I came from L.A. to this unassigned territory because my life had
fallen apart. It was the usual story.
My husband of twenty-six years had taken up with a young, single,
cosmetics salesperson. Clinique.
My daughter, Cynthia, had married and moved to Oregon. My son, Tyler,
in Costa Rica. By the time we were finished with all the formalities, there was a little
money from my half of the house, a Volvo Station Wagon, no life left and no place to live
Since I still had a few months' coverage on my husband's insurance
policy before my eligibility expired, I went to family counseling. The man there gave me a
pep talk. He said it was time to start a fulfilling new career, rent a stylish condo,
invest in offshore mutual funds, and take lavish bubble baths.
I was willing to try. The bubble baths part seemed easy enough. Nice to
sink in the steamy, mimosa water and imagine that I could dissolve the heavy, hard feeling
that there was something unfair about breaking up a partnership of twenty-something years
where he has a new wife, a new house in Orange County, a ski timeshare, all the earning
power, and she gets the broken toaster-oven, the button collection, and half the debt.
But you already know that story.
Then an unusual thing happened. I should say fantastic--because there
is the element of fantasy.