Chapter 30
Hallie
What the heart has once owned and had,
it shall never lose.
— Henry Ward Beecher
I text Greyson as soon as we walk in the door from the game.
“Go change!” I shout down the hallway after Mia. “And throw your uniform into the hamper, please!”
“Okay, Mommy!” she shouts back.
Hallie: Is there any way we could do this dinner European style?
Ace: With you, it’s always European style.
Hallie: Grey. I’m being serious. I want to be here for Mia tonight. I don’t want to take off on a night she won a ball game to come see my clandestine lover.
I pause, realizing what I just typed and scramble to unsend the message, but his reply comes through instantly.
Ace: Did you just call me your clandestine lover?
Hallie: Skip that part. Can I come late, after I tuck Mia in?
Ace: As your clandestine lover, I say you can throw pebbles at my window after midnight. But, in all seriousness, yes. Come when you can. No rush. I’ll have dinner ready at 8:30. Does that work?
Hallie: I can be there at 8:30. No pebbles. But I might bring a large rock to throw at you if you use the phrase clandestine lover with me again.
Ace: You started it.
Hallie: And I’m stopping it too.
Ace: I’m laughing. Don’t tell anyone.
Hallie: As always, your secrets are safe with me.
Ace: As are yours. I’m looking forward to seeing you, CL.
Hallie: Me too. And those initials are also banned.
I’m looking forward to seeing him too much. But that’s another story, and nothing I’m going to say to him.
I knock on my mom’s bedroom door.
“Come in!” Mom’s changing out of her T-shirt that says #1 Fan. Henry Cavill’s sprawled out on her bed like a massive pile of extra-thick yarn. He sits up and pants in my direction. I fluff the hair on his head. “You’re a good boy, Henry.”
“You’re confusing him,” Mom says. “He doesn’t know if his name is Daddy or Henry.”
“Well, maybe you’re confusing him since it’s Henry.”
She scoffs at me. “When did you stop being fun?”
“Was I ever fun?”
“You were so fun. Silly almost. A lot like Mia.” Her face turns solemn. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders being both mom and dad to Mia. And you do it all with such grace. I’m in constant awe of you, my sweet girl.”
She pauses and smiles over at me.
“But sometimes you give too much away.” Her lips thin and her eyes soften. “Keep a little for yourself. Danny already took too much. Don’t let him steal your joy.”
A tear slips out. “You’re dangerous. You know that?”
“Oh, I know. I should be registered with the government.”
I laugh through my tears. “I love you, Mom.”
“Well, I love you too, Hallie. But of course you know that.”
“I do.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you I have plans tonight after Mia’s in bed. You didn’t mention a date, so I’m assuming you’re home.”
“I’m home. I’m going to watch some show set in Montana.”
“That’s random. Why?”
“Well, that man next door and I came to an agreement. We have to share custody of the TV signal until we get this remote situation worked out. Every other morning I get to watch my game shows and then on alternating days, he gets the Today show. It’s not so bad.
Turns out, I like the variety. We decided we’ll occasionally watch the same thing at the same time. We take turns picking.”
“You do, huh?” My voice drips with teasing mischief.
“Oh, please!” She shakes her head, but her cheeks go pink. “He’s not my type. And can you imagine dating your next-door neighbor? Talk about a recipe for disaster. No. Jonathan is strictly off-limits.”
“I see.”
“Hallie Elizabeth Caldwell Collins. You stop messing with an old woman.”
“I thought you weren’t old.”
“I’m not.”
“Until it serves you.”
“Exactly. Now who are you going out with? And don’t give me this friend business. I’ve been around the block too many times to fall for that line.”
“A man.”
“I thought so. And my money’s on the coach.”
“Mom!”
“What? It doesn’t take a doctorate in psychology to see the way you two play ping pong with your eyeballs.”
“What even is that?”
“He looks. You look. He looks. You look. You both look.”
I slap my hands to my cheeks and collapse onto her bed. “Is it obvious?”
Henry Cavill licks my cheeks.
