23. Grady
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Grady
The look on Marina’s face when she sees me holding her notebook is something I’ll remember forever. Her distress vanishes into surprise and then gasping relief and appreciation—she can’t fucking believe it. I bet whatever he said to her, the stunted prick, convinced her that she’d never see it again, that it’d be his to steal forever, holding a piece of her captive.
That’s what men like him do. They take.
She makes her way to me, barely looking both ways before crossing and slowed only by the pinch still in her hip. Then, like she’s crossing a difficult finish line, she lunges forward, latching onto my neck and crushing the thick notebook between us.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my neck. “Thank you.”
I force down the uncomfortable lump in my throat and breathe her in—the softness of her, the way her hair tickles my cheek, her delicate strength—and, for the first time since the accident, the unbearable weight of guilt eases gently off my shoulders.
“My fucking pleasure, Captain,” I manage finally.
She chuckles, pulling away and taking her notebook with her. She doesn’t look at it, though. Only me. Her sweet, adoring smile becomes my new mission.
“You really are something, Tripp Grady Tripp.”
“Yeah, but what? That’s the question.” I turn and open the door for her. “Ready?”
She climbs in, and I quickly follow on the driver’s side, lest the idiot realize what’s happened and chase us down in the parking lot. While I’d love a confrontation with Ashehole, I don’t want Marina suffering anymore. She’s had enough for one day.
We drive silently like she’s digesting what just happened, hopefully finding peace about it. Closure, if there’s such a thing. She’s not upset like she was when she exited the building. Instead, she beams, watches the world pass by her window, and occasionally taps her fingers on the binder as if reminding herself that it’s still there.
When we reach Monkey Junction, I pull into the Staples parking lot. The Beast rolls to a squeaking stop in the closest space I can get, and I switch off the purring engine.
“Short on office supplies?” she asks.
“We’re not here for me.” I turn toward her. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go in there. You’ll find a new notebook, paper, pens, markers, stickers, whatever your organizing heart wants. My treat.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue.
“Marina, please.” I motion to her worn and rather overfull Trapper Keeper. “This belongs to you, and I’m glad you got it back. But Sunny’s is over. A new store needs a new notebook. Don’t you think?”
Her pink lips curve into a resigned grin as she takes a deep breath. “Sunny’s is over,” she repeats, wanting it to sink in.
She roams the aisles aimlessly at first, contemplating something and putting it back on repeat.
“How’d you get the notebook?” she asks, playing with pens.
“It’s a grocery store. Not Fort Knox. I found his office. It was right there on his desk. His door wasn’t even locked.” She nods listlessly, still not dropping anything into the basket I’m carrying.
Watching her light up when we walked into the new Sunny’s, her passion for her work became abundantly clear. It’s not an act she puts on. She genuinely enjoys what she does. I even saw hints of it when we toured the G it fucking inspired her.
“Marina,” I say, as she contemplates the fiftieth pen she’s examined since we strolled down this aisle, “If you don’t start filling this basket, I’ll fill it for you.”
She purses her lips. “I do love school supplies.”
“Prove it.”
She drops the multicolored pens into my basket.
“Fill it, Marina. Seriously. Get everything you need to start the G&G project.”
A few steps later, she adds more, seemingly more unrestrained every time something drops in. Good. After Ashe, I want her to feel better. Or at least, distracted.
“Tell me more about Wade,” she says, ogling measuring tapes. She chooses a pink one and tosses it in the basket. “Why exactly is he off-limits around the rest of the family? Or is that too personal? Just say it’s none of my?—”
“Nah, asking questions falls under our truth policy. Right? I didn’t want to discuss it with Marigold in the car. Family drama stresses her out.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Thinking about Uncle Wade and where to begin, I’m overrun with memories. “Dad and Wade have always had a strained relationship. Dad was always the responsible one, Wade the partier. My grandfather died, leaving the farm to Dad and half of the G&G and the trailer park to Wade. He took that as a slight.”
“Well, it is a swamp, but it’s surprisingly beautiful there.” She circles the notebook aisles, picking up binders and putting them back. It’s a struggle, focusing on my story with her nibbling her bottom lip over every decision and smiling as ideas come to her. I swear, I could watch this woman all day without saying a word. Her eyes cut to mine, urging me to continue.
“Um, yeah. In Granddad’s defense, Wade’s never been good with money or responsibility… at least not until Maureen came into his life.”
“Oh, tell me about Maureen.” She perks up, finally deciding on a hardcover spiral notebook with tabbed sections, interior pockets, and a pen holder. She holds it up. “Green, like the lily pads around the swamp.”
