Chapter 16 #2
“You know, I feel a little the same,” Becca confessed with a small, grimacing sort of smile.
“I had Lewis so young, and there I was a mom as well as trying to keep my dad’s fishing business going, and I never even let myself think about doing—or being—something else.
And I don’t want to do something else,” she added, a little fiercely, which made Grace wonder again whether Becca was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.
“But sometimes I think maybe I should have at least thought about it, you know?” she continued on a sigh.
“Rather than let the decision be made for me, not even by anyone… just accepted. A done deal without any discussion.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Grace agreed. “You want the option, the opportunity, even if you don’t take it.” She rested her chin in her hand. “Maybe we should start a club—The Women Who Need to Find Themselves Society.” She gave a grimacing laugh. “Not very catchy, I admit.”
Becca laughed. “I like it.” She paused, her nose wrinkling in thought. “How about Alive and Almost Thriving Society?”
“We are so much better than almost,” Grace told her, leaning into the jokey vibe. “How about… The Soft Launch of Self Club?”
Becca guffawed. “The Who Even Is She? Society.”
Grace laughed back. “I like that,” she told her, feeling lighter inside than she had in months. Years. She paused in thought. “Former People Pleasers Anonymous.”
“Recovering Hot Mess Collective,” Becca fired back, and they both laughed, grinning at each other in conspiratorial camaraderie.
“This Is So Not a Midlife Crisis Club,” Grace stated solemnly, and Becca’s eyes sparkled.
“Hey,” she protested, “I’m too young for a midlife crisis, and I bet you are too.”
“I’m thirty-four,” Grace told her, and Becca nodded as if that confirmed it.
“Way too young for a midlife crisis. I’m thirty-six, so if anyone’s having a midlife crisis, it’s me, and I’m not having one. I refuse.”
“Hence the name of the club,” Grace reminded her, and Becca smiled, her expression turning serious.
“Thanks for coming out with me today,” she said, dropping the jokes. “I’m so glad we did this.”
“Me, too,” Grace replied, just as serious.
She’d really enjoyed spending time with Becca, feeling normal, like things didn’t have to be hard.
“Plus,” she added teasingly, “I now have the coolest t-shirt in the world.” She patted the bag on the seat next to her.
“I can’t wait to wear it and feel totally claw-some. ”
“I think you’re already pretty claw-some,” Becca answered with a grin, and Grace felt as if she were glowing inside. When was the last time someone had liked spending time with her, had told her she was great? She couldn’t even remember, but wow, it was nice when it happened.
“Right back at yah, chowdahhead,” she said in the most atrocious Maine accent anyone had probably ever heard and had them both bursting into peals of laughter that made Jacob turn from his intent study of the lobster tank.
After lunch, Becca, seeming slightly awkward about it, told them she had to do an errand on her own.
Grace, always one for respecting privacy, assured her she and Jacob could walk around on their own while Becca hurried off, seeming like a woman on a mission.
Grace wondered what it could be, and if Becca might tell her one day.
She pushed aside her curiosity—if Becca didn’t want to tell her, that was fine, they were just getting to know each other, after all—and hand in hand with her son, wandered down Water Street, past various stores and galleries, some of them closed, a few open.
They ended up at Boatload of Books, a small, friendly-looking bookstore with crammed shelves and tottering stacks of books, as well as a few comfy-looking chairs and tables, and a full list of activities for adults and children alike.
In fact, a story hour was about to start, and Grace’s heart felt like it was filled to the brim as her son took his cautious place on the edge of a fuzzy rug where half a dozen children were eagerly gathered to hear The Stinky Cheese Man read out loud.
“Are you new here?” the woman who was about to read the story asked her, pausing on her way to the rug. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“Yes, pretty new,” Grace replied. “We live out on Lighthouse Cove Island.”
The woman frowned. “I don’t think I know that one, but there are so many islands in the bay. Welcome.”
Grace leaned against a bookshelf as the woman began the story and the kids listened, rapt, although one girl was rather industriously picking her nose, like she was getting paid by the booger. Grace smiled, amused, only to be surprised to find herself suddenly near tears.
Happy tears, which was new. Tears of gratitude and just… joy. Something she couldn’t remember feeling in basically forever.
And for some reason, that made her think of Noah. How long had he been locked up in Grayhaven, all by himself, stewing in his own memories? When had he last gotten out, connected with someone, felt joy over some small and simple thing?
He’d said he was nothing more than a broken Ken doll, a handful of shattered plastic.
At the time, Grace had felt too broken herself to engage with someone who was, by his own admission, that damaged, but now she reconsidered.
Everybody was damaged, in one way or another.
Some people might hide or deal with it better, but no one got through this life without a few wounds. A few scars.
And, Grace reflected, surrounding yourself with solitude, barricading yourself both emotionally and physically, probably wasn’t the best way to heal.
Not for her… and not for Noah Lawrence.
Which meant, she realized with a dawning smile, a new anticipation fizzing in her belly at the thought, that she was definitely taking Jacob to his chess lesson tomorrow.