I chuckle—because at what point in my adult life did I ever anticipate saying that sentence, even in my own head.
“It’s not completely obvious,” Mom says. “Most people don’t notice. Some might. It’s not a crime to like a man, sweetheart. It’s actually what makes the world go round. Well, that and female friendships.”
“We’re keeping things quiet for Mia’s sake.”
“And that’s wisdom. She’s been through a lot. And she just went through another round of do-si-do with that boomerang yo-yo Danny pulled, taking her away for four days and then disappearing like Houdini again.”
“You can see the logic in keeping things secret?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. As bold and outspoken as Mom can be, her oblivion is often an act. She sees everything.
“I see the logic,” she says. “And more than that, I see the wisdom. So, in answer to your question? I’m going to be on the couch watching some show at the same time as my neighbor. He called it a watch party and suggested we call one another. I’m not so sure about that.”
“You should,” I tell her.
“We’ll see. I don’t want to come across as easy.”
“Yeah. Especially since there’s nothing romantic in your future.”
“Exactly,” she says with a wink.
“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” I say, sitting up and running my hands down Henry Cavill’s back.
“I hope you’re just like you when you grow up.”
I stand and give Mom a hug. She pulls me in and holds me, smoothing my hair like she did when I was little. I close my eyes and rest my head on her shoulder.
“Being a grown-up is hard,” I say.
“It’s the worst,” she says with a chuckle. “And sometimes, the best.”
Mia and I spend the afternoon together doing crafts and then cooking dinner.
By the time she’s tucked in bed, I’m exhausted but exhilarated.
I quickly freshen my makeup and switch into a nicer shirt.
Then I walk through the front of the house where Mom’s watching an episode of some ranch-based TV series she would never choose.
“Okay, then,” she says.
I do a spin.
“That’s how you make a man glad he waited.”
I laugh softly. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be right here, watching this show. At least the actors are nice-looking. And it’s got horses. I like horses.”
Her phone rings. She looks at the number, lightly scowls, and answers.
“Hello.”
Pause.
“Yes. I knew it was you. Who else would be calling me right now?”
Pause.
“I don’t know if I like it. How am I supposed to figure that out if you’re talking through it?”
Pause. She swishes her hand like she’s shooing me out the door.
“Okay. Okay. I’m putting you on speaker, but if you give commentary, or God forbid, a spoiler, you’ll hear a click on my end.”
Mom rolls her eyes at me, but there’s this giddiness right under the surface.
Jonathan’s voice comes through the line. “See that guy there, he owns the whole ranch. He’s the pivotal character.”
“I’m pretty sure I’d’ve figured that out on my own.”
Jonathan’s voice is soft and kind. “I’m sure you would have.”
Mom blushes. “Okay then.” She looks at me. “Excuse me, Jonathan. My daughter is here and she’s just staring at me like I’m a stuffed raccoon and she’s never seen taxidermy in her life.”
He laughs.
“Go on, Hallie. Get out of here,” Mom says.
I smile at her and silently mouth the words, “Have fun.”
She waves her hand, shooing me again.
“Bye, Jonathan,” I shout.
“Bye now, Hallie,” he shouts back.
I send Greyson a quick text that I’m on my way. He answers me that dinner’s almost ready and he can’t wait to see me. If cloning were a good idea, I’d make two of me. One to stay with him and the other to come home to Mia. I’m growing weary of the secrecy—weary of being torn in two.
I park my van and knock on the front door. Greyson answers in a button-up shirt. It’s burgundy and the color makes his blue eyes pop against the olive of his skin. He’s in jeans and barefoot. I stand there, taking him in, and he returns the favor, his eyes roving over me like a caress.
“I hope you like lasagna,” he says, running his hand through his hair.
“I love lasagna. It smells amazing in here.”
“That’s the garlic bread.”
I follow him through to the kitchen, he turns abruptly and I run right into him.
We both laugh a nervous laughter and then he cups my jaw. “I don’t know why I’m a bundle of nerves tonight.”
“Me either,” I tell him. “It’s just dinner.”
