9. Grace
nine
Idon’t know how I get home, but I do. Just one more day of this and it’ll be over. What’s one more day? It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.
I really need to dial back into the reality of my life. Pay my bills, clean my house. Come up with a plan for the spa. Feed my cat. Where is Damian? I can hear him, but he’s not rubbing himself in loops around my legs. His cries get louder as I go down the hallway and into my bedroom.
He’s meowing furiously again from behind my closet door.
“You’re a silly, silly cat, and you’re paying for your silliness.” I push the door in until it creaks open enough for Damian to come out. He looks at me, reproach in his eyes.
“What? Just stop going in there. How do you even get the door open?” I swear, I checked this morning, and the door was closed. Tight.
I struggle to push the door wide open. With a weird thump, it suddenly gives in, and I automatically look up, to the box.
The box, where my eyes always go each time I come in (twice a day at least) and at night, before I go to sleep. Because this stupid door stays stuck, so now I leave it open at night to avoid wasting time in the morning trying to get to my clothes.
This time I grab the old box and bring it to my bed. It started as a shoe box, and at some point I had to move its contents to the box that held my first cowboy boots. Damian jumps on the bed, sniffs through the box, and sits back like the sphinx, looking at me through squinted eyes.
He knows the ritual. He’s giving me two and half minutes to go down memory lane, and then he’s done. Then I’ll have to put the box away.
“It’s different this time, okay? I need a little more time. He’s here, you see. It doesn’t mean anything, but it’s important to me. It means these things, here, they’re not dead. Not really. Now do you believe me?”
Damian purrs, stands, and walks on the lid of the box.
It was—still is—an awesome-looking box, way more deserving of its precious contents than the blue sneakers box that was falling apart. Yet Damian sits on it, the lid caving in slightly.
It’s okay. I’m not that cray-cray. It’s just a box. “Damian, move,” I finally say, shooing him away from the lid. I can’t help it.
He squints at me and stays put. Not budging.
Okay, then. Whatever. It’s not about the lid anyway.
I move my gaze to the contents of the box, two decades worth of memories that carry meaning only for me. Usually, it’s a feel-good moment, this time alone, under the watchful eye of Damian. A moment when I relive the good times, the hopes, the dreams.
When I don’t feel so alone.
When I rewrite the present. How things could have been, should have been. And for a few minutes, I’m in my fantasy life. And it feels good.
Tonight, however, it’s hard.
These aren’t memories anymore. These aren’t dreams.
These are proof perfect that I live in my own universe that does not align with the real world.
And seeing Ethan, and him being everything I ever imagined he’d become and even better, but not being these things to me, with me—a best friend, a lover, a husband, the father of my children.
I’m not gonna lie, it’s hard this time.
God I need to get out of this funk.
“What d’you think, Damian?” I contemplate the disposable mug that held the Harvest Hug Ethan brought me on Monday, with my name in his handwriting on it.
Damian meows.
“I agree.” I stand, rinse the inside of the cup carefully one last time, and wipe it. Then I add it to the box. With the two pucks, the jersey, carved wooden figurines, the letters, the newspaper clippings, a tiny twine ring protected by a ziplock, a dried mistletoe turning to dust, and a carved tree bark.
Probably the last thing I’ll add.
Although, not sure what I’ll do with the travel mug, once he gives it back to me.
Ifhe gives it back to me.
It’s really pretty. If I used it every day, it would be like having Ethan with me. Like he might pop up at any time. Like he’s not really gone and he might say, “Hey, Grace, gimme the mug back so I can get you a Harvest Hug tomorrow.”
Like maybe we’d be as I wish we were, where I’d get his hugs.
And his kisses.
Damian meows loudly at me.
“Okay, okay, time’s up, I know.”
Damian stands from the lid and lifts it with his nuzzle. I place it back on the box, careful not to squoosh the mug, then slip it on the shelf right next to the door. Where I can see it every day.
Twice a day at least.
“What’cha say, Damian? It’s Thursday.” Thursday is Game Night in Emerald Creek. A women’s-only gathering in the back of Cassandra’s lingerie shop. We play games as an excuse to get together, gossip together, sometimes cry together, always laugh together.
Damian meows enthusiastically and runs to his bowl.
Sometimes I wonder if he has dog genes.
I refill his kibble, then make myself a sandwich and eat it standing above my sink so I don’t get anything dirty. I drink a glass of water, and a second.
There’ll be alcohol at Game Night, so I want to get there hydrated.
“Ready, Damian?”
He trots to his litter box.
Total dog vibes.
I brush my teeth, fix my makeup, then pick up Damian. “Let’s have some girl time.”
He meows.
“You’re a cat. You’re allowed.”
