The Wildwater Walking Club (19 page)

“
SO
,”
TESS SAID
. “
WHAT A GREAT TURNOUT LAST NIGHT
.”

“I was hoping a lawyer would show up,” Rosie said. “It always helps to have a lawyer present your case at those selectmen’s meetings. Otherwise, they try to trip you up.”

“Just let ’em try it,” Tess said. “A part of me is hoping they don’t simply cave and ban the clothesline ban right away. Then we can get some picketing in.”

“Just no bubbles,” I said. “That’s all I ask. And remind me to keep my ski mask on this time, okay?”

We took a right at the end of Wildwater Way. Tess moved up ahead, and Rosie stepped back beside me.

“So,” Rosie said. “Those clotheslines of yours certainly were a big hit.”

“I know,” I said. “Do you believe it? And I heard you sold practically every lavender item in the shed.”

“Yeah, it was great. Your mother promised she’d help me make lavender wands and more lavender wreaths. And she and my father are fine with keeping an eye on the shed through the season. After that they’re talking about heading to Florida so your mom can show off my dad at her condo complex.”

Tess turned around. “Hel-lo. I’m starting to feel left out up here.”

We crossed the road to our side street shortcut, and Rosie and I arranged ourselves on either side of Tess. “I was thinking,” I said. “Maybe you could put together an outreach program for schools and other groups. You know, tours and mini-workshops at the lavender farm on weekends and school vacations….”

“Not that left out,” Tess said.

We all laughed. It was hot and muggy already, but it felt good to sweat, to move. I couldn’t get over how much stronger and fitter I was now than I’d been just over a month ago. I was eating better and even liking myself a lot more, too. This morning I’d dared to step on the scale in my bathroom again. I was seven pounds lighter. I’d tiptoed into my bedroom, stood in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door, and dropped my towel. Not bad. I mean, not perfect by any stretch, but the fitter I got, the more I was okay with looking like the best version of myself, instead of trying to measure up to some airbrushed Hollywood fantasy.

We walked through the opening in the seawall. “Oh, I can’t believe I almost forgot,” Tess said. She pulled a folded note card out of her pocket.

Tess pulled out a photo of Annalisa with last year’s class. “Be careful,” she said. “Don’t either of you dare get any tears on it.”

Rosie sniffed loudly. “Oh,” she said. “Look how happy they all are. And Annalisa is so beautiful. Well, maybe not beautiful, but she looks like one of us, doesn’t she?”

I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my T-shirt. “I think we should donate a portion of our profits to the Ms. Grady the Great Memorial Fund,” I said.

“Absolutely,” Tess said. “And don’t forget about the Marshbury Clothesline Alliance. Activism doesn’t come cheap, you know.”

RICK PICKED ME
up in his blue Honda, and we drove to our Fresh Horizons South small-group meeting together. We were early, so we used the extra time to sit in the parking lot and kiss.

“I like this retro parking thing,” I whispered into his ear.

“That’s because you don’t have the steering wheel wedged into your rib cage,” he said.

Eventually, we made our way to the meeting. We found two vacant chairs next to each other and sat down. I’d forgotten all about Michael until I saw him sitting at the other end of a row of chairs. As soon as he saw me looking, he leaned over to the woman next to him and whispered something. She laughed.

Brock walked into the room and set up his video camera. He shut his eyes and let out three quick puffs of air. He opened his eyes
again, tilted his chin up, and threw his shoulders back. “Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to all of you.”

“And make that welcome back if you’ve been here before,” the rest of us said.

“My name is Brock,” he said.

“And I’ll be your Fresh Horizons certified small-group career coach for the next ninety minutes,” we yelled.

Brock grinned. “Sounds like some of you are just about ready to graduate. Okay, who’s first?”

Rick and I both put our hands up.

“Ladies first,” Rick said.

“No, after you,” I said.

“Really, I insist,” Rick said.

“As do I,” I said.

We both cracked up.

“Methinks I detect a hint of romance in the air,” one of the disheveled guys said.

Brock clapped his hands three times. Then he looked at me. “Ready?” he asked.

I licked my lips and nodded.

He pushed a button on the video camera. He lifted one hand over his head and brought it down like the clapper on a movie set. “Go,” he said.

I looked right past the camera and smiled at Brock. “First of all, I want to thank you for that thing you said about making a fully conscious decision to invest in myself. I’d never thought of it that way before, and it really resonated for me.”

“Kiss up,” somebody said.

“Okay,” I said. I looked at the camera. “My name is Noreen Kelly. It’s not my favorite name in the world, but it’s starting to grow on me. I want to do something creative, and I never want to be tied to a desk again. I’ve started designing custom clotheslines, and placing
them at local shops, and I’m going to begin marketing them online as soon as possible. Energy costs are skyrocketing, and green is the new black, so I think there’s real opportunity there.

“I’ve also been walking every day, eating healthy, and just taking better care of myself. I took a fun trip recently, and I’d like to do more traveling. And I even think I know what I want in my personal life now, but that’s, well, personal.” I took a deep breath. “And I also think I’m ready to graduate.”

“Nice job,” Brock said when everybody finished clapping.

He turned to Rick. “Okay, now you.”

