All She Ever Wanted - Barbara Freethy [29]
In college she hadn't just gotten a Mrs. degree, she'd also gotten a BA in music. Why hadn't she done anything with that? She'd once wanted to play her flute in a symphony orchestra. Now it was gathering dust somewhere in the depths of her bedroom closet. She couldn't remember the last time she'd played. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten excited about something that was only for her and not for her daughters or for her husband.
Seeing Natalie again had brought back memories and old feelings. Laura had caught a glimpse of the girl she used to be. For that short time in college when she was a member of the Fabulous Four, she'd explored sides of herself she hadn't known existed. Madison, Natalie, and Emily had introduced her to new activities, challenged her, dared her, and supported her in whatever she wanted to do. She'd read books, debated politics and religion, taken art classes, and played her flute in a college orchestra. Those girls had convinced her that she wasn't as dumb as her parents had always led her to believe. Maybe she didn't get straight A's. Maybe she couldn't figure her way out of a math problem, but she could do other things. She was creative and musical. She was more than just her low IQ scores.
She'd thought marrying Drew would free her from her parents' expectations, but she'd only traded their expectations for his. And deep down inside of herself, she had a terrible feeling that she'd married a man just like her father, a person who put more value on material things and accomplishments than on character, kindness, compassion, and being a good person.
How had she let that happen?
She knew how. Because her parents had loved Drew from the very beginning. Her father had taken him under his wing, helped him get into the right law school, and offered him a job after graduation. Drew was the son they had always wanted, making up for their disappointing daughter. She'd finally done something right.
But somewhere inside this perfect life she'd created, she'd lost a piece of herself. She'd become a slave to daily rituals, to organized living, to bills and taxes and the same sitcom television shows every night. She'd come to accept scraps of attention from her husband, always hiding her worries and troubles from the other wives with whom she kept company.
Sitting down on the bed, she took care not to disturb the pillows she'd fluffed that morning, then realized the absurdity of it all. She couldn't even let herself be free to smash the pillows on her own bed. In a burst of anger at herself, she trashed her bed, pulling off the quilt, the blankets, the sheets, the pillows, until they were tangled in one big mess. She felt only marginally better.
Walking into the closet, she reached past her clothes and shoes and other belongings, feeling the top shelf with her hand for the familiar shape of a black musical case. She pulled it down, and a flurry of dust made her sneeze. Maybe she wasn't as good a housekeeper as she thought. But inside, the silver flute sparkled with promise. Laura felt a rush of excitement at the sight of her old friend.
She knelt down on the floor of the closet and pulled out the pieces of her flute. She lovingly put it together, taking a moment to stroke her fingers against the smooth, polished metal. Could she still play? Would she sound horrible? Did she even want to try?
Insecurity made her hesitate. Did she really want to know if she could still do this? Wouldn't it be better to just leave her head buried in the sand?
She closed her eyes for a moment and Emily's image came into