Some people waited years to find a new mate, others never did, nor wanted to. Some felt they needed to wait a year before dating or remarrying, others married literally weeks after they lost a spouse. In his opinion, it didn't mean you hadn't loved your late husband or wife, it meant that you felt ready to move on and make another commitment. And no one else had a right to judge if that was right or wrong. “We are not the grief police here,” he reminded the group from time to time. “We're here to help and support each other, not judge each other.” And he always shared with each group that he had come into this particular line of work when he lost his wife, and a daughter and son, his only two children at the time, in a car accident on a rainy winter night that he had thought at the time had been the end of his life. And when it happened, he wished it had been. Five years later he had remarried, to a wonderful woman, and they had three children. “I would have married earlier, if I'd met her sooner, but she was worth waiting for,” he always told them, with a smile that never failed to touch the people with whom he shared the story. The focus of the group was not on remarriage, but it was an issue that came up, and was a focal point for some, and of no interest to others, many of whom had lost siblings, parents, or children, and were married. But they all agreed that the loss of a loved one, particularly a child, put an enormous strain on an existing marriage. In some cases, there were couples in the group, but more often than not, one spouse was willing to reach out earlier than the other, and it was actually rare for couples to attend together, although Blake always wished that people did that more often.

For some reason, the issue of dating had come up a lot that day, and Blake never got around to discussing Ophélie's wanting to find a job. It was the second time she had mentioned it, and he stopped to talk to her after the group. He had an idea that he wanted to suggest to her. He didn't know why, but he had the feeling it might be right up her alley. She had been doing well in the group so far, although he had the impression that she didn't think so. She was consumed with guilt over what she was still not able to do for her daughter, and might not be able to do for a long time. More than anything, he didn't want her beating herself up over it. What she was experiencing, in the disconnect from all other loved ones, was entirely normal, according to him. If she were attuned to them, or to her daughter in this case, her feelings would be wide open, and all the pain she felt over her loss would come rushing in to drown her. The only way her psyche could keep the agony at bay was to put itself on hold for a while, so she felt nothing at all, for anyone. The only problem was that it left her surviving child out in the cold in the meantime. It was a fairly typical problem, and an even more disruptive one when it happened between spouses, as it often did. The divorce rate was high among people who had lost children. Often, by the time they recovered to a significant extent, they had lost each other and the marriage.

When Blake spoke to Ophélie after the group, he asked her if she'd be interested in volunteering at a homeless shelter. Matt had suggested something like that too, and she thought it might be meaningful to her, and less emotionally charged for her than volunteering in the field of mental illness. She had always had a keen interest in the welfare of the homeless, and no time to pursue it, while Ted and Chad were alive. She had far more disposable time now, with no husband and only one child at home.

She responded with considerable warmth and interest, and Blake promised to get some referrals for her, of volunteer projects dealing with the homeless. This was exactly what he was good at. She was thinking about it as she drove back to Safe Harbour. She had to take Pip to get her stitches out that afternoon. And as soon as they did, Pip chortled with glee, and put on a pair of sneakers when she got home.

“How does that feel?” Ophélie asked, watching her. She was beginning to enjoy her again, and they seemed to talk more than they had in a long time. Not as much as they used to, but things were definitely a little better. And even she wondered if talking to Matt had helped her. He was a very kind, soothing person. And very caring. He had been through so much himself that he was full of empathy for others, without being sappy. And there was no question that the group was helping too, and she liked the people in it.

“It feels pretty good. It only hurts a little.”

“Well, don't overdo it.” She knew what Pip had in mind. She was dying to walk down the beach to see Matt. She had a load of new drawings to show him. “Why don't you wait till tomorrow. It's probably too late today anyway,” Ophélie said wisely. She could read Pip's mind sometimes. It was just that for months, she hadn't tried to. She was starting to tune in again, and Pip liked it.