“Perfect.” I smile as she drops it in. “Maureen was Wade’s… everything. He was at a particularly bad place in his life, drinking a lot, pissing people off, until finally, one day, he took off on his motorcycle for a cross-country adventure. Three months later, he came back with Maureen.”
“A whirlwind romance.” She tugs her jean jacket off and ties its arms around her waist, making me remember my hands there last night and wanting them there again. Damn it, Grady. “That’s sweet.”
I chuckle. “He says they met at a biker bar in Texas—not sure I’d call it sweet, exactly. But they were perfect for each other. She was loud, direct, and sassy, never took his crap, and we all loved her instantly. Maureen helped Wade run the store. I wish you could’ve seen it then. It was the perfect convenience store. Ice-cold sodas, all the best snacks and candy a kid could want, a chest full of ice cream treats, weird random shit like packs of cards and poker chips, magazines and comics, and The Canteen. That’s what Maureen called the bar where she’d serve fountain drinks and hot dogs. I’ve never had a hot dog as good since then. We’d fight over the stools and spin on them until we got dizzy. Or fell off. The G&G was never new or fancy, but it had…”
“Character,” she finishes.
“Exactly.”
She adds Post-It Notes and a flexible ruler to the basket. “So, what changed?”
“Wade and Maureen went out on the lake on his boat, had a lot to drink, fell asleep, and when he woke up, she was gone.”
“Gone?” She stops in her tracks.
“She was found the next day. She drowned. Wade has no idea what happened, only that the authorities concluded that she must’ve fallen overboard during the night. An accident precipitated by alcohol.”
Marina’s entire frame slumps as if she knew Maureen personally. “Grady, I’m so sorry.”
“It was a huge blow to the family, especially Wade.”
“He must’ve been devastated.”
“Still is. Everything fell apart after that. Dad blamed him. Wade blamed himself. They fought about it. Dad said he wouldn’t bring us around him anymore, that he couldn’t be trusted with us. That pretty much ruined their relationship permanently. Sounds harsh, but Dad had a point. Wade buried himself in a bottle.”
“Everyone has a story that defines what comes after and changes them forever.”
“Yeah, like us.”
“Mom used to say I was her story.” Her soft smile hooks my attention. She curves around the aisle’s end, offering slightly more explanation when she says, “She had me young. She wasn’t ready. She’d tell me I was her story but never that it was the one she wanted.”
She laughs lightly, though I don’t know why. I remember her mentioning her mom during her migraine and how she would braid her hair on good days .
“What happened to her?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She moves into the next aisle, leaving me with this rare insight into her.
I’m not sure what bothers me more—her not knowing where her mom is or her belief that she wasn’t wanted.
I want to know more, but she gives me a pointed look. “I don’t know much about how families are supposed to work. But I bet Maureen wouldn’t want Wade or any of you holding on to guilt and anger over losing her. What good does that do? It only keeps you apart.”
I can’t argue. She sounds like Aunt Elena—the only one who still talks to Wade regularly—and I feel bad for the distance between us, especially when I think of all my good memories of him.
“Tell me about Roy and Christie,” she urges, dropping felt-tip markers into my basket.
I share what little I know about them. They’ve been friends as long as I can remember. I chuckle, explaining Roy’s hot dog eating contests, how he always made us laugh, and how he often advised me badly on how to pick up girls when I was a teenager. I share that Christie used to be an electrical engineer, but gave it up when he came to live at The Marshes after his marriage ended. Being a stay-at-home dad and staying close to his friends mattered more to Christie than a big house or lucrative career. I remember Wade, Roy, and Christie often fixing cars for people in the trailer park. And that they’d always drop whatever they were doing to hang out with me and my siblings when we stopped by. It was like we were all family—a feeling I forgot until now.
Marina doesn’t say much as I ramble on about them and my memories of the place. But she smiles at my stories with the same wanton approval I remember from the hospital when she saw Ashe crying on his mom’s shoulder.
After Staples, she asks to go to the G&G for what she calls “detailing.” On the quiet drive there, I consider what she said about not knowing how families work. Her mom is gone, her ‘work family’ dissolved, and the family she thought she’d have with Ashe destroyed. For her, family must be an intangible fantasy that exists for everyone else but slips through her fingers like rain in a cupped hand. I can’t imagine how lonely that must feel or how she smiles so easily despite everything.
And I feel bad for complaining.
When we arrive at the property, Christie tumbles out of a hammock in his front yard when he sees us. Then, he beams, waving at us with the book in his hand before racing inside his trailer.