Rick stood up. “What she said,” he said.

He sat down again.

He got a great laugh, and I watched him while he savored it. He was such a nice guy, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t picked him out of the group on my first day here. Maybe the simple fact was that I couldn’t see him until I could see myself.

Rick stood up again. Brock lowered his imaginary movie clapper.

“My name is Rick Walker. I’m not as far along as the dazzling woman I’m following here. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but what I’m starting to figure out is that we can all give ourselves a second chance if we want to. And that I can use this free time to try some new things. I don’t have to figure it all out at once. I’m thinking about taking a metal sculpture class, and I’ve always wanted to learn more about Web design. Oh, and I’m coming up on my ninth date with an amazing woman, so, hey, wish me luck.”

As soon as small-group counseling was over, we made our Wii tennis excuses to the scruffy guys and headed out to the parking lot together. “We really wowed ’em, didn’t we?” Rick said.

“We sure did,” I said. “By the way, how’d you come up with that ninth date thing?”

He stopped, leaned back against a locker, and counted them off on his fingers. “Date number one, Wii bowling date. Date
number two, miniature golf date. Date number three, kiss after miniature golf date. Date number four, clothesline activism date. Date number—”

I put my hand on top of his. He pulled me to him and we kissed, right there, leaning up against an old school locker.

“I believe you,” I said when we came up for air. “Ninth date it is. You know what happens on the ninth date, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow.

I raised an eyebrow to match his. Then I leaned over to check my pedometer. I still had a ways to go to reach my ten thousand steps today.

I looked up again and into his cat green eyes. “The ninth date always starts with a walk on the beach.”

“Sounds great to me,” Rick said. He draped an arm over my shoulders, and I reached one around his waist. We started walking out to the parking lot. “Am I allowed to ask how the ninth date ends?”

“Trust me,” I said. “You’ll totally love the ending.”

WHEN THIS BOOK LANDED IN HER LAP, BRENDA COPELAND
told me she felt like she’d won the lottery. It turned out I was the lucky one—an editor couldn’t be smarter, funnier, kinder, or more enthusiastic than the thoroughly amazing Brenda.

A huge thanks to Ellen Archer and Barbara Jones for their brilliance and vision in knowing that women want to hear real women’s voices and read their stories, and for believing in me and what I can do. I’m so proud to be a Voice author.

Many thanks to Jessica Wiener for her creativity and marketing savvy, to Sally McCartin for being a dream publicist, to Laura Klynstra for a truly fabulous cover, and to Betsy Spigelman for her very cool cards. The entire Hyperion and Voice team is simply the best, and I send my heartfelt and alphabetical thanks to Anna Campbell, Marie Coolman, Rachel Durfee, Kate Griffin, Maha Khalil, Claire McKean, Lindsay Mergens, Jo Anne Metsch, Shelley Perron, Mike Rotondo, Sarah Rucker, Shubhani Sarkar, Mindy Stockfield, and Katherine Tasheff.

Lisa Bankoff always knows just what to say and do, and I’m extraordinarily grateful to have her as my agent and my friend. It’s been a thrill to watch the wonderful Tina Wexler spread her wings and fly to her own office at ICM, and a huge thanks to Elizabeth Perrella, who jumped in to fill Tina’s seat without missing a beat. A
big thank you to ICM’s Josie Freedman for handling my film rights, and to Karolina Sutton, Elizabeth Iveson, and Helen Manders at Curtis Brown Group Ltd. for foreign rights representation.

How great to find out firsthand that the HarperCollins sales force is as fantastic as I’d heard. Thanks so much to Gabriel Barillas, Kristin Bowers, Rachel Brenner, Ralph D’Arienzo, Anne Hollinshead De-Courcey, Ian Doherty, Karen Gudmundson, Mark Gustafson, Jim Hankey, Diane Jackson, Mark Landau, Carl Lennertz, Judy Madonia, Kay Makanju, Kate McCune, Michael Morris, Olga Nolan and the telephone sales team, Jeff Rogart, Rhonda Rose, Kerry Rosen, Dale Schmidt, Cathy Schornstein, Jennifer Sheridan, Robin Smith, Pete Soper, Virginia Stanley, Eric Svenson, Mary Beth Thomas, Bruce Unck, Donna Waitkus, Seira Wilson, John Zeck, and Jeanette Zwart.

When you have seven brothers and sisters, there’s an expert in the family for pretty much every subject. Thanks to Mary and Jim for stepping up on this particular novel, not that either of them have ever considered a buyout or needed career counseling. Thanks to Mary Carroll for additional insider info. Many thanks to Ken Harvey for an insightful read whenever I needed one. A huge thanks to all the wonderful women I’ve walked with over the years.

Thanks to all the friendly people I met in and around Sequim and Seattle, even the guard at the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge who told everyone, “Claire Cook is out there doing research for her next novel.” Sometimes when it feels like everyone is staring at you, they really are.

Heartfelt thanks to all the fabulous booksellers, librarians, book clubs, members of the media, and readers who have spread the word about my books. Your support means so much, and I’m truly grateful to each and every one of you for making this book possible.

Much love and many thanks to Kaden and Garet for helping me keep my characters on track, and to Jake, first, final, and forever reader.