"No, I haven't. He gave me a choice, too, just like Ethan did. Or what
they seem to think of as a choice. Do this their way. Accept it, or do
without them. So I'll do without."
"I understand that. But while it may buffer your pride, what does it do
to your heart?"
"When people break your heart, pride's all you've got left."
And pride, Anna thought, could turn cold and bitter without heart. "Let
me talk to Ethan."
"I'll talk to him, as soon as I can work out what needs to be said." She
blew out a breath. "I feel better," she realized. "It helps to say it
all out loud. And there was no one else I could say it to."
"I care about both of you."
"I know. We'll be all right." She gave Anna's hand a squeeze before she
rose. "You helped me stop feeling weepy. I hate feeling weepy. Now I'm
going to work off some of this mad I didn't realize was in there." She
managed to smile. "You're going to have a damn clean house when I'm
done. I clean like a maniac when I'm working off a mad."
Don't work it all off, Anna thought, as Grace went inside. Save some of
it for that idiot Ethan.
it took two and a half hours for Grace to scrub, rinse, dust, and polish
her way through the second floor. She had a bad moment in Ethan's room,
where the scent of him, of the sea, clung to the air, and the small,
careless pieces of his daily life were scattered about.
But she drew herself in, calling on the same core of steel that had
gotten her through a divorce and a painful family rift.
Work helped, as it always had. Good, strenuous manual labor kept both
her hands and her mind busy. Life went on. She knew it firsthand. And
you got through from one day to the next.
She had her child. She had her pride. And she still had dreams--though
she'd come to the point that she preferred to think of them as plans.
She could live without Ethan. Not as fully perhaps, not as joyfully,
certainly. But she could live and be productive and find contentment in
the path she forged for herself and her daughter.
She was finished with tears and self-pity.
She started on the main floor with the same single-minded fervor.
Furniture was polished until it gleamed. Glass was scrubbed until it
sparkled. She hung out wash, swept porches, and battled dirt as if it
were an enemy threatening to take over the earth.
By the time she got to the kitchen her back ached, but it was a small
and satisfying pain. Her skin wore a light coat of sweat, her hands were
pruny from wash water, and she felt as accomplished as a corporate
president after a major business coup.
She checked the clock, measured time. She wanted to be finished and gone
before Ethan came in from work. Despite the purging wrought by labor,
there was a small, simmering ember of anger still burning in her heart.
She knew herself well enough to understand that it would take very
little to fan it to full flame.
If she fought with him, if she said even a portion of the things that
had careened through her head over the last few days, they would never
be able to be civil again, much less friends.