Slightly South of Simple (Peachtree Bluff, #1)

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

Sometimes you don’t know how empty your fridge—or your heart—can be. You don’t realize it, that is, until at long last, you find them full again.

The tide always lent me serenity. It was constant, changeless. Every day it had its highs and its lows, but, like clockwork, it continued on. That was how I needed to be too. Always steady. Always there for my children. Always there for my friends. The constant in other people’s lives. That was my role. I knew how to play it well.

That was the moment I realized that what you see in movies, what you read about in books, that isn’t the good part. Not at all. The butterflies make you feel giddy and alive, and that’s sweet. But it’s what happens after that really matters. It’s the time you realize that your love has grown exponentially since that first day, when you discover that being someone’s wife, being in it for the long haul, having someone there beside you day in and day out, is so much better than any roses on Valentine’s Day or any first-date jitters you could ever have.

But doing the hard thing, even when it hurts, is what makes you strong.”

But the majesty and power of the ocean, roaring to the beach and then retreating, was a surprise every time. It never got old. And it never ceased to remind me that the world was large and, in the scheme of things, my problems were nothing.

I felt like the last couple of weeks had been categorized into good days and bad days. Today was a bad day. The worst part about the bad days was that I missed my mom. I wanted her back. I wanted her to laugh with me and give me guidance about Jack. Maybe tomorrow. But definitely not today.

I loved being a mother and a grandmother. I even loved caring for my mom, mostly. But just like when I’d had three babies, sometimes you needed a moment to be you.

Sometimes in the ebb and flow of life, the tide rolling in and out, as Hal would say, we forget to take the time to think about the people who really make us who we are. We forget to say thank you, to tell the people we love that we love them. I

I knew already from having children and grandchildren that time moved quickly; the days were long, but the years were short. And I knew for certain that no matter how many fights they had or how many times I had to change sheets or clean up dirty dishes or babysit all day for one grandchild after I’d been up all night with another, I would look back on these months of having my children home with me, back where they belonged, with incredible joy and wistfulness. These were the good times, even when they were hard.

And she did look like her daddy. Her real daddy. She looked exactly like Jack. It was somewhat eerie, actually, how little she resembled me, how little it mattered that I had made the egg, that I had been the one who had done the work of growing her for nine months and would continue to put every ounce of who I was and what I had into raising her, long after she was the age where she actually needed to be raised.

The moments that sneak up on you, the little surprises that keep you guessing, make life so worth exploring, even when the unthinkable happens.