37. Marnie
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Marnie
He takes me to the Riverwalk just in time for sunset, the orangey bands of sunlight blanketing the sky and making everything shimmer—the ripples on the Cape Fear river, the reflections off of cars heading over the bridge, even his eyes look amber in the light. He wraps me up from behind, snuggling me against him while we watch the sun’s descent, saying nothing. I love the silence. I’ve learned this about him over the last month when he’s appeared at my side, helping—with Grady, I don’t have to talk. I don’t have to engage or make people comfortable or keep conversations going like I used to do with the Sullivans.
With him, I can just be.
After what I’ve shared with him, watching the sunset is the perfect chaser.
He’s the first to know that story from my perspective, the first to ask, and having shared it, I feel lighter. But also sad.
The Tripp family rotates around each other exactly as they are. Helping when needed, supporting when necessary, and loving, always.
Vague memories of what that felt like surface beneath the struggles. Mom and I were like that once. But we lost that beautiful rotation. We went lopsided until collapsing altogether. I used to push her out of my thoughts and stuff her cards in a box in anger. Now, regret compounds in the emptiness she left behind, and I feel like I’ve let her down.
I need to read her letters. I will read them. Just not tonight.
Once the sun fades and darkness takes over, Grady takes me to Cape Fear Games, a social club and store, where he insists on getting a fancy chess set and anything else I want.
“It’ll be the first thing that’s ours ,” he explains, motioning to the chessboards. “Something we play for decades during rainy days and hurricanes.”
I almost purr over his cozy idea. “That sounds lovely.”
If Grady believes in us like that, so should I.
We agree on an elegant wood set with hand-carved pieces and felt bottoms. He takes our selection to the counter while I browse the aisles. But soon, I give up on buying anything else. A shared chess set is definitely enough for me.
I find him at the counter, talking with the employees.
“Oh, yeah, my girlfriend’s incredibly talented,” he says to them, making my breath hitch on the nervous lump in my throat. “Her games are so fun and inventive. How would she go about getting them into a store like this?”
“She could reach out to the big game companies like Hasbro, but nowadays, she should get the game some attention first. Post reels of people playing her games on TikTok or YouTube and see the response. Many of the games we sell were funded by KickStarter campaigns. She should look into that, too. We do open gameplay on the weekends. She’s welcome to bring her games here for beta testing.”
“Thanks. That’d be great,” Grady says as the man hands him a card.
“Have any questions, give me a call,” he says.
“What’re you up to?” I ask behind him.
He slides the card into his pocket, shrugging. “Nothing. See anything else?”
“So many things! But, no. I want to become a chess queen first.”
He pulls out his wallet and hands over his credit card. “Just this, then.”
Once in The Beast again, I smile at Grady. “Did you call me your girlfriend back there?”
He twists in my direction, grinning. “Did I?”
I feign upset. “And what’s with telling them my secret hobby?”
He smiles, lazily draping his hand over the steering wheel. “I think it’s more than a hobby. Why not see if something can come of it, huh? Besides, I like bragging about my girlfriend.”
I turn toward the window, hiding my enormously cheesy grin and blushing cheeks. “And just yesterday, you tried fixing me up with your brother.”
“Fuck, I’ll never live that down. Will I?”
“No, probably not.”
“I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugs, grip tightening on the wheel, revealing all those glorious veins in his forearms. Cool it, Marnie.
“So, where’s my boyfriend taking me now?”
“Dinner. Luke’s holding a table at Rebellion.”
“Nice, and since we have a little drive ahead, would it be a good time to tell me about the piano?” I say. “I haven’t forgotten.”
He flinches, bringing both hands to the wheel like he means to strangle it. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’ll be difficult for you to hear.”
I twist in my seatbelt, bringing my leg up between us and giving him my full attention. “Now, you know more about me than anyone. Let me know you.”
He takes a breath and launches into his story. “I met Emma in vet school. We were good for each other, very compatible. We became vets together, got married, and started a practice in Charlotte—that’s where she wanted to live. She adored the city, its nightlife, and her friends. It was busy, hectic. We were content with each other. I wouldn’t say happy, but certainly not unhappy.”
His hands wring the steering wheel again as he fixates on the road ahead. “She got pregnant. Our world switched from mediocre to incredible all at once. We were happy again, overjoyed, in love. We couldn’t wait.”
He hesitates. Unease grows in my stomach, making me almost queasy. I had no idea where his piano story would take us, but I wouldn’t have guessed this.
“Grandma taught me how to play the piano when I was a kid. Then, I took lessons all through high school. There are exceptionally dorky pics of me playing for the chorus in the yearbook.”
I smile. “I’ll definitely have to see those.”
