CHAPTER ELEVEN GABRIELLE
CHAPTER ELEVEN
G AbrIELLE
Y ou cook just like Grandma,” I say, putting away the last plate. “Dinner was delicious, Cricket.”
Cricket’s kitchen is the opposite of mine. The stove itself probably costs more than every appliance in my kitchen. It’s emerald green with gold knobs that complement the bespoke refrigerator across the room. She has a mixer, chopper, and slicer for every meal-prep step. It’s quite a change from my cupboard’s single can opener and cutting board.
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you to say.” She smiles over her shoulder. “One of my regrets is that I never had the chance to cook with her. I mean, sure, we mixed and stirred. But I never got to stand in the kitchen and create a meal with her.”
“She would be impressed by you.”
My cousin beams.
“What’s for dessert?” Peter comes into the kitchen and hands Cricket his tea glass. “Did you make a sheet cake?”
“No,” she says, setting the glass in the sink. “I made a pineapple upside-down cake instead.”
“Oh. I thought we talked about a sheet cake?”
“We did. But I changed the menu, and a sheet cake didn’t go with our entrée, dear.” She gives him a forced smile and turns to me. “Would you like a piece of cake?”
“I would!” Carter races into the room, sliding the last few feet in his socks. “I love cake.”
I tousle his hair. “Don’t run in the house, Carter.”
He leans his head back and smiles wide.
“So, what’s it like to be back in Alden, Gabby?” Peter asks.
“We love it,” Carter says. “Don’t we, Mom?”
He takes a slice of cake from Cricket.
“Sit at the table in the dining room with that,” I say.
Peter grins as Carter holds the cake like a prize while walking to the dining room. “He’s a cute kid. I remember when Kyle was that little. Feels like yesterday.” He stands tall. “Speaking of the devil ...”
Kyle walks in, looking like the spitting image of his father. He wraps an arm around my neck in a faux headlock. “Some of my friends are going to play ball at the rec center. Can I go?”
“Be back before it gets too late,” Cricket says. “You have school tomorrow.”
“For goodness’ sake, Cricket. The boy’s sixteen. Let him live a little.”
She whips around with the cake server in her hand. “I know how old he is, Peter. I was there when he was born.”
“I’ll be back by eight.” Kyle lets me go. Then he steps between them, kissing his mother on the cheek. “Dinner was great.”
“Thank you.”
“Bye, Gabby,” Kyle says.
“Goodbye.”
He knuckle-bumps his father, and Peter follows him out of the room.
Cricket’s cheeks are flushed the same color of red as her apron.
“Hey, are you okay?” I ask, moving closer to her.
She drops the server on the plate with a bit more force than necessary. “Yes. I’m fine. Just aggravated.”
“Mom, can I go with Kyle?” Dylan stands in the doorway. Uncertainty is clear on his face. “He asked me to.”
“Sure. Have fun.”
He nods warily and disappears around the corner.
Cricket removes her apron and tosses it on the counter.
“It’s none of my business, and I don’t want to pry,” I say carefully. “But I’m here to listen if you need to talk about anything.”
“I’m fine, Gabby. But thank you for the sweet offer.”
The fire in her eyes tells me she’s not fine. But it also warns me not to poke.
A loud crack rumbles through the air, garnering an eye roll from Cricket.
“What is that?” I ask.
“Kyle’s truck.”
“Oh. That is a little ...”
“Obnoxious?” she offers. “I loathe it. It’s so tacky. But Peter took him to get the ... whatever parts to make it sound like that. So what can I say?”
The look on her face tells me she’s probably said a lot about it. And was completely ignored.
“That’s one good thing about being a single parent,” I say. “There’s no one to argue with or to trump me. I am the final say.”
“So what did you think of Della and Scottie?” Cricket asks, her voice an octave higher than usual. “Della can be a little forward, and Scottie a touch dramatic. But they’re very sweet.”
“I thought they were great. They both seem like they could be a lot of fun.”
“They can be fun, all right.” She glances toward the sound of Peter’s voice in the living room. “Would you like to sit outside on the patio? It’s a beautiful evening.”
“I’d love to.”
