5. Victoria
Chapter 5
Victoria
D ressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and with my hair scraped back in a ponytail, I hopped into the car and headed to the food pantry. Fridays were our busiest day of the week, since we weren’t open on weekends. I was weirdly energized, given I’d gotten almost no sleep.
For the most part, I was used to it. Most nights, I couldn’t quiet my brain. I’d lie in bed and repeat all my past mistakes until I passed out or had to get ready for work. And when I did sleep, I was plagued by nightmares.
Last night wasn’t anywhere close to typical for me. It was weird, yes, but it was fun. Soothing a fussy baby and softly singing Joni Mitchell songs to her all night was gratifying. It was nice feeling useful.
And Noah? God, that poor guy was struggling. Normally I didn’t put much stock in town gossip, but the rumors about his reappearance were flying. And last night, he’d given me a tiny glimpse into their situation. His and Tess’s.
I barely knew the guy, but we’d crossed a threshold last night. He’d trusted me with his kid, and I’d helped him out. Maybe it did make us friends.
I wasn’t sure I knew how to be a friend anymore. For years, Graham had isolated me. If I went out without him, he would get upset, and I’d never hear the end of it. After a while, it was easier to not go out on my own.
He was dismissive of the few friends I did have. The only people he wanted to hang out with were those he cared about.
Now I was free to make my own choices. And if that included making friends with the single dad upstairs, then so be it.
The freedom I’d found since my divorce felt better than I imagined it would.
I could eat what I wanted. Watch TV shows I was interested in. Go out, stay in, take up a silly hobby, plan a weird trip. After two years on my own, I was still wrapping my head around it.
How much I’d given up in order to be Graham’s wife.
How I had so happily handed over my autonomy wholesale.
To be a we instead of a me .
That was now my baby sister’s future. She would soon become Mrs. Graham Whitehall. And she would have his child.
I sipped my coffee as I pulled up to the food pantry. Chip, who’d owned the hardware store for decades and had passed it down to his son a few years ago, led the Friday morning volunteer brigade. This group consisted of mostly men in their seventies who wanted to get out of the house. They called themselves the geezer squad and came equipped with back braces and wrist supports.
And they did a damn good job unpacking the trucks.
As I hopped out of my car, Chip gave me a salute. “Produce is coming from Bangor in ten, boss.”
“Thank you. I need to send an email, and then I’ll be out to unload with you. I cleaned and disinfected the second fridge yesterday.”
He nodded, already gesturing to a group of his poker buddies who were lining up the dollies for the crates of apples, potatoes, and the other produce we’d receive today.
Inside, I hoofed it up two flights of stairs. Aunt Lou had renovated this old mansion on the outskirts of town in the eighties. She’d turned the first floor into an open space where clients could shop for groceries. It was equipped with a check-in station, where they had to show IDs before picking out the items they needed, and wheeled shelving we could easily rearrange. The old kitchen at the back of the house was fitted with refrigerators to store the perishable items we’d stocked for distribution each day.
On the second floor, we stored hygiene items and other household goods. There was a community space up here as well, where we held events. Our offices were crammed into the eaves on the top floor. From there, I took calls, paid bills, and applied for every grant I could find.
The jewel in the crown was the cinderblock-style garage. Last year, with an infusion of cash and some free construction labor, we’d renovated it and repaired the roof. Now it housed our commercial-grade refrigerator and freezer walk-ins. More freezer space gave us the ability to accept more meat deliveries, which had been crucial for many of our clients. We now had long-term storage and could parcel our distributions and plan in advance.
Out front, a large truck pulled up, so I dropped my purse and laptop and shed my hoodie. I was about to get a hell of a workout.
I rushed down the stairs and out the door, smiling at our garage as I passed it. Every time I looked at it—with efficient insulation, proper ventilation, and a shiny new metal roof—I said a prayer of thanks for Owen Hebert. He may have taken my best volunteer away when Lila moved to Boston with him, but he’d done so much good for the people of this region.
And now I was developing a strange late-night friendship with his brother.
Fucking small towns.
“You look pale,” Lou said, moving her knight.
I shrugged. My brain was foggy. There was no way she wasn’t going to spank me. That shouldn’t have been a surprise. Lou was an excellent chess player, and despite her tutoring over the years, I was mediocre at best.
“Are you taking care of yourself?”
Ignoring her question, I turned up the volume on the Bluetooth speaker. We started out with checkers when I was a little girl and worked our way up to chess. We also dabbled in card games when we needed a change. Naturally, she was great at cribbage too.
No matter what we were doing, we’d listen to music. Usually Dolly, but sometimes Tina Turner or Cher.
Aunt Lou closed her eyes and swayed to “Yellow Roses.”
“Such a good fucking song.”
My chest pinched at the genuine peace in her expression. No disease would take her spirit. She’d been doing so well for so long, but now, in her sixties, she needed a lot more help.
“If you won’t talk to me about your health and happiness, how about work?” She moved again, one step closer to checking me.
“What are you doing about the egg shortage?And have you heard back from Feeding America? That grant application was fucking pristine. You are damn good at this.”
Aunt Lou was a true saint. For decades, she’d devoted herself to helping others. She had never met a problem she would not roll up her sleeves and solve, and she loved nothing more than drinking whiskey and swearing like a sailor on shore leave.
I arched a brow. “It’s good to see this place isn’t dimming your shine.”
