35. Ethan
thirty-five
Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have come during business hours. I can see that Grace is very particular about how she runs her business, and seeing how successful she is—I mean, the place is always packed—she knows what she’s doing. And quiet and peacefulness is one of the things I know she wants at A Touch Of Grace.
I caused some disruption this morning. Hopefully she won’t get too many complaints. Hopefully the benefit of having her deck back for the enjoyment of her clients will outweigh the nuisance of my unannounced presence there.
But really—the landlord? Bullshit. The damage was not from last night or last week. You could tell from the break. It was fresh, but not that fresh. It’s taken care of now. Grace can hold her outdoor thing now, whatever that was. It seemed important to her, so it’s important to me.
I’m angered and worried that Grace is going to lose her space, though. And to Amy, of all people. Can she just get a break? My stomach is in knots just thinking about how she must feel about the whole situation. There’s got to be a way. I just don’t know what it is.
I fill up the truck with gas and drop it off at the job site Lucas is currently working. “You sure you don’t want a job?” he half jokes.
Last time, I turned him down without hesitation. This time? It takes me a beat. The temptation is real.
But seriously. No. The promotion I’m up for? It’s huge. Not the money—that’s never a factor when you’re in the service. The prestige? A little of that. But nothing to brag about. You don’t want anyone to know what you’re really doing. No—it’s the impact I have. The knowledge that I’m really making a difference in keeping the world safe.
That’s not something I’m ready to give up.
Fighting my feelings, I gun my bike back into town and stop at the antique shop. There’s another project I want to work on for Grace before I leave. This one requires more creativity and no muscle work.
I clench my jaw at the memory of the ring I’d made for her. Not gonna lie, I had forgotten about it. But when she told me the story, it came back to me. Brutally. Raw. In all the pure truth of our childhood feelings. Grace was always special to me. She was. I admired her from afar for how lively and fragile and pure she was, like Mama’s flowers. And occasionally, I had to protect her. Help her. Serve her. Like when Haley and Justin thought it was okay to play wedding day and have her stand there holding a makeshift train.
No way.
Not Grace.
Grace, in my eyes, was always meant to be the center of attention. The star. How could they not see that?
“Ethan? Ethan?”
I whip my head to the redhead calling my name in the Antique shop. “Autumn! It’s been a minute.” If memory serves me well, her parents own the shop. “Do you work here now? Or did you take over?”
A large smile brightens her face and she rolls her eyes. “Not a chance. But I am setting myself up as a decorator, and I shop here… occasionally. Or a lot,” she says, laughing, “depending on what my clients want.”
“Decorator, huh? That’s cool.”
“What brings you here?”
I tell her a little about my project, getting more animated as she nods enthusiastically at my words.
“That is so sweet. Let me show you a couple of things that I think might help, and then I’ll run out of here before Dad convinces me that I am actually working here.”
A half-hour later, I’m fastening my purchases to the back of my bike when I spot Amy on the street, strutting up to me on the sidewalk like she owns the place. She flashes a smile at me and places her hand on my chest like she owns me. “Ooh, someone’s been working out,” she purrs. “Wanna go for coffee?”
I want to tell her to go to hell, is what I want. “Sure, let’s catch up.”
“Hitch a ride?”
“Maybe another time. Let’s just walk.”
“Easy’s not that close.”
“What’s wrong with the coffee here?” I point my chin to the general store. They still have that god awful juice that tastes like fermented ashtray. If Amy really wants a coffee with me, that’s what she’ll have to put up with. Once she’s done hearing me out, she’ll probably just throw it to my face anyway.
“Hey, it’s all about the company, right?” she answers, pulling my hand to hers and leading me inside. The woman has no shame.
I pull my hand away from hers, pretending it’s just to get the door, and once she’s inside, tuck both my hands in my pockets. There. That should do it.
Noah walks by us as we’re helping ourselves to coffee, does a double take at Amy, and thankfully says nothing as I take a sip from the near-full plastic cup.
The dishwater that passes as coffee is just marginally better than I remember it, or maybe I’ve gotten less difficult with age. Amy decides we’re to drink it on their back patio that is new to me. “You know what, I like this spot better than Easy’s. It’s more private.”