The sun is warm as we sit on the wicker chairs facing Bittersweet Court. A butterfly flutters around the flower bed between the patio and the road. It moves happily from plant to plant, as if it has no care in the world. Wouldn’t that be nice?
I spent most of Reverend Smith’s sermon early this morning pondering my life and elbowing Dylan to keep him awake. Seeing so many friendly, familiar faces when we walked in gave me energy. Sitting in the pew where our grandmother and my mother once sat was inspiring.
I come from a long line of women who are strong. Fierce. Who made it through the Great Depression, divorce, miscarriages, house fires, and more. They suffered, yet their resilience, grit, and determination drove them forward. They kept moving. And somewhere between the sermon and “Amazing Grace,” I realized I’m in that group too. I made it. I just need to keep moving forward.
But just because you’ve made it to the other side of the fire doesn’t mean life returns to the way it was before. Once you’ve been through the flames, you’re burned. Those scars never totally heal.
What will my life look like now that I’m on the other side? It’s been so long since I was in life mode, not survival mode, that I’m not even sure.
“What are you thinking about?” Cricket asks.
“If I told you, you’d laugh.”
“Try me.”
I settle back in my chair. “Okay. I was wondering what living a normal life looks like.”
“What?” She smiles but doesn’t laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I’ve tiptoed around for months, waiting for the sky to fall at any minute. I’m just now feeling like it might be okay to breathe. If I put roots down and take a step forward, maybe the world won’t slam my hopes in my face.”
“Oh, honey.” She grabs my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “This last year must’ve been just awful for you.”
“You know, I’ve had that thought every day for months. ‘This is awful.’ Over and over. But maybe thinking that kept me there, if that makes sense. When Reverend Smith started the sermon, he began with a passage about forgetting former things and not dwelling on the past. And my mind just took off.”
She smiles.
“Scottie said something to me yesterday, too, that’s been gnawing on me. I’ve been waiting for Dylan to change his behavior. But maybe I’m keeping him from doing that because I’m not changing mine.” I turn to face her. “Maybe I need to start going forward for him to know it’s safe.”
“I love that.”
Me too.
We sit quietly, watching the butterflies. Carter comes out and dribbles his basketball up and down the sidewalk. His tongue sticking out the side of his mouth makes Cricket and me laugh.
“I’m going to go inside for a minute,” Cricket says. “Do you need me to bring you a drink when I return?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
She stands and goes back into the house.
I take out my phone and scroll through social media. I’m midcomment on a friend from Boston’s post when a text buzzes.
Hey, it’s Della. I got your number from Cricket.
My fingers shuffle over the keys.
Me: Hey.
Della: Do you have plans for Friday night?
Me: No.
Della: Great. Let’s go out and have some drinks.
I read her text again. “Let’s go out and have some drinks.” When was the last time I went out on a Friday night?
“What’s wrong?” Cricket asks, taking her seat.
“Della just asked if I wanted to go for drinks on Friday night.”
“Well, it would be memorable. I’ll promise you that.”
I smile at her. “Should I go?”
“You’ve been saying you want to put a step forward. Here’s your chance.” She flicks a piece of dust off her armrest. “I’ll keep an eye on the boys. Peter will be gone golfing for the weekend, so it’ll give me something to do.”
“Would you want to come with us?”
She laughs loudly. “With Della? No, ma’am. I’m a happily married woman and want to keep it that way.”
I laugh, too, and text Della back.
Me: Let’s do it!
Della: I’ll confirm the time with you later.
Me: Sounds great.
“Is she really as wild as you say she is?” I ask, setting my phone on the edge of a plant stand.
She considers this. “Yes and no. She did have two very burly-looking gentlemen leaving her house within five minutes of each other. And I have heard tales of her, another couple, caramel sauce, and a blow dryer.”
“Really?”
She shrugs.
“Mom!” Carter’s little voice echoes down the street. “Mom!”
I look up to find my son running down the sidewalk with his ball tucked under his arm. Another little boy runs alongside him.
“Mom! Can I go to the park with Hayes?” he asks, dragging in a breath. “Please?”
“My mom is going too,” Hayes says, pointing to a lady coming up the sidewalk, pushing a stroller. “See? That’s her.”