“You know my favorite word is fuck ,” she said as I contemplated my next move. “I’m going nuts here. Everyone is always smiling and the place is so clean and shiny. What am I supposed to do all day?”
We’d been over this many times since she’d moved in. Here, she could live independently but have support and community. “Join the walking club,” I said, like I did every time she asked that question. “Or play bridge. Go to the shopping center. Get your hair done. Isn’t there a community garden here?”
She glared at me. “I miss doing important shit.”
“You still help me with accounting. You still proofread the grant applications. You haven’t been put out to pasture.”
Straightening, she harrumphed. I had her there. She could no longer unload the trucks and be on her feet all day helping clients, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t stay involved.
“Any luck recruiting more volunteers? People around here need to do more. Communities are built on effort and hard work. If we all sat around on our asses, society would crumble.”
She’d been giving this lecture my entire life. No one was more energetic and willing to help than Aunt Lou. In her mind, everyone else should be too.
I nodded. “The high school is giving academic credit for volunteer hours. Several rising seniors are set to do a summer internship.”
Her expression softened a fraction, but she didn’t stop her inquisition. “And diapers? Did the diaper bank in Portland approve our request?”
“Not yet, but I’m optimistic. I’ll have to pay for delivery, but we could receive three times as many as we have been. Other items too. Baby shampoo, more formula. I think it’ll make a big difference.”
Our community needed much more than food. I was grateful for every bruised apple we received, but the need didn’t stop there. Diapers were at the top of our list, as were feminine hygiene products.
“I’ve been thinking about adding a laundry facility,” I said as Lou slid her queen into position.
“Check.” She zeroed in on my face. “How and where?”
“The basement. I’m going hard on larger corporate donors. Hoping I can get some washers and dryers donated.”
She hummed. “It’s a great idea…”
It was, but it would take a lot of work to make it happen. Especially after my strange and unresolved meeting with the Huxleys yesterday.
My busy nighttime babysitting activities had kept me from fretting over the absolute shitshow the whole day had been. And how devastated I’d been when I’d gotten that phone call.
I picked up Lou’s whiskey tumbler and took a long drink. “Alex is pregnant.”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. As always, her nails were painted fire-engine red. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
I shook my head.
She covered my hand with hers, her skin papery soft. “I’m so sorry, sweets. Pregnant? The wedding is only a few months away.”
I shook my head. “Mom didn’t call you? They’re moving it up to Memorial Day weekend. She bought a thirty-thousand-dollar dress for Alex and is demanding they get married while it still fits.”
“Jesus.”
“Yup. Rather than a few months, we’ve got a few weeks.”
“Gimme my drink back.” She took the glass from me and downed its contents in one gulp. “You gonna be okay?”
I shrugged. “I feel like shit right now, but eventually I’ll be okay.”
Graham had done me a favor. The countless faceless women he’d met on Tinder had done me a favor.
Though I could have done without the chlamydia.
But antibiotics did the trick. Thank you, science.
All of it had given me the strength to leave. I should have done it long before, but I’d been programmed to keep calm and smile and do all I could to preserve the happy facade I hid behind. From a young age, my parents had taught me appearances were all that mattered.
Aunt Lou got up and returned with a container of cookies-and-cream ice cream and two spoons. For as long as I could remember, she had kept a carton in her freezer for me.
It’s because of her that I finally got out. Because she’d provided counterprogramming to my parents’ toxic messaging, she’d helped me figure out who I was and what I wanted.
Graham was a lawyer and philanthropist. My parents were obsessed with him. He checked every box.
Knew all the right people. Had played lacrosse in prep school.
He was the kind of guy who owned his own tuxedo.
He played golf with the deputy mayor.
He was ambitious and driven, and together, we built what looked like a dream life. High-powered careers, exotic travel, an expensive condo with ocean views, and elite social events.
But day by day, I disappeared.
He didn’t like to be inconvenienced, so I learned to be small, to not take up too much space, and not to have too many opinions.
So when he worked late, I didn’t question it. If I did, he’d fault me for being controlling or demanding. I forced myself to accept that he was important and successful. I lived in a state of denial, sitting alone in our overpriced condo, reading the boring ass nonfiction books he’d buy for me while he was out fucking half of Boston.
“I love you, kid.” Lou chased a bite of ice cream with a sip of whiskey. “I see how strong and generous and amazing you are. Even if those dumb fucks don’t.”
Tears stung at the backs of my eyes. After all the work I’d done on myself, I had to go watch my baby sister marry my ex-husband while pregnant with his child.
I’d worked so hard to heal, to rebuild my life, to find my passion and make new friends, only to end up being the sad, barren spinster at Perfect Princess Alexandra’s wedding.
I put my head in my hands and cried.
Lou draped one thin arm around me and pulled me close. “I know this seems epically shitty, but I promise, the universe has good things waiting for you.”
All I could do was sob in response.
“It’s okay. Let it out. Cry and rage. Do whatever you need to do. Because you are going to that wedding, and you are going to look beautiful and unbothered. You hear me?”
I nodded. There was no way that was happening, but I didn’t have the strength to argue.
“Do you think Chris Evans is free? You need a hot date.”
A hiccup of a laugh escaped me. “He just got married.”
“Aw, fuck. I was holding out hope he’d drive up from Massachusetts, fall in love with you, and then introduce me to Robert Downey Jr.”
Though the tears continued to fall, I couldn’t help but grin. God, I loved her.
“I mean it, kid. If you’re gonna survive this, you need a killer outfit and a hot date.”