Distant Shores

Seattle, Washington It all started with a second martini. "Come on," Meghann said, "have another drink." "No way." Elizabeth didn't handle alcohol well; God knew that had been proven conclusively back in 1976 when she'd been at the University of Washington. "You can't refuse to drink at my forty-second birthday party. Remember how drunk I got last spring when you turned forty-five?" What a debacle that had been. Meghann sensed hesitation, and like any good attorney, she pounced on it. "I'll have Johnny pick us up." "Are you sure Johnny's old enough to drive?" "Now, that hurts. All of my boyfriends have their driver's licenses." "And I thought you had no standards." "I keep them as low as possible." Meghann raised her hand and flagged down the waitress, who hurried over. "We'll take two more martinis. And bring us a plate of nachosheavy on the refried beans." Elizabeth couldn't help smiling. "This is going to be ugly." The waitress returned, set two elegant glasses down on the table, and picked up the empties. "Here's to me," Meghann said, clinking her glass against Elizabeth's. For the next hour, their conversation drifted down old roads and around old times. They'd been friends for more than twenty years. In the two decades since college, their lives had gone in opposite directionsElizabeth had put all her energies into wife-and-motherhood; Meghann had become a first-rate divorce attorneybut their friendship had never wavered. For years, as Elizabeth and her family had moved from town to town, they'd kept in touch via e-mail and phone calls. Now, finally, they lived close enough to see each other on special occasions. It was one of the things Elizabeth loved most about living in Oregon. By the time the third round was delivered, Meghann was laughing uproariously about the sound the cash register made. "D'ya see tha hunk o' burning love in the corner over there?" Meg glanced slyly at a college-age boy sitting by the window. "He looks lonely." "And lookno braces. He probably got them taken off last week. He's just your type." Meghann dug through the nachos, looking for one with a lot of cheese on it. "Not everyone is lucky enough to have married their college sweetheart, kiddo. Besides, I don't have a type anymore. I did once. Now I'll stick with what makes me happy." Happy. The word hit Elizabeth hard. "I wonder if a big ole wet one from a birthday girlBirdie? What's the matter?" Elizabeth pushed the martini away and crossed her arms. It had become her favorite stance lately. Sometimes, she found herself standing in a room alone, with her arms bound so tightly around her own chest that she couldn't draw an even breath. It was as if she were trying to trap something inside of her that wanted out. "Birdie?" "It's nothing, really." Meghann lowered her voice. "Look. I know something's wrong, Birdie. I'm your friend. I love you. Talk to me." This was why Elizabeth didn't drink. In such a weakened state, her unhappiness swelled to unmanageable proportions, and the cap she kept on her emotions wouldn't stay put. She looked across the table at her best friend, and knew she had to say someHannah, Kristin is the author of 'Distant Shores' with ISBN 9780345450715 and ISBN 034545071X.