Three Women at the Water's Edge by Nancy Thayer Read Free Book Online

courses to finish my B.A. degree, you know I had only one year of college, and then I married your father and had my babies right away. We women did that sort of thing in my day, you know, and I suppose some women still do, but not as many, thank God, not as many. I don’t regret it. I won’t waste my time on regrets. Really it doesn’t even matter to me that I don’t have a degree, it’s just that everyone expects me to have one. I try to explain that I’m a
reader,
and always have been, that I have read not just the gothic romances that are written to help housewives make it through a bleak winter with sick children—although Lord knows I’ve read those, too, and love them still. I won’t be snobbish. There is something quite satisfying about a good gothic romance. Do you ever read them?
    “What was my point? Oh, that I’m a reader, that I read everything: fiction, biographies, history, philosophy, science, anthropology, and so on. I’ve read Plato, I’ve read Voltaire, I’ve read Walker Percy. Why should I go take courses at a university? Well, though, perhaps I would like it—next year—it might be a pleasant thing to do then. And there is a university here I love, it’s called Simon Fraser, after the explorer, and it’s a new university, new and liberal. It’s built at the summit of a mountain, and the architecture is stunning, quite modern and yet classical, so clean, so pure. I like going there very much. I often go out to use the library—Miriam is on the faculty there, you know, and she checks out books for me. And I like sitting in Miriam’s office, talking with her and looking out her wide glass window at the sky. Quite often it is all clouds, the sky, because the university is so very far up the mountain, and as one descends the road back down to Vancouver, one goes back down under the clouds. It is Olympian, Simon Fraser. Yes, I think I might take courses there next year. Next year. I don’t want to be rushed, there is no need to hurry. I’ll only be a year older next year, and Simon Fraser is the sort of place where I can feel comfortable, even if I am twenty years older than the other students.
    “Dear Daisy, what a long letter I’ve written you! I am sure that your two children have not let you read it all in one sitting. You must think I’ve rambled on and on, but this is the first letter I’ve written you since I divorced your father, and I feel like such a new person, I wanted to somehow introduce myself to you. Please use the check, please fly out and spend some time with me. There is so much I want to show you, so much I want to talk about! I hope you are not worrying about your father. Please don’t worry about him. Just think how it is for him: The minute I sat down on the plane all the women in Liberty showed up at his front door with chicken casseroles and chocolate cakes. He will be in heaven. He won’t spend an evening alone. And he is bound to marry again, very soon, I’m sure, he is so terribly eligible. Who wouldn’t want to be Mrs. Harry Wallace, G.P., wealthy and stable, the first citizeness of Liberty, Iowa? Mark my words, your father will be married again very soon. He is a man who likes being taken care of, and Liberty is full of women who like taking care.
    “But I will stop before I begin to sound snide or bitter. All I meant to do was to cheer you up, to free you from any worrisome thoughts. Your father is undoubtedly fine, and I am, as I said before, happier than I have ever been in my life. I am happy, and I am free, and I am new. Doesn’t this intrigue you? Wouldn’t you like to meet me, see my house, see me? I think you would be surprised. Please let me know. Please fly out soon. I would love to see you, Daisy, my flower. Give all my love to Paul and the children. I hope all is well with you—I know how you must be too busy to write, I remember those days very well.
    Love, love, love, Mother”

Two
    Rocheport, Maine, is twenty miles south of Portland