Cassandra’s shop is in a cute cape house twinkling with fairy lights. I park the jeep, pick up Damian, and round to the back where laughter and light spill out of the partly open windows. Pushing the door open, I’m taken in by warm hellos from everywhere.
Mom and Lynn are sprawled on the white sectionals in the back right corner, playing gin rummy with Suzy Parker and my receptionist, Claudia Fletcher. Their bare feet rest on gold and pink pillows, and white bubblies occupy their free hands.
Ms. Angela and her posse are hunched over Emerald Creek’s mystery game, an adaptation of Clue where intimate knowledge of the town’s gossip is key to winning.
Haley brings them her variation of a Moscow mule, setting their drinks on off-white felt coasters, then returns behind a mirrored bar, pouring one of her new wine-like inventions into stem glasses.
Other women are gathered in small groups, chatting or playing games, munching and drinking.
My friends are sprawled on the left side of the room, soy candles softly flickering around them. Autumn, a newly established decorator, is there, and so is Kiara, a talented pastry chef. She jumps up when she sees me. “You brought Damian!” she shrieks and grabs my cat from my arms. “Come here you little scoundrel, you little rascal. Tickle tickle tickle.”
Damian makes himself soft as a rag doll and lets her have her way with him.
I kick my shoes off and drop my offering of lotions and serum samples on a small table next to the door for the ladies to take on their way out, then settle in a pink bean bag next to my friends, letting the girly vibes of Cassandra’s she-shed mellow me. Digging my toes in the faux fur throw rug, I inhale the subtle aroma of small bouquets spread throughout the room, admire her new golden trinkets, the mirrors reflecting tea light candles, making mental notes for my own spa.
Haley hands me a stem glass filled with a bubbly, purple beverage and takes a seat next to me.
Haley’s experiments aren’t always conclusive. “What’s this one?” I’d rather be prepared.
“It’s raspberry wine. What d’you think about it?”
The sharp yet floral notes hit my palate with a burst of bubbles. “Delicious. Wow. Raspberries?”
“I’m totally using that in my Christmas pastries this year,” Kiara says, still holding Damian. “I don’t know how yet. You have any ideas?” she asks Haley.
I strain to focus on the conversation that follows between the two, but my mind keeps wandering. To Christmas and secret Santas. To New Years and mistletoe. To swimming at the lake… to other things at the lake.
“Sorry I’m late! What did I miss?” Alex asks as she enters the room. “Oh good—you’re here,” she says to me. As she walks to the back of the room where the bar is, she’s greeted by everyone, and it warms me to see how well loved she is in Emerald Creek, and how she’s now part of our small-town family.
“Munchies,” she announces as she sets a tray on the bar and snatches one of the glasses Haley poured and left on the bar for anyone to help themselves. Settling with us, she asks me, “So—what do we know? What are you doing?”
I haven’t done anything since Saturday. Mainly, I’ve been going day-to-day like a zombie, unable to take action. “I still haven’t heard from Richardson, but I know the price is out of my reach.”
“Who’s Richardson?” Alex asks.
“Georgie?” Ms. Angela chimes in from her station at the middle of the room. “He’s the landlord.”
“You were going to buy it?” Kiara says, petting Damian as he climbs up her shoulder.
“I have a right of first refusal, so I’ll know when it sells. Not that I can afford it, so really… not that useful.” The din of conversation dies down as everyone listens in.
Kiara sits cross-legged at my feet. “But you’ll know ahead of time if you need to move, right?”
“I guess.”
Cassandra, Ms. Angela, and the other women around don’t ask questions or seem surprised.
They all know.
Their sympathetic murmurs confirm it. I glance at Mom and Lynn who looked up from their game but stay quiet, letting the rest of the women take the lead.
“We need to do something,” Ms. Angela declares. “Can we sign a petition?”
“He’s allowed to sell,” someone points out.
“It’s just not right that he didn’t talk to her first.”
“He was always a coward.”
“Well hung, but a coward,” another of the older ladies at Ms. Angela’s table, Cheryl, chimes in.
“How d’you know he was well hung?” Kiara asks.
“That was his dad,” Ms. Angela interjects. “George.”
“Heh! Stuff happened… back in the day. We weren’t as shy as you young people,” Cheryl says.
“Ah… the sixties,” Ms. Angela sighs dreamily. “Were you part of the calendar?” she adds.
“Oh yeah. That’s how I know George Senior was—you know. Well endowed.”
“I remember you mentioning that.”
“Not that it did him any good,” Cheryl volunteers. “Or me.”
Ms. Angela giggles like this is a totally normal conversation.
“What calendar?” Haley asks.
“We did a naked calendar after the fire, to raise money.”
“Naked?” Several of the young women ask.
