6. Grace
six
The rest of the day goes by in a haze, as I give massage after massage until my hands hurt and the sun sets. I try to empty my mind so I can focus on my clients and the needs of their bodies and souls. That alone roots me. Finding the connection, appeasing their pain, their stress. Feeling relief flood through them as my hands instinctively find their way to their knots and untie them.
For a few hours, I lose myself in bringing relief to others, and it brings me temporary peace.
Only temporary.
“Ms. Grace? Everyone is gone,” Tracy says. She stands at the opening of the tent, eyes shiny. “Everyone was so happy! I’m so excited for you.”
“How are you feeling, Trace? Did you remember to stretch?” I take the booklet she hands me, where she’s been gathering people’s information—mainly name and email—on a voluntary basis. That was Alex’s idea.
“Sorta.”
I wave her in. “Get on the table, sweetie.”
“Are you sure? It’s super late.”
“Come on.” Tracy is one of the high school’s best athletes, and I know she’s counting on her skills for a college scholarship. She injured her thigh recently, and she’s shared her concerns with me. “It’s the least I can do.” The high schoolers helping at the fair earn Community Service hours, but she went above and beyond.
While I work on her, my thoughts drift to Ethan, when really, all I should be worrying about right now is where to transport my business and how much it’s going to cost me. “I got a selfie with Mister K the other day. Isn’t he so hot?”
“Mister K?” Who is that?
She sighs. “Ethan King. He’s too old for me.” She shakes her head in a serious manner, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Yes—he is too old for you.”
“I need someone like him, except, like, fifteen years younger.” She rolls her eyes. “Looks aren’t everything. You can tell he’s a super nice guy.” She sighs. “Supposedly my cousin dated him in high school, but I don’t believe her. She’s too mean for someone like him.”
Ethan was a heartbreaker in high school. I resist the urge to ask who her cousin is. Tracy comes from a large family, and I sometimes get lost in the family trees—not just hers. I know everyone Ethan dated, at least the girls from Emerald Creek High, but I do not want to go down that memory lane. It would bring up the more painful memory. Ethan’s college years.
Besides, I have more important things to worry about.
“How do you feel?” I ask Tracy.
She shakes her legs and stands up. “Ohmygod! Like new. Not gonna lie, Ms. Grace, you have magic in your hands.”
“Awww, thank you, Tracy.”
“Hey, your spa is called A Touch Of Grace for a reason.”
I smile and dump the sheet in the hamper. Tracy helps me pack up my accessories. “Would you—would you consider giving me massages after training? I have pre-season camp next week.”
Oh wow. I guess my massage really helped her. “At the Arena?” I hadn’t thought of the young athletes in town, but that would be great exposure.
She nods.
“Sure. Have your mom call me.” We fold the table and roll the carpet. Autumn insisted I leave everything, and she’d pick it up tomorrow.
Tracy helps me carry all my massage stuff to the car, and while we’re carrying the table, her mom shows up to pick her up. After a quick chat, we agree on a daily massage for Tracy after training. I priced it a little on the high end because of the convenience of me going to the Arena every day, and she didn’t even seem to think it was pricey.
My phone rings as I get in my car. Haley. I let it go to voicemail, telling myself I need to focus on my lease issues, when really I’m terrified she’ll bring up Ethan in the conversation.
I can’t right now.
Just like I won’t be going to Lazy’s for a beer and a chat with Justin because he’s Ethan’s brother.
Too risky.
Back to the safe problem at hand. The one I can solve. My lease.
I run through my options as I drive back into town. Looking at the worst-case scenario—the one where I have to vacate and can’t find another place—I suppose that for a while I could keep A Touch Of Grace afloat by having my staff give in-house facials and mani-pedis, while I continue developing the massage business by going to people’s home with my portable table. But God—it would kill me to leave my place. I’ve put so much of my heart and soul into creating the haven that it is now.
As I enter the spa, I take in the soft luxury of the space I’ve created. The leather armchairs and their soft throws, the velvet wingback, the pine accent furniture, the side tables with magazines—I would take all this with me. And the sound system and my scented candles and all the minute details that contribute to the atmosphere of relaxation. All this I would keep.
But could I recreate the same welcoming sophistication without the waxed hardwood floors I paid a fortune to bring back to life? Without the painted moldings that are now the right hue of cream? Without the warm copper accents on the mantle that reflect so perfectly in the mirrored panels?
Moving somewhere else would mean so much more than just moving furniture and equipment.
How much time do I have left here? Alex said it was priced to sell.
And where would my team go if I have nowhere to offer services? My house is way too small, and I can’t think of any available space in town. Cheyenne, Hope, Shanice, Fabrizio, Claudia—they’re all counting on me, on A Touch Of Grace, for their livelihoods.
Ignoring my phone dinging with text messages, I unlock the filing cabinet hidden behind a discreet wood paneling and sift through it until I find the lease. Flicking on the desk lamp, I read through it carefully.
And there it is.
I thought so.
A right of first refusal.