Wade and Roy watch Seinfeld on an old tube TV behind the store’s counter, smoking and drinking as usual.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Marina says cheerfully. “I’m just here to take some notes.”
Wade huffs. “Whatever floats your boat.”
“ Friends comes on after this,” Roy reports. “Pull up a chair and have a beer or two.”
“Too much to do, I’m afraid.” Marina pats her notebook. “But y’all enjoy. You won’t have many more lazy days like this once we start.”
She bookends her remark with a shoulder bounce and a giggle, striking sudden fear into the two men as they exchange pained looks and twist in my direction. I return their gazes with irritation and a look that says yes, you’ll have to get off your asses . They groan, taking in my meaning without needing words.
Marina takes in our cryptic exchange. “Don’t worry, fellas. It’ll be fun.”
Then, she gazes across the store dreamily. She wanders through the aisles with her lily pad green notebook, pink measuring tape, ruler, and a handful of markers and pens sticking out of her dress pocket. She’s abandoned her jean jacket and pulled her long hair into a ponytail that sways softly when she walks.
I repeat my new mantra that she’s too young, too beautiful, too goddamned nice, but bittersweet imaginings erupt anyway. Combing my fingers through her sunset hair. My lips skirting across her moonlight skin. Breathing her in like oxygen. Just the thought of her makes my body hum. Hell, being this close to her feels like an honor.
What is it about this woman that makes me feel things again—things I sure as fuck don’t want to feel?
“Oh, somebody’s got it bad,” Roy coos, snatching my attention away from her. “I’ve seen that look before.”
Wade huffs. “Shit, Grady. Hope this isn’t more about your dick than helping her out.”
“Shut up,” I yell-whisper across the counter. “I don’t have a look.”
Wade’s lips sputter as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you keep telling?—”
“I’m here, Marnie!” Christie bursts into the store, sending the door chimes into a discordant tangent. His shoulder-length gray hair hangs around his face, but he quickly sweeps it into an awkward ponytail. “I’m here, ready to help!”
“Jesus Christ,” Wade mumbles while his cohort laughs, shaking his head. “Least someone’s excited about the extra work.”
Marina beams. “You put down your book for me ?”
Christie nods and pulls a mass market paperback from the pocket of his housedress. “It’s a good one, too. Amalie Howard is one of our favorite authors. The Duke and the ballerina finally kissed. Wren and I are buddy reading it.”
“That looks saucy,” Marina says. “Wren mentioned your father-daughter book club.”
“We set reading goals every year. We’re on track for thirty buddy reads by Halloween. Gives me something to do on a lazy Sunday or while waiting for the fish to bite,” he grins before smoothing out his housedress. “Wore this for the dust.”
“Smart. Would you help me with some measurements?” Marina hands him the pink tape measure. “And tell me all about this duke and ballerina? I love a first kiss.”
“Me, too! It’d be my pleasure,” Christie returns, bowing.
They embark on a detailed store tour and enthusiastic book talk for over an hour while I research cars for Marina and field family texts. This morning, I helped Dad move hay bales, which first meant changing the battery on his tractor. I barely had time to go home, shower, and change before meeting Marina. Even now, Mom asks me to pick up supplies for tonight’s dinner—a dinner I haven’t agreed to attend—and I feel weighted and exhausted over their demands. I’m pulled in a thousand places, but none are truly where I want to be.
Glancing up from my phone, I find Marina and Christie laughing over a page he’s sharing from his worn book. She whispers something, and he grabs onto the shelf to steady himself as he laughs. They look like old friends sharing a hilarious secret.
All this change topped off with a rough encounter with her former fiancé, yet she remains unequivocally Marina. I can’t help but admire how present and upbeat she is.
She catches my eye as she gushes over their private joke. Her smile widens, making my heartbeat thud harder, and my feet almost move in her direction. That smile was for me.
I don’t just enjoy her. I long for her attention. With her, I don’t need my grouchy, reclusive shields. They drop so I can be whatever she needs me to be. Protector. Helper. Fucking lapdog, if she wants. Weirder still, that’s what I want —to be Marina’s go-to guy, for her to pull me in a thousand places as long as it brings me closer to her.
My guilt has turned into a guilty pleasure. That’s disturbing territory for a self-proclaimed loner hellbent on his solitude. And foolish considering she’s too young, too beautiful, and too goddamned chipper for me.
Smoke fills the air, drawing my attention to Wade and Roy. They snicker, leering at me from behind the counter like idiot schoolboys about to share my crush with the rest of the class.
“Fuck off,” I mouth, only making them laugh harder. Huffing, I return to my phone.