My attention is diverted from my present problems. These old ladies naked on a calendar? That was sixty years ago? They would have been in their twenties…
“Totally naked?” I ask.
“We shot totally naked, but you can’t see anything. Except for George. If you look closely at his month, his ding-dong shows between his legs. I think he was July. Or August. He’s fly-fishing in the Emerald Creek.”
Ms. Angela laughs loudly. “Oh my gosh! Yes. I remember now.”
“He didn’t know how to use it. Total waste,” Cheryl doubles down, turning around in her seat to face us.
”Mom!” Suzy Parker cries, putting her hands on her ears. Lynn and Mom are trying not to laugh too hard. And failing.
“Oh, knock it off, Suze. It was before your dad,” Cheryl chuckles. Then, turning to Ms. Angela, she asks, “What month were you?”
“I was January. I was in a bubble bath. We shot in the vintage tub that’s upstairs in what’s now the bakery. The tub was so deep you could only see my face, so someone brought some bricks for me to sit on. And then I had one leg out. We shot with and without nipples.”
“What?!” several of us exclaim.
“Eventually they chose to publish the one where the nipples have suds on’em. We would have made more money with nipples, but they chickened out.”
“I remember,” Cheryl chuckles.
“Nipples, really?” Haley says.
“I had beautiful breasts,” Cheryl declares.
“She did,” Ms. Angela says.
“Still does,” Cassandra corrects her. Suzy is now shaking her arms around her head like she’s going to explode or something.
Cheryl laughs hysterically. “Except now the nipples are below the surface no matter what!”
Everyone is laughing so hard, Damian finds refuge behind the bar.
When the laughter dies down, Haley says, “I’ll get naked to save the spa, but can we explore other options first?”
My heart swells at my friend’s suggestion. Even if she is joking, and I’d never let her do that if she weren’t, the fact that it crossed her mind and that she wants to help means the world to me.
“Can anyone talk to Georgie?” Cassandra interjects.
“Good luck with that,” Autumn answers. “He’s… not the most pleasant person.”
Alex wets her lips. “You got that right. We need a different angle.” I glance at Alex. Did she try to talk to my landlord? The way she’s ignoring my gaze, she totally did.
“We’ll think of something,” Cassandra says. “Right now, let’s give Grace some space to relax and think about other things.” Murmurs of approval meet her suggestion, and the din of conversation resumes.
What am I going to do? Scenarios build in my mind, each one bleaker than the other.
“Grace! Gracie?” Ms. Angela is touching my arm gently. She’s holding a small plate of appetizers Alex brought, and her friends are waiting for her to come back to their table.
“Sorry—you were saying?”
“I was asking about the massage business. How’s it going, dear?”
“Oh… uh… Picking up. You know. Slow and steady. Thank you.”
“I heard you have a young client?”
Um? “Oh—yes. Tracy.”
“She’s on the hockey team?”
“That’s right. And she was injured. I’m treating her right after practice.”
Kiara’s eyes widen. “At the Arena?”
“Yep.”
Haley eyes widen. “You never said!”
Kiara makes a show of whining and rolling her eyes. “Ohmygod, please don’t break Ethan’s heart again.”
I know she’s making a joke, but I don’t know where the punch line is. “Pardon?” My tone comes out more curt than I intended. My gaze involuntarily flits to Lynn and Mom, but they’re deep into their card game, and too far to hear us now that everyone is cackling again.
“Just kidding. Last time he was here he spent three days drunk. The running joke is it was because you got married.”
“What?”
She nods enthusiastically. “He was so plastered he had to leave before the end of the ceremony.” Plopping an appetizer in her mouth before Ms. Angela returns to her game, she lifts her shoulders, seeming to defy Haley to contradict her.
Haley glares daggers at Kiara but says nothing.
My heart bangs, yet my blood runs cold. “What are you talking about?” Ethan was not at my wedding. He couldn’t have been. “Why would he care if I got married? Besides, Ethan was not at my wedding.”
Kiara raises her hand. “Not that it matters, but he was. I was there. Me and Colton and Craig carried him out. Well, Craig and Colton carried him, and I drove the car back to the farm.”
Ethan was at my wedding? And he didn’t say anything to me? I’m about to say something like, he certainly didn’t get drunk because I was getting married, when Ms. Angela leans her chair back toward us. Glancing at the card-playing team to make sure Mom and Lynn don’t hear, she whispers, “Oh yes! I remember that. Young love! We were hoping he’d save the day and convince our Grace to stay in Emerald Creek and marry one of our own, but no such luck. She got whisked away to Texas!” She takes a loud gulp of her Moscow mule. “Luckily, that didn’t last long. You came back,” she adds, then straightens her chair to resume her mystery game.
My heart constricts at the circumstances that brought me back home.