Okay. Okay. Maybe this can work. Could I actually buy this place? It sounds crazy, but… I look up a realtor site on my phone, type in the spa’s address and bring up the listing. There it is. The photos are… from my website. Not cool at all. And the price…
The price is… it’s not cheap, but it’s not over the top either. It will sell, for sure. Just not to me. I barely have ten percent of that price set aside. No bank will lend me the balance, and even then, it would leave me with no cash reserves.
It’s okay.
It’s not the end of the world.
I just need to move.
Shit.
I let my friends” calls go to voicemail, and message them that my day went really well, but I’m beat and taking a rain check on the river swim. I drag myself home, running scenarios through my head.
I’m not greeted by the habitual rubbing of my cat on my legs. “Damian?” I call out, expecting him to run to me like the good little dog he’s not.
He doesn’t. I leave my shoes at the entrance and get to my bedroom. “Damian?”
Muffled meows sound from behind my closet door. “What are you doing in there?” I turn the handle, but the door stays stuck, and it takes several tugs and shoves to unstuck it.
Damian darts out and runs to the kitchen, then turns around to look at me with reproach in his gaze. “How’d you get in there?” I ask, following him to get his kibble ready.
The sound of his food being prepared improves his mood, and he loops around my legs, meowing with need until I feed him. I pet his head, the fur soft against my reddened skin. “Who’s a good boy? Who got stuck in the closet?”
He ignores me.
I return to my room, ready to put this day behind me. As I’m getting ready to jump in the shower, my phone rings with the tone set for Mom.
I’ll answer later.
I need a moment to myself.
The piping hot water barely warms my insides. Though it’s sweltering outside, I feel chilled to the bone. Literally exhausted—there’s nothing left inside me.
And although I know what’s drained my energy is the massages I gave all day, the image that keeps imposing itself on my closed eyes is Ethan—his gaze drilling into me. The way he whipped his shirt off as if he knew the effect it would have on me. How his muscles rolled on his back and his biceps bulged when he plopped himself on his forearms and told me to stop the massage.
Those arms that used to make me feel safe. That gaze that used to worship me.
Or so I thought.
The memories assault me. He’s the same and yet he’s different. His voice is deeper. His resolve, stronger. His presence, more impactful than ever.
I’ve always been helpless in the presence of Ethan King. But now is not the time for teenage angst. Now I’m a grown-ass woman with grown-ass problems and no time or energy for the Ethan Kings of this world.
I pat myself dry and call Mom back.
She picks up immediately. “We need to talk.”
“I’m toast.”
“I know. Don’t matter.”
“Is this about the lease?” I don’t want them worrying about my business.
“What lease?”
I sigh. She’s best friends with Lynn, Ethan’s mom. She has to know I saw him. She may even know the exact circumstances. That’s why she’s not taking no for an answer.
“The Hallmark channel is having their Christmas in July marathon. Been a while we haven’t watched those. C’mon.” I can almost feel her bite her tongue, not adding ‘It’ll be like good old days.’
“Okay.” There’s no point arguing, or she’ll come here. It wasn’t good old days, but when I came back from Texas, little things like watching TV with Mom did help pull me out of the hole.
“Bring Damian,” she declares, knowing my cat is also a sucker for sweet, sappy movies.
After another fight with my closet door, I put on some comfy clothes and haul my ass to my parents’.
Mom sets the lasagna on the table. “You sure took your sweet time. It’s almost burned,” she says.
“Why didn’t you turn the oven off?” Dad says in my defense.
“My closet door keeps getting stuck,” I semi-lie. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
“I could try and take a look,” Dad says half-heartedly. He’s exhausted just thinking about it. “I’d tell you to ask your brother, but—”
“Yeah, no.” Colton is a magician with cars. Old houses? Not his thing. He doesn’t see the point in maintaining the delicate details of centuries-old homes. He’d just as quickly knock down my intricately carved door and its period hinges and replace it with a faux barn door on a railing.
“Why don’t you call these lovely new people—Thalia and Lucas?”
“Maybe.”
After dinner, Mom insists on cleaning up on her own, so I take Dad to the living room and massage his shoulders, hands, and feet.
“How’s baby Skye?” Dad asks.
“Not a baby anymore,” I answer, and somehow that thought makes me sad. Skye may not have been the reason I came back to Emerald Creek, but when my cousin, Chris, got full custody of her when she was a newborn, I jumped in to help.
She gave me a purpose. A reason to get out of bed in the morning. Now I’m out of that funk, thank god, but I’m finding any little change affects me. “She loves Alex.”
Dad pats my hand. “You miss taking care of her. Taking her to school, babysitting…”
“It’s summer,” I counter, not wanting to talk about that. But I’m not getting rid of her car seat, and I haven’t had the heart to clean up the scrunchies or even the candy wrappers she left there last time. It seems too final. “And Chris and Alex still need me for babysitting.”
“Chris did good,” Dad says. “I hope you find that too, some day.”
I don’t want to answer that. There’s nothing to say, nothing we could agree on.
I’m perfectly content alone, with Damian, and Skye, every now and then. What else could I possibly want?
“Gracie bear, you’re tired. Time to go watch TV with Mom.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Your hands are shaking.”