“When I imagined being a dad, playing the piano together was what I pictured. Emma went on runs to baby stores. I bought the piano, and every night, as Emma’s belly grew, I’d play for them. It was the happiest we’d ever been.”
“We lost the baby at six months.” His voice cracks. “She stopped kicking. Stopped moving. Her heart stopped beating. No one could tell us why. She just stopped. We lost her and lost each other, too.”
Tears well in my eyes, and I don’t stop them. Some things need tears, like a salve on a wound.
“I shut Emma out after that, consumed myself with work. When she filed for divorce, I was grateful. I wasn’t there for her, not that we were right to begin with—I see that now. We were pieces that fit off-kilter, and we spent years forcing them to fit anyway. I came home, hating myself. For letting Emma down. For failing my marriage. For losing her.”
“Did you name her?” I ask, and he glances at me for the first time since his story began.
“You’re crying?”
“Of course, I’m crying. It’s devastating.”
“Sara,” he says, his voice soft and weak. “After my grandmother.”
Tears flow down my cheeks in streams, his story breaking through the dam and all my backup defenses. “Grady, please. Pull over. Anywhere.”
“You okay?”
“I’m just… having a moment.”
He pulls into a church parking lot, empty and illuminated, and screeches to a stop, catty-corner to the lines. We get out and meet in front of The Beast.
“I’m so sorry for you, for Emma, for Sara,” I say through sloppy sobs that make me feel ten years old. Only, I can’t help it. “After the accident, I felt wrong for grieving. How can you miss something you never had? Or never felt sure you wanted? Still, my heart was broken over what could never be. But you had Sara. Felt her kick and grow, and bought things for her, and had visions of her childhood. I can’t imagine what you went through. Or how it still hurts.”
Tears slip from his eyes as he steps closer to me. My hands go to his rough cheeks while his circle my waist, grabbing onto me like he needs the support.
“But this is why you fought so hard for me, why you were there, time and time again, making sure I was okay. Why you needed to see me fall apart; you needed to fall apart, and you didn’t.”
“I went on like nothing had happened,” he confesses, eyes brimming with fresh tears. “When I saw you doing the same thing…”
“I fell apart at the hospital when it felt safe. With you there, I could. But not usually. That’s why I have my policy, Grady. No one wants to see my frowns, fears, and tears. Alone has always felt safest for me.”
“That’s not true anymore.”
“I know.” I grab his collar, pulling him closer. “I felt it that day, and every time since. Maybe that’s what we needed—to feel safe enough with someone to fall apart.”
He nods against me, sinking into my shoulder. “Thank you,” he breathes into my hair. “For so long, I’ve pushed it away like it never happened. Crammed my pain under bullshit and anger. You’ve got me feeling things again. Hell, it’s freeing just saying her name. Sara.”
“Sara,” I smile through our tears. “Who would’ve loved animals and been a pianist.”
He laughs. “Sara, who would’ve been sweet and talkative and would’ve told bad jokes, like her old man.”
A sobbing giggle sputters out of me. “Sara, she would’ve had your eyes and been just as stubborn.”
“Sara, who would’ve been in the chess club and never would’ve been allowed to date,” he tacks on with a smirk.
“You would’ve been a great father,” I say. “You still could be.”
“Marina.” He takes my damp face in his strong hands, locking eyes with me. “I don’t need or want kids. Not unless you do. If you ever do, we’ll find a way and love them all the same.”
The lump returns to my throat. “You make it sound like… this is it. You and me.”
He shrugs, pulling away and wiping leftover tears. “Isn’t it?”
Too surprised and overrun with emotions, I can’t answer, only stare. Dumbfounded.
He rolls his eyes sheepishly. “I know. Says the guy who tried to fix you up with his brother yesterday. I don’t care. Everything’s different now.”
A warm, worrying feeling blossoms inside me, hearing him say that. I feel like our relationship has traveled light years in hours, and it’s been sad, beautiful, and tragic all at once. What he says is true—everything’s different.
“You and me. Together. This is where we belong.” He’s stern and sudden, locking on to my hesitation like he’s reading my mind. His eyes drift over my face, measuring me, and I feel our belonging like a sore muscle, finally getting relief. I belong with him.
He seals his words with a kiss, and I’m already breathless. Breathless and scared and hopeful. Loving and delighting in him like I’ve never done with anyone before. I want it to be true so badly, but believing in happily-ever-afters counters everything I’ve ever known.
I smile when he pulls away and rests his forehead on mine. He strokes my cheek with the backs of his fingers, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so loved.
“I promised you dinner,” he says. “Think we can pull ourselves together?”
“I hope so. I’m starving,” I chuckle.