His eyes flit between mine and then his mouth brushes over my lips in the softest kiss. He pulls back and lets out a sigh as if kissing me brought everything inside him back into alignment.
His hands linger on my jaw. And he utters my name as if it’s everything. “Hallie.”
I’m butter in a pan, melting, soft, warm. His gaze is sheer intensity—a flame, burning low and steady.
He drops his hands, moving through the kitchen to cut slices of lasagna and bread, toss the Caesar salad and add some to each plate.
“I thought we’d eat on the back porch,” he says. “Is it warm enough for you?”
“I think so.”
I follow him out the back door to the spot where he’s set a table with drinks and low, fat candles.
“Oh,” I say. “This is a date.” A skitter of tingles dances across my skin.
“It is,” he says, smiling over at me.
We’ve had meals together. I don’t know why tonight feels so different—strangely significant.
We sit next to one another, our chairs facing outward toward the railing and the woods beyond. We eat and talk—about the game, Dustin’s ridiculous getup, and work. I tell him about Mom and Jonathan and the TV wars.
“I could get them a remote setup that wouldn’t cause an overlap,” he says, easily.
Always solving problems—taking care of the people around him.
“I think I’d rather not mention that to Mom.”
“No?”
“I don’t know. They seem oddly compatible.”
“Ohhh. Yeah. Let’s keep this going for a while.” He chuckles softly.
After dinner, we take a walk to the pond, holding hands all the way there, the sounds of peepers and waterbugs fill the air. When we come back, we snuggle on the couch, the fire burning in the hearth across from us.
Greyson’s running his hand lazily up and down my arm.
“It’s Zach’s birthday month,” he says, quietly. His hand stills, resting in one spot on my arm. “I went to see his mom this week.”
“That has to be so hard on her—and you.”
I turn so I’m looking him in the eyes.
Greyson’s brow furrows and his eyebrows draw in. He swallows hard.
I settle my hand on his leg and we sit there, staring into one another’s eyes. When my other hand rises and softly rests on Greyson’s jaw, tears form at the edges of his lashes.
“I don’t talk about him enough,” he says in a choked whisper.
“It’s not your job to keep his memory alive,” I say softly, my hand still cupping his jaw.
“I can’t … He shouldn’t have died, Hallie.” His head shakes almost imperceptibly back and forth. “Zach was life itself. I never met anyone like him. So all in. So open and ready to take on whatever life sent him—always with a smile on his face.”
“I know,” I say, remembering the boy at the train station.
Greyson nods, the tears spilling over and down his cheeks. I gently swipe one with my thumb.
“I miss him all the time. And then …” He swallows a sob, rubbing his own thumb roughly across the other cheek. “Sometimes I forget him.”
Greyson’s face contorts in agony and the tears come in streams. He glances down and then back up at me.
“Of course you have times he’s not on your mind. You’re living your life. That’s what he would want.”
Greyson’s chest heaves with two deep gasps for breath. He pivots and leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him and he sobs in my arms. I hold him, running my hands up and down his back while he lets out this fresh wave of grief.
We sit like that for a while, his sobs slowly subsiding. Then he sniffs and pulls back, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes.
“That was a first,” he says, quietly.
“What was?”
“First time I cried since the funeral.”
“Greyson.” My voice is soft.
I grab his hands and hold them. He hasn’t cried? All these years? He just soldiered through life, dutiful and stoic, holding it together out of loyalty.
Greyson wipes at his eyes and then he looks over at me, a tender smile on his face. “Thank you, Hallie.”
“It’s my privilege and honor to be the place you share your grief.”
“You’re it for me.”
He’s not talking about grief anymore and we both know it. I want to tell him he’s it for me too.
I nod, smiling softly. I can’t make any promises.
We settle back into our embrace on the couch, silently holding the space Greyson carved out with his declaration.
Hours later, he’s standing with me at the door of my van. I buckle in. He leans in and gives me one more kiss and then he stands in the driveway while I back away, even though everything in me wants to stay, and not just for tonight.