“So, I hear you’re buying a new place?”
She purses her lips. “Oh… so that’s why you’re having coffee with me. You think you can talk me out of it. You know what, Ethan? Yeah, I’m buying a new place. I fucking deserve it. I worked my ass off for the money I’m making, and if I wanna buy the prettiest little house in town and live there, it’s my fucking right.”
I heard Amy became an actress or something, and good for her for making it. It’s not a given. The woman has grit. “It’s just… I kinda find it interesting that you don’t seem to give a fuck that Grace might lose her business because of that. I’m sure there are other houses that are just as nice, even nicer. Places with land. Where you could raise a family. Have a big back yard. Horses. Whatever.”
She smirks. “Tough luck. She can outbid me.”
No she can’t, and Amy knows that. Grace doesn’t have that kind of money. “I’m just surprised someone from Emerald Creek would do that, is all. A tourist? Sure, any day. But us? It’s just not… not how we look out for each other.”
She sets her paper cup on the table and crosses her arms. “Look who’s talking, giving me lessons on small-town life,” she snarls.
“Seems to me you left Emerald Creek as well. Looks like you forgot how to be a decent person in the process. I’m trying not to.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Seriously? You’re trying to be a decent person? You’re trying to do the right thing by Grace, of all people?”
What the fuck is she getting at? Hell yeah, I am.
She snickers. “You roll into town, get in her bed, she’s got so many hearts in her eyes it’s pathetic to see, really, and then what? What’s your plan, Ethan?”
What does she fucking mean?
“Mm? Nothing?”
I crinkle my empty coffee cup, throw it in the overflowing garbage can, and stand.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She stands too, leaving her still full coffee cup on the table. “See, the way I look at it, I’m doing her a favor. Cause when you get out of Dodge, once again, with her heart broken way beyond repair this time, guess what will keep her mind off your stupid dick? Me. The fact that she needs to fight to keep her business afloat. The fact that she needs to move and start over somewhere else.”
The woman is crazy. Positively crazy. I swing the store’s back door open and stomp through to the front, Amy on my heels, Noah glancing at us from behind the register. “Next thing you know, you’re gonna tell me you’re doing this all for Grace,” I spit as I march past checkout, ignoring the stares following the two of us.
“Nope. I’m not. I’m doing it for me. Just like you are. Whatever it is you’re doing,” Amy says, waving dismissively at my saddlebags packed with shit, “it’s for you. The difference between me and you is, whatever I’m doing is going to help her get over whatever shit you’re pulling on her.”
I’m so angry with her I can’t even talk.
“Like leaving like the fucking coward you are,” she thinks necessary to enlighten me.
“Always a pleasure to catch up with you,” I snap as I straddle my bike.
“Pleasure’s all mine!” she yells back.
I fasten my helmet and count to three before starting the bike. Wiggle my neck to work out the tension. Then count back down. Three. Two. One.
Okay. Amy Fucking Keller is out of my mind. For real.
But as I ride up to the farm, my thoughts drift back to Justin. Looks like dark thoughts are the theme today, because guilt eats me as I think back to him going through months in the hospital and in rehab after his accident. Guilt for not being there. For having been part of the succession of events that brought this upon him.
A succession of events that also tore Grace away from me.
There’s no way for us to repair what was lost. Those ten years apart, resenting each other, longing for each other, missing each other, and eventually building lives without each other.
As I get organized in the small workshop Dad has off the main barn, I wonder what I’m doing here, creating yet other souvenirs of what could have been? Is this what I’m supposed to do to fix it? As I nail and hammer and sand, taking pride in my work, I can’t help but ask myself: Does it really fix anything for her? I’m doing stuff that makes me feel good—but what about her?
Could Amy be right?
When Grace goes on the deck of her spa and sees the off-color planks, is she going to think about me each time? Will that bring her comfort or pain?
Am I being selfish by wanting to do things for her?
Am I forgetting about the most important person here—Grace?
I take a deep breath and look at my handiwork. Not gonna lie, it looks great. I think she’s gonna love it. And if she doesn’t? She can always throw it in the back of her dressing room. Throw it at me.
She might.
When she comes back from work that evening, her reaction ends up being, “Ohmygod, Ethan.” And honest to god, I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.