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Verna Lee Johnson stared at the lake that had been her refuge. Strange, how it looked different in winter. Across the lake, the trees had no leaves and the bark was chalky. The water looked gray and colorless, almost black, with ice forming along the shoreline. Surely nothing could be alive underneath the surface. She felt empty&emdash;a void&emdash;nothing.
"You've got ice water running through your veins," his mother always said. And maybe she had been right all along. Verna Lee knew she should feel something. She wanted to feel something-anything--angry, sad, happy, relieved. Yes, she should at least feel relieved. Instead, she felt nothing.
She turned toward the small cabin. That's what her daddy had called it, but it looked like a run-down shack. Now that she didn't have to run anymore, the cabin had lost its charm, but it was all hers. Maybe with the insurance money--hopefully, there would be insurance money-she could fix this place up. She would change her name back to Brown and build herself a little bed and breakfast. Folks would come from all over to stay lakeside and eat homemade biscuits and gravy.
She glanced once more at the bleakness of the lake. Verna Lee may have felt nothing, but she saw possibilities. She smiled to herself a little as she hiked through the ice-encrusted snow. Alone--but not lonely.
Lonely was something else altogether. Lonely was wearing sunglasses indoors. And being trapped. Or always being wrong. Lonely was lying in bed with your legs spread wide open while a piece of your soul died every time, anytime, he wanted a fuck. Lonely was keeping your fucking mouth shut, bitch.
"No," she whispered, "Not any more."
She bent down, picked up a handful of snow and packed it into a ball. She held the ball in her fingers like Daddy showed her. "Throw off your back leg, Vernie. Put all your weight into it. Keep your eye on the target." Splat.
"Yes," she said excited, but a bit too loud. "Bull's-eye!"
Suddenly she stiffened and bowed her head, automatically bracing herself for a reprimand: "Why are you always such a childish whore?" or worse. Much worse.
But he wasn't here. She threw another snowball. He wasn't here. And another. He's gone. She could make snow angels if she wanted. Gone. Anything she wanted. Thank you, Jesus. Anything.
Unzipping her parka, she ran back down to the lake. She stripped to her bra and panties and jumped into the frigid water. Her lips were blue, and her teeth were chattering. She immediately ran out and wrapped the coat around her. Verna Lee didn't feel empty anymore. She felt free.
BIO: Barbara Gisondi is a member of Romance Writers of America. Her book reviews can be seen at www.romancedivas.com where she is a moderator of the Contemporary, Chick-Lit, and Writing Questions categories. Currently hard at work on a memoir and a novel, Barb lives in Philadelphia with her husband, Tom and their one-eyed cat, Max. She can be contacted via her website: www.barbaragisondi.com.
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