I don’t talk about it, and I don’t want to think about it. As if feeling I need emotional support, Damian jumps on my lap and starts kneading my thighs. I hand my glass to Haley. “That wine is wicked good, Haley. Hit me up with another?”
She stands to pour me another drink, then hands it to me with a small smile. “Here you go, sister.”
And her calling me that—sister—just about kills me. Kills me right there. My bottom lip shakes and tears overflow. Damian jumps off my lap while Kiara takes the glass from me before it shakes so hard I stain Cassandra’s gorgeous off-white carpet.
“Oh-kay,” Cassandra says. “Time for some retail therapy. Grace, honey, you’re up!”
Kiara pulls me out of the bean bag. I take a deep breath and look bravely at Haley. “I’m good, I’m good,” I assure my friends. “It’s your wine,” I add for Haley’s benefit. “You should call it the Tearjerker. I don’t know what happened to me.”
“You’re just tired, dear,” Ms. Angela offers, her sideways glance to her friends telling a different story.
Damian rubs against my legs, but he doesn’t follow me into Cass’s boutique. That’s the domain of her white angora, and he knows it instinctively.
“Get in the changing room and take your clothes off,” Cass tells me. Every now and then she’ll pull someone out of Game Nights without an explanation, and she’ll give them a piece of lingerie of her choosing. Alex, who moved here last winter, told me she had gifted her a beautiful bodice. Now, Alex is having this torrid love story with Chris, so that makes sense. But me? “Cass, you know, I don’t really need anything. I mean, I’m super thankful that you want to—”
“Tut-tut-tut.” Cass hands me a two-piece swimsuit through the curtain. “Try this on.”
I indulge her. The bikini top cups my breasts in the most alluring way, but it has enough coverage that it doesn’t look like I’m trying out for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. The bottom is cut high on the thighs, the back barely covering my ass, but I guess—covering it. The swimsuit is in hues of crimson with a sprinkling of gold. There’s a gold charm at the back of the bottom that’s repeated in the center of the bra.
“Does it fit?”
Not gonna lie, I look great. The best I’ve felt in a long time. “I think?”
She swipes the curtain open. “Holy mother of god. Turn around. Wowzer.” She swipes the curtain closed. “That was easy. It’s all yours.”
“Cass, I… I want to pay for it. I can afford it.” I slip back into my faded jeans and silk blouse and enter the shop, where Cass is wrapping the swimsuit in silk paper. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do but—”
“Mmm, darling. You have no idea what I’m doing. All I’m asking you, is to choose wisely who you wear this for. ’Cause it’ll do a number on them.”
I smile inwardly. Cass has a bit of a reputation as a witch, and she’s demonstrating that she feeds that legend. I point to her she-shed where I left my bag. “Lemme get my wallet.”
“You don’t get it, do you? It’s a gift.” She turns to a shelf behind her and pulls out a folded piece of fabric that matches the bikini. “I’m adding the matching wrap.” She wraps it in a gold silk paper.
I open my mouth to protest.
She stares me down and grabs flip flops that jingle with the same charm and places them on top of the two wrapped items. “We can go all night. I have a whole shop.”
My eyes widen. “Thank you.”
She places her gifts in a purple bag with a golden owl as a logo. “The best way you can thank me is to be happy. Truly, deeply happy.” She hands me the bag.
Baubles won’t make me truly happy. Cass is a lovely woman, but she’s wrong here. I’ll indulge her for now, and then I’ll talk her into allowing me to return the gift. Maybe donate it as an auction item for the Silver House.
Or for the spa.
I set her gift next to the door and return to my spot on the bean bag. The older generation is gone, and it’s just a few of us left here now. Haley takes my hand. “You gonna be okay?”
I squeeze her hand back. “Yeah. I always am. Not like I have a choice.”
She leans against me. “That bad?”
I take a deep breath. “It’s just… I wasn’t prepared. There’s nothing between us, obviously.”
“Right,” she says. “Maybe—maybe you should talk it out with him. You know? Instead of him being this ghost from the past for you, if you got to know the new Ethan, it could sort of… exorcize it for you. Be done with him for good.”
That makes sense. She’s totally right. I need to exorcize the past. By making Ethan a part of my present life instead of trying to avoid him, I can put him back where he belongs. With my childhood friends. Nothing more. I probably won’t even like him that much.
“Also,” Haley continues, “you never had closure. You deserve closure.”
And again, she’s right. So right. I should have said yes to his offer of having coffee together. Instead of pushing him away at the farm the other day, I should have agreed to that conversation. Adult to adult.
None of this teen angst business. I’m better than that. “Thanks,” I tell Haley, believing wholeheartedly that this is what I need to do.
I’ll talk to him tomorrow.