfriends.
     But now his independence felt like distance. Most of the time, he seemed a million
     miles away. The only thing they seemed to share anymore was Nina. And the mortgage.
     And a billion memories.
    Back in her own driveway, Joyce sat in the car looking at the dark windows. To be
     fair, she wasn’t exactly knocking on Frank’s door these days, either. He’d probably
     respond if she said something, but she couldn’t muster the energy.
    They’d had these long dry spells before, and each time Joyce had been the one to insist
     they find their way to water. One time, she’d shanghaied Frank — left Nina with a
     sitter, picked him up at work, drove them to New York City for dinner, a play, and
     a night in a hotel. Once, she insisted they talk to a therapist.
    But this dry spell was starting to feel like the Sahara. Joyce was tapped out and
     pissed off that it was up to her to make the effort, start the conversation, take
     the initiative. Wasn’t it Frank’s turn yet?
    Oh, well. At least she wasn’t as bad off as the women in her book group. Nina was
     a pain in the ass, but soccer was going to get her daughter through the “Ophelia”
     years. Frank was not stupid or hostile. Hell, she’d bought a house in Gloucester.
    It’s all relative,