The next day Pip set out with the sketch pad and pencils he had given her, and two sandwiches in a brown bag. Ophélie was tempted to go with her, but she didn't want to intrude on them. Their friendship had been the primary one, hers with him had been an offshoot of it and came later. She waved as Pip set off down the beach in her sneakers, to protect the newly healed foot. And she didn't run, as she usually did. She was being a little more circumspect, and respectful of the foot, and as a result, it took her longer to reach him. And when she did, he stopped painting and beamed at her.

“I was hoping you'd come today. If you didn't, I was going to call you tonight. How's the foot?”

“Better.” It was a little tender after the long walk down the beach, but she would have walked on nails and ground glass to see him. She was so happy to be there. And he looked equally pleased to see her.

“I've really missed you,” he said happily.

“Me too. I hated being home all week. Mousse didn't like it either.”

“Poor guy, he probably needed the exercise. I had a nice time with you and your mom the other night by the way. That was a delicious dinner.”

“A lot better than pizza!” She grinned at him. He had brought out the best in her mother, and even since then. She had seen her mother rooting around in her purse the day before, and she had finally come up with an old lipstick, and put some on before she went into the city. It made Pip realize how long it had been since she'd worn any. And it made her happy to see that she was getting better. It had been a good summer in Safe Harbour. “I like your new painting,” she commented to Matt. He had done a sketch of a woman on the beach, with a haunted expression. She was looking out to sea, as though she had lost someone there. There was something anxious and uncomfortable about it, almost tragic. “It looks very sad though, but she's pretty. Is that my mom?”

“A little maybe. She might have inspired it, but it's just a woman. It's more about a thought process and a feeling, than a person. It's a little bit in the spirit of a painter called Wyeth.” Pip nodded solemnly, fully aware of what he was saying. She always enjoyed their conversations, particularly about his paintings. And a few minutes later, she sat down with her own sketch pad and pencils, close to him. She liked being next to him.

The hours flew by as they had before, and they were sorry to leave each other at the end of the afternoon. He wanted to sit there with her forever.

“What are you and your mom doing tonight?” he asked casually. “I was going to call her, and ask if you wanted to go into town for a hamburger. I'd cook for you, but I'm a rotten cook and I ran out of frozen pizza.” Pip laughed at their comparable menus.

“I'll ask Mom when I go home, and tell her to call you.”

“I'll give you time to get home, and then call her.” But as she got up, and he saw her start down the beach, he saw that she was limping, and called after her. “Pip!” She turned when she heard him, and he waved her back. It was a long walk for someone who had just had stitches taken out, and the sneakers had rubbed where the scar was. She walked slowly back to him as he beckoned. “I'll give you a ride home. The foot doesn't look too great.”

“I'm okay,” she said gamely, but he was no longer worried about her mother.

“Don't wear it out, you won't be able to come back tomorrow.”

It was a good point, and she followed him willingly over the dune, to where his car was parked behind his cottage. He had her home five minutes later. He didn't get out of the car, but Ophélie saw him from the kitchen window and came out to greet him.

“She was limping,” he said by way of explanation. “I figured you wouldn't mind my driving her.” He smiled easily at her.

“Of course not. That was sweet of you. Thanks, Matt. How are you?”

“Fine. I was going to call you. Can I lure the two of you to dinner in town tonight? Hamburgers and indigestion. Or maybe not, if we're lucky.”

“That sounds nice.” She hadn't thought about what to cook yet. And although her spirits had improved somewhat, her culinary interest hadn't. She had given it her best shot the night he'd come to dinner. “Are you sure that's not too much trouble?” Life was so easy at the beach, and so casual, meals were never formal, and didn't seem terribly important. Most people barbecued, but Ophélie wasn't very good at it.

“I'd enjoy it,” Matt said. “How about seven?”

“Perfect. Thank you.” He drove off with a wave, and was back, punctually, two hours later. Pip had shampooed her hair, at her mother's urging, to get the sand out of it, and Ophélie's hair looked pretty too. It hung in long soft waves and a few graceful curls to below her shoulders. And as a symbol of her slowly reviving spirit, she had worn lipstick. And Pip loved it.