CHAPTER 3
Rebecca
A suitcase in each hand, Rebecca stood there on Granny’s white-painted porch, the sharp click of the key turning in the lock matching the thrum of her heart.
I’ll be fine. I’m always fine.
No. Not always. Memory hit her hard and fast—the neat pile of pills, the bitter taste as they slid down her throat, catching on her tongue until she forced them all straight down.
One at a time, then five at a time, into the pit.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, her throat, so fast and thick she thought for a moment Granny could hear it, standing there next to her.
She’d never be fine. Never be all right again.
“There!” Granny said, and the world slid back to Dahlia as the front door opened wide and Rebecca felt herself and her suitcases ushered inside, the feel of Granny’s hand steady and almost too warm on her back. “Home sweet home. Welcome back, sweet girl.”
A loud thwack made Rebecca jump as the screen door swung shut behind them, her neck prickling even as she reminded herself: It was a sound straight from her childhood. The sound of summertime.
Get it together, Rebecca. It had been four weeks. Surely she was getting a little better. Coping. Wasn’t she? She’d nailed the interview, even. Gotten the job in Dahlia like it’d been meant to be. It was a far cry from New York, but it was something.
Granny bustled ahead, flicking on small lamps, her low heels clicking over the hardwood floors and thin rugs, then the linoleum in the kitchen.
Swallowing hard, Rebecca set her two heavy suitcases down in the foyer and let her oversized handbag sink onto the bench by the door. The floorboards creaked as she did, and Rebecca peered around in spite of herself, gasped.
“Granny, it’s almost as I remembered it.”
Rebecca stepped to the old-fashioned settee, pressed down on the brocade, ran a hand over the smooth wooden armrest. Her lips felt tight against her teeth, and she realized she was smiling.
Granny laughed, called from the kitchen, “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”
“Oh, it’s good.”
Rebecca scanned the living room, taking it all in afresh—the crown molding and antique rose wallpaper, the smattering of lamps and doilies interspersed with Gramps’s old leather recliner.
Even though Gramps had been gone years now, died when Rebecca was in her twenties, she still thought of it as “his” recliner, just like she still thought of it as “his” office or “his” tool shed.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in, imagined she could still catch the faint scent of his pipe, hear the low murmur of the television in the background.
A lump settled in her throat, the tight-teeth smile gone. She swallowed past the burn.
“Is Gramps’s tool shed still out back?”
She forced sunshine into her voice, stepped into the living room fully now.
One of the lamps, the peacock one with all the blues and greens, still had the crack in the corner from where she’d once tossed a marble by mistake.
Granny had said then that the crack added character.
Looking at it now, Rebecca felt badly about it, about how cavalier she’d once been.
She’d been cavalier about a lot of things.
“Sure is.” Granny reappeared, this time with a faded blue dishtowel in her hands. “You probably still have your old tool bench and apron out there. Remember the summer he tried to teach you woodturning?”
“Talk about a disaster.” Rebecca remembered the way he’d patiently showed her how to hold the wood and use the lathe, and how desperate she’d been to get the lesson over and done with so she could run off and go fishing.
Funny how now she’d give anything to do those years over again, stand in the musty shed shoulder-to-shoulder with Gramps as he guided her hands, pointed out the difference between wormy chestnut and teak, oak, and pine.
A quiet settled over her, the gloom hard like a rock in her stomach.
Her parents had sent her from Washington to Dahlia every summer, hoping to instill some small-town morality in their too-big-for-her-britches city kid, especially after she’d discovered boys and a rebellious streak.
She’d hated it at first, hated Dahlia and the heat and the lessons, hated being in the middle of nowhere away from her friends.
But the lessons stuck, and by the end of the summer she’d completed a few pieces.
One she still had, a pretty little mahogany box, used it to keep her rings.
Her chest tightened. Rings.
Was everything going to remind her of Peter? She didn’t think she could bear it.
Rebecca willed herself not to think of him. To think instead of Sarah, and the spring wedding her friend was planning. No. She wouldn’t spend her life pining over him. This was supposed to be her fresh start. Wasn’t it?