Carter bounces up and down. “Please?”
“Let me talk to Hayes’s mom first,” I say.
The boys accompany me, one kid attached to either side, to the woman, as if I might lose my way.
“I’m Freya,” she says, grinning.
“Hi. I’m Gabby. I wanted to say thank you for keeping an eye on Carter the other day. My son Dylan said he met you and gave Carter permission to go with you.”
“I hope that’s okay.”
I smile. “Of course. I just didn’t want you to think I was a bad mom. We’d never met before, and my little boy just traipses off with you to the park.”
She laughs. “I make it a habit never to judge moms. I know how hard it is. Besides, Dylan was very polite and got my name.”
He did? He didn’t share it with me.
“And I saw Jay Stetson working on your deck,” she says. “I thought if you had a problem with me taking Carter, Jay could assure you I’m not a childnapper.”
“Yes, he did mention that he knew you and your husband.”
Freya gives the baby in the stroller a pacifier. “We need to get moving, or my little lovebug in here will start screaming like she has for the last five hours.” She laughs. “The joys of motherhood.”
“Good luck.”
“I’ll just drop Carter off as we walk by in an hour or so,” she says.
“That’s perfect. I’ll be home by then.”
She nods, gathers the kids, and heads for the park.
Just as I’m about to return to Cricket’s, a black truck comes down the road. It slows as it approaches and rolls to a stop next to me.
Jay slides sunglasses off his face. He looks over my head and gives Cricket a little wave. Then he turns his sights on me.
“Are you any more agreeable this afternoon than earlier this morning?” he asks, grinning.
That grin could melt an iceberg.
I return his grin. “I’m always agreeable, Jay. I don’t know what you mean.”
He chuckles, the sound electrifying the air between us.
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“I’m headed to the grocery store. Since I’ll be home all week, I gotta grab breakfast and lunch stuff.” He licks his lips. “What are you up to?”
“Cricket made dinner. We’re just sitting out here and enjoying the day. I’m probably going to head home soon and try to get a bit of work done.”
“Oh. What kind of work do you do?”
“I name babies.”
His eyes go wide. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“No.” I laugh. “I name babies as a side hustle.”
“People pay you for that?”
My laughter gets louder, and I don’t bother to reply.
“All right,” he says, shifting in his seat. “I better go. Enjoy your Sunday.”
I tap his truck and take a step back. He pulls away slowly. Once he’s down the road, he picks up his speed. The rumble of the engine growls through the air.
“What was that all about?” Cricket asks.
I jump to find her standing on the sidewalk behind me. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and a knowing grin is painted on her red lips.
“That was nothing. He just said hello,” I say.
“Gabrielle, Jay Stetson says hello to no one on this street. Not willingly, anyway.”
I lift my chin and step off the road and next to her. “He speaks to me.”
“Interesting.”
“Well, we are neighbors, so it makes sense. Right?”
“Yes,” she says curiously. “But it is surprising. He’s quite reserved. It makes me wonder ... Have you already wooed the mysterious Jay Stetson with your womanly wiles?”
We both laugh.
I think again of the “almost” moments.
“But it would’ve been wrong of me to do that because it wouldn’t have gone anywhere.”
“No,” I say, sighing. “He said that there could never be anything between us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like flirting with him.”
“You and every other woman in the world. But he doesn’t flirt back with the others.”
I gaze down the street. He’s long gone.
“He doesn’t exactly flirt with me either,” I say. “And if he does, he makes sure to temper it with something that reminds me that he will never act on it.”
She hums. “Well, then, I guess you just see what happens.”
“Nothing will happen, Cricket. He’s made that loud and clear. And I’m just overly needy because I haven’t had sex in a long damn time.” I wink at her. “But I will sharpen my skills on him this week to use Friday night with Della.”
“Oh dear.”
I laugh at the expression on her face. “On that note, I’m heading home. Thank you for a wonderful Sunday dinner.”
She gives me a quick hug. “I love that you’re here.”
“Me too.” I pull away. “Thank you for helping me and the boys get settled in. Alden is feeling like home again.”
Life is feeling so much less ... lonely now.
“Well, we are glad to have you back.”
Cricket heads into the house, and I walk toward home.