I shake my head. “No.”
“Bucket list?”
Her second guess is eerily accurate.
“Something like that.”
A smile spreads over her face. “Excellent!”
She claps her hands, and blue paint splatters on her hot pink smock before she returns the brush to a jar and comes toward me.
“What are we starting with? I mean, that is, if you want company for any of it. I’ve already completed three bucket lists and a fuck-it list, and I’m still not dead, so I need someone else’s next.” She snatches the paper from my hand and her head jerks back. “It’s blank. Good Lord, Temperance. No wonder you need me so badly.”
Harriet takes the pencil from my hand and lays the paper on the counter. She scrawls something on the top line before turning it around so I can read it.
I expect it to say something insane, likethree-way with two Russian princes, but once again, Harriet manages to shock me.
1. Be happy.
It’s so simple.
I lift my gaze to hers and whisper, “Be happy.”
“It’s the only thing that truly matters, my dear. If you can do that, life is magical.” Her faded gaze meets mine. “Darling, you’re not the only one to have loved and lost. I had a family—brothers and sisters. I’ve outlived them all. Husbands too. Although only one at a time. Either way, loss is never easy.” She covers my hand with her paint-spattered one. “But it’s also never a reason to give up living yourself.”
“How do you get over it?”
She squeezes my fingers. “You don’t. You live with it. The pain will always be there, but in time, it won’t be as sharp. One day, you’ll go a minute without thinking about them. Someday, an hour. Eventually, you might live an entire day without being overwhelmed by grief. Healing takes time.”
At this very moment, I can’t imagine not thinking about what happened for a minute, an hour, and especially not a day. But Harriet has never lied to me, and she’s clearly wiser than I am.
“So, what’s next on my list?”
She releases my hand and turns toward her wine fridge. “That, my dear, only you can answer. Dream big.”
It takesseveral glasses of champagne for me to pick up the pencil again, but by the time I leave Harriet’s, I’ve added a few things to the list.
2. Honor my brother’s memory.
3. Introduce myself as an artist.
4. Drink wine at Harriet’s vineyard in Italy.
5. Travel the world.
There’sone more thing I want to write down, but I’m not brave—or stupid—enough yet.
Find love again.
5
Temperance
The next day, I wake up and take a shower. I’ve wasted a month of my life drowning in grief over things I can’t change, and it’s time to take a step toward my future, even if I have no idea what it holds. I put on makeup, dress in jeans and a tank top, and leave my apartment before ten o’clock.
I’m going to get coffee and a beignet, and then I need to track down the Tahoe with my sculpture. I also need to get my Bronco back, although I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. It’s time to start reclaiming my life, no matter how much it hurts to think about all of those things.
On the way to the café, a prickle of unease creeps down my spine when I see a man in a baseball cap, dark glasses, and wearing all black duck into a doorway as I turn a corner and look behind me.