The memory of the pills came again, the ugly dome of tiny white ovals against the smooth oak of her computer desk. All the pain. All she’d done.
“He did love teaching you.” Granny’s voice sounded almost too light, and she felt rather than saw Granny studying her.
Rebecca met Granny’s eyes, tried to smile, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate. Sighed instead.
“I loved it, too. And you—Granny, I loved being here with you, too. I hope you know that.”
“Ah, girl, I know it.” The light tone was gone now. Silence fell, heavy as night.
To think she’d almost let it all go. Given up. Guilt swirled—for Sarah finding her, for Granny dropping everything and coming to her. Rescuing her. Tears pricked.
“Granny … thanks.” Her words came out in a tumble, and she swallowed thickly. “For letting me come here, for getting on that plane with me this morning, for making me leave all that mess behind—”
“Sweet girl, I’d do it a thousand times over.”
She would. Rebecca knew that without question. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was sleep.
A moment passed, then another. Granny motioned to the staircase.
“Why don’t you take your bags up to your old room and get settled. I’ll see what’s in the icebox for supper.”
“You’re sure? I can come right back down and help.”
Granny waved a hand like she was shooing a fly. “I have so many premade suppers I’m swimming in them. Go on.” She waved again. “Get settled and I’ll get things started.”
Shouldering her handbag, Rebecca started up the stairs with her first suitcase. Her legs felt like lead—no, rubber—as she pictured the bed in the guestroom at the end of the hall, imagined herself rolled up in the soft summertime quilt. Alone and still.
She stopped after a few steps, gazing up at the embroidered scriptures above.
“Seek the Lord while he may be found; call upon him while he is near—Isaiah 55:6,” read one.
At the landing, she read another: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go—Joshua 1:9.”
For as long as Rebecca had remembered, Granny’s faith had been a cornerstone of her life—and, judging from the décor, a tangible part of this house. Even when Gramps had died after a short battle with cancer, Granny had seemed to wear her faith like a suit of armor.
Years later, Rebecca still marveled at her strength—the same kind of strength and determination she’d shown propelling Rebecca to Dahlia, from lining up job prospects to booking their flight.
Granny liked to call it gumption, and Rebecca knew her dad, Granny’s only son, had it too.
It served him well in the courtroom and even stronger behind the scenes, working the system, climbing the ladder.
Her parents thought her coming to Dahlia and taking the newspaper job was a good idea.
Sarah and Marisol thought so, too. After all, Granny seemed to have it all worked out.
In no time, she’d lined up a tenant for Rebecca’s apartment and, perhaps most remarkably, the job in Dahlia.
It turned out the former editor of the Dahlia Weekly had stepped down due to heart issues, and the local newspaper needed someone pronto.
Granny called it a “God thing,” pulled a few strings, and lined up a phone interview.
Rebecca just called it coincidence. But she’d aced the interview, and with a glowing recommendation from her former boss—Ed owed her that much, after all his broken promises—and a portfolio of award-winning articles to her name, not to mention a willingness to work for the ridiculously low salary they offered, Rebecca had the job.
It was almost too easy. Scary-easy.
“Take it, work your magic, and enjoy this time with your Granny,” Sarah had told her in the hospital room as they were waiting for Rebecca to be discharged, her blue eyes sympathetic. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but after everything … well.”
“Yeah. I know.” After everything, indeed.
“We’ll get you back to normal soon. This will open doors. It has to.”
As she reached the top step, Rebecca had the sinking feeling nothing would ever be quite normal again. Her stomach churned, and she shook her head, steeled her jaw.
Swallowing hard, she headed down the hall to her room.
◆◆◆
The next morning, she woke in a tangle of bed sheets, one sock on, the other who knew where. She lay still a moment, listening to the steady tick of the clock, which felt off-kilter with her own heartbeat. The smell of bacon and coffee had her pulling on a robe, padding downstairs.
Granny was nowhere in sight.
A note beside the coffeemaker caught her eye.
Louise drove me to church for the knitting circle. Bacon and eggs warming in the oven, keys are on the hook. Can’t wait to hear what you think of the Dahlia Weekly. Love you. Granny