Kara’s Moon

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

"OH, KARA, IT’S gorgeous. They’re all fabulous." She smiled at her. "As always," she added. Stephanie sorted through the paintings, her eyes drawn again to the giant tree and Kara instantly regretted her decision to sell it. It was too personal. She didn’t want a stranger peering at it, imagining who the lovers were, imagining it was themselves in that embrace.

But it had become too painful for even Kara to look at.

"I’ll have them displayed within the week," Stephanie said. "This one is intriguing," she said, her hands touching Kara’s painting. "It’s different from what you normally do." She looked up and smiled. "I may want to keep this one. Just display it for awhile." She stared at Kara. "By the way, what are you doing back in town?"

"Recuperating," Kara said easily.

"Oh?" Stephanie asked with interest.

"I was out in the woods for a month or so," she said. "I’ve only been back five weeks." Five weeks and two days, her mind counted, since she’d seen Ginny.

"You’re getting too old for that. Time for you to settle," she said.

Kara smiled, taking one last look at the giant tree, at the shadows on its bark. She wanted to settle. She wanted to settle in a little town called Chiwaukum, with a green-eyed blond who had stolen her heart and soul.

"I’ve got to go," she said quietly.

"I’ll be in touch," Stephanie called after her.

Kara drove to the nearest liquor store, bypassing her usual wine for a bottle of scotch. Once home, she poured a generous amount and walked to the shore, cigarette hanging comfortably between her fingers and she ignored the light mist falling.

For the past five weeks, she had been making this trip to the water, looking for answers. She had wanted to call her, but she hadn’t dared. She didn’t want to bother her. She didn’t want to stir up memories. And it was better this way, she told herself. Each day it got easier.

She laughed bitterly. Who was she kidding? Certainly not herself. Each day was harder than the one before. Each day Ginny’s memory came to her more clearly. Each night, Ginny’s touch was heavier on her body.

Maybe she should go out. Maybe she should call up an old friend and have dinner or something. Or something. The thought of being with someone else simply nauseated her. She wanted no one else. She wanted only Ginny.