He can feel that? I look into his eyes tenderly. He doesn’t look good today. “Right back atcha, Dad. You need some rest.”
He nods. “I’ll be watching the game. You and Mom need your girl time.” He leans back in his recliner, remote control on his lap, and narrows his eyes on the screen, the glare flickering in bluish hues over his ashen face.
Mom is done in the kitchen, so we settle on their bed upstairs, a bowl of maple popcorn between us, Damian purring at our feet, the window open to the outside breeze from the lake.
With a deep sigh, I proceed to tell her about the building possibly being sold and A Touch Of Grace needing to move. That should keep her off my case about Ethan. Surely she’ll see I have something important to actually worry about.
“You won’t tell Dad about the lease, right?” I whisper as she selects the Hallmark Channel.
“Course not.” We have this tacit agreement to not worry Dad. “What are you going to do?” She pauses the movie.
“I don’t know yet. The landlord hasn’t even notified me yet.”
“Isn’t that weird?”
“I have no idea. I’ll look into it next week. Can we just watch movies now?”
“Sure.” As the opening credits roll, she fusses with the popcorn, the remote, Damian. Then she can’t handle it anymore. “Your tent looked busy, honey.” Her opening doesn’t fool me. “I couldn’t even sneak in to say hello. You did good.”
I keep my eyes on the screen. “Yeah. Hopefully people were happy, and they’ll book at the salon. Wherever that may be.”
“It’ll take time, like everything else.”
Right. And I might need to move.
Unable to hold it any further, she blurts, “I heard you saw Ethan.”
“I did.”
“And?” Her fingers hover over the remote, but she doesn’t pause the movie. Not yet.
I throw a piece of popcorn in my mouth. “And what?”
“How’s he doing?”
I shrug. “He pulled a muscle. I massaged his thigh. He should be fine. Gave him some arni—”
“I’m not talking about his thigh, Grace, although I’ve heard he’s… spectacular.”
“Ew, Mom!” I grab a handful of popcorn this time.
“Is he?”
“Is he what?”
“Spectacular.”
“Mom! Gross.”
She turns the sound off. “And why is it gross?”
“He could be your son?” As the words leave my lips, a little twist of pain unfurls in the depths of my fantasies. He could have been her son, in a way.
“I know he could be my son. I have a son. A very handsome son. Spectacular in his own way. I also have a gorgeous daughter. What’s gross about stating the obvious?”
I grab the remote from her and turn the sound back up.
She sighs in an exaggerated manner. Pretends to watch. Then, “You could at least tell me how it went, you know. It’d be nice for me to know.”
“It—it went… normal. He came in, got his massage, and left.”
“That’s it?”
I indulge her. “He came in limping and walked out totally normal. Next thing you know, Echoes is going to report your daughter performs miracles.” Echoes is Emerald Creek’s own social media platform, and lots of gossip gets spread there alongside useful information.
She reaches to pat my hand. “Don’t be so closed off, Gracie Bear. Let it out, sweetheart. You’re usually good with that.”
What am I going to let out? That tonight, I’ll fall asleep imagining how perfect life would be if Ethan had turned out to be who I imagined he would? I’m different. I’m weird. And that’s okay. Mom knows it. It doesn’t mean I have to openly disclose my bizarre ways of coping with life.
I’ll get over it.
I’ve gotten over way worse than Ethan pretending we were mere acquaintances.
This isn’t going to kill me.
I squeeze her hand back. “He is spectacular, and he doesn’t care about me. You see? Nothing new. It’s like it always was.”
She pulls me against her, but our eyes stay glued to the screen where commercials are now running. “Oh, honey, I don’t believe for one second that he doesn’t care about you.”
I close my eyes to try and keep it all in, but tears spill over. I brush them off with the back of my hand. Mom doesn’t notice, or if she does, she stays silent as the TV cuts back to the now happy couple skating in Central Park.
“Where’d you go, honey?” Mom brings me back to the present.
“Thinking about my lease.”
She sees right through my lie. “You used to be an open book. Talk to me.”
“I still am, Mom.”
She plays with the ties of her hoodie. “When you came back from Texas…” she starts, then takes a shaky breath. “I thought I was going to lose you. I thought you might die of heartbreak.”
I snuggle against her. “Oh, Mom, don’t,” I whisper. “Please.” I don’t want to go back there. To revisit those days.
“But it took you weeks to tell me how you felt. It took you weeks to open up again. You weren’t talking to me about it, and I didn’t know how to help you. Please don’t do this again. Talk to me.”
I peck her cheek. I’m going to have to work on suppressing the flow of memories that surged when I saw Ethan again. But that’s a normal reaction. And not one I need to worry Mom about.
“It was… a surprise to see him,” I say. ”I’m not gonna lie. But it was so long ago, Mom. We were kids. I’m a different person now, and so is he. We’ve each been through a lot. We came out on the other side of it totally changed. We’ve got nothing in common now.”
Only memories. I have mine, and I cherish them. I don’t know what his are like. It’s irrelevant. As far as I know, none of his memories involve me.
I was always a child to him, and when I wasn’t anymore?
I was a mistake.
That’s what he’d said. His final words to me. “This was a mistake.”