The cool water drew out some of the heat of her anger, and she tugged the legs of her jeans up so she could sink her feet in farther. Below the top couple of inches, the water felt even colder. It was early enough in the season; it hadn’t had a chance to warm completely. She flexed her feet and spread her toes, watching their pale shapes under the water. Oh God. One minute they’d been talking – really talking – for the first time in forever and the next minute she’d been flying down the path to the lake in a full blown rage. She was so tired of feeling like this. Like simmering under everything was this quiet despair. Her life was good. She loved Max and the kids. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? But she wasn’t. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt unabashed joy. Most of the time what she felt was overwhelmed. When she and Max were pulling in the same direction it was okay. They could ride the challenges out together. Lately, she felt so isolated, like she was alone in a boat, waiting for the wave that would finally sink her.
