3. Grace
Grace
Flipping through the channels on the television, I settled on old reruns of a sitcom. Julia and I used to watch this show religiously growing up and we’d wish we had a family that was wholesome instead of the dysfunctional one we were saddled with.
I let out a wistful sigh as I watched the best friends sit down to hash out their differences.
It was a reminder that I didn’t have anyone to turn to now that Julia was gone.
I hated to admit it, but I felt lonely. It was the first time I was really alone, ever .
It seemed like everyone hated me immediately after the scandal.
My calls went unanswered for the last eight months.
Texts left on read. When I’d called Cordelia, I’d thought time and distance would have been enough, but apparently it wasn’t.
On the commercial break, there was an advertisement for a bed-and-breakfast in a small town in Upstate New York—Grand Haven.
The name sounded familiar, so I walked over to the bureau where I threw the magazines from the gift shop.
After tossing the ones with my face on them in the trash, I came across a travel guide with the words “Grand Haven” sprawled out on it.
It showcased the same tree-lined oasis with greenery as was in the commercial, and it was marketed as an escape from the city.
Escape from the day-to-day. Grand Haven’s charming Main Street was the prime attraction featured in the magazine.
Lined with brick storefronts and vintage lampposts with twinkling lights strung between them, it was like stepping into a movie.
“Unplug and recharge” was their motto. From the promotion, it gave me vibes of a family-oriented town where everybody cared about you and knew your name.
I turned off the television but couldn’t stop thinking about Grand Haven.
A sleepy small town was exactly what I needed.
I hadn’t roamed or explored anything but my inner demons.
A weekend away would do me good. The city had changed, and I was essentially homeless as I awaited the sale of my brownstone.
Might as well do some soul-searching with fresh air and hopefully peace and quiet.
Getting out of the city might just be what I needed to help me heal and gain clarity.
I grabbed my phone and googled the name of the B&B. I wondered if they even offered online reservations. Luck was on my side because not only did they have the option to book online, but they also had an opening for this weekend.
I pressed “book a reservation” and hoped I wouldn’t regret it.
As I stepped off the train, it was as though I was catapulted into what felt like a parallel universe.
In some ways, it was another world. A place that was quiet and calm.
There was no noise from mass transportation, no yelling, nobody shoving to get through hordes of people.
All you heard were birds chirping and the faint sound of people quietly going about their days.
Everything was clean, green, and quaint. Grand Haven was something out of a movie or a holiday catalog. It had character, a charm even. Something about it tugged at my heart. The air was so clean and crisp, it almost made me choke.
My mother loathed small towns, which made my decision to escape to one perfect.
My sister often helped point out my mother’s snobby behavior, for which I was thankful.
However, it was easy to become immune to the pretentious nature of the people I was surrounded with.
If there was anything to be grateful for about my sabbatical, it was getting a break from being submerged in the world of superficial and status.
I’d come to realize practicing gratitude was fundamental.
I didn’t know much about Grand Haven, but I did have GPS on my phone or so I thought.
Apparently, this sleepy town wasn’t equipped with advanced cell service because my phone was not working.
Nevertheless, any place where acquaintances of mine didn’t notice me was a win.
Pre-scandal, I’d avoided places like this like the plague. Now it felt heavenly.
I walked aimlessly, my feet aching as I wandered through the cobblestone streets. I didn’t have a clear idea of the direction I was supposed to go for this seemingly perfect bed-and-breakfast. The Grand Bed and Breakfast, cute name.
I got a few questioning looks as I walked up what I presumed was the main street. I was starting to second-guess my impulsive decision, especially as the pain in the soles of my feet became more noticeable. Why did I only pack heels?
My mother always said, “Beauty is pain, Grace.” I hated that expression.
Since my phone was proving to be useless, I decided I would have to find this bed-and-breakfast the old-fashioned way. By asking a local.
I spotted a blue awning that had “Nuts About Coffee” written in cursive. This shop seemed like a safe place to ask for directions. Plus, I could use a second cup of coffee.
The bell rang as I swung the door open. The smell of coffee beans permeated the air, and I was giddy because I knew this coffee was going to be fresh.
I moved toward the counter, my gaze landing on the extensive menu behind the barista. The woman behind the counter looked stern with a frown on her face. She blew a silver strand of hair out of her face as she continued to wipe down mugs with methodical precision. Her name tag read, “Ms. Kenzie.”
“Hi, I’m new to town,” I began hesitantly, offering a cautious smile. “What’s good here?”
The woman barely glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Coffee,” she deadpanned, her tone indicating I had asked a stupid question.
I grimaced and turned, noticing a woman shyly observing our exchange. She appeared to be around my age, mid-twenties. Her hair was tangled and her clothes were slightly too large for her slender frame. Her hands had crumpled-up dollar bills and she trembled a little as I approached.
“Hey,” I greeted, offering a gentle smile. “Do you have a recommendation? What’s your favorite thing here?”
Her eyes flickered to me briefly, both wide and cautious. Quickly, her gaze went to the floor and she timidly murmured, “The blueberry muffins.”
I nodded warmly, noticing her fingers anxiously twisted the hem of her oversized T-shirt.
I turned my attention to Ms. Kenzie behind the counter and said, “Well, I’m sold.
One French vanilla iced coffee and a blueberry muffin.
” I paused before turning to ask the young woman, “Would you like one too? My treat.”
She hesitated, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. Her gaze met mine and she nodded. “Yes, please.” Her voice was still soft but slightly more confident.
After paying for my order, I left my change as a tip in the jar. Once my coffee was ready, Ms. Kenzie handed me a bag with the two muffins. I thanked her and moved toward the woman who gave me the recommendation.
“I’m Grace by the way,” I offered as I handed over the treat. Her eyes widened slightly, almost disbelieving, as she cradled the blueberry muffin before breaking off a piece.
“Lucy.” I watched her carefully take a bite, and she murmured, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled then mustered up the courage to ask for directions. “Do you know where The Grand Bed and Breakfast is?”
“To get to The Grand you’re going to head straight on Main Street then turn left once you hit Maple, walk four blocks, and turn right. If you pass the big oak tree, you’ve gone too far,” Lucy explained a bit too fast.
I nodded and said, “I’ll see you around.”
She nodded in return, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Maybe.”
I said thank you and made my way out of the coffee shop.
I continued walking down Main Street until I saw the sign for Maple Ave.
I cursed under my breath, forgetting if Lucy said left or right.
I shuffled on my feet as I debated which way I should go.
My heel got stuck in a cobblestone crack and I would’ve hit the ground if it weren’t for a stranger helping me straighten before they continued walking down the street.
“Are you lost?” a voice from behind me called.
I spun to see a well-dressed man inside a convertible with the top down. I reluctantly approached his vehicle and nodded. “Can you point me in the direction of The Grand Bed and Breakfast?” My feet ached from my stupid heels digging into my skin.
“I can do you one better. I’ll give you a ride up the hill. I live past Oak anyway,” the man offered. He reached over to the passenger seat and moved his briefcase to the back seat. He got out of the car, grabbed my duffel bag from my hands, and proceeded to put it in his trunk.
My breath hitched, unsure if I felt comfortable getting in a car with a random guy.
Not that it was any different than taking a taxi.
Speaking of, I wondered if this town had a taxi service.
It might prove useful with my shoe situation.
After what happened to my sister, cars in general made me nervous, but there was something about this guy’s boyish face that made me feel like I could trust him.
It also could have been the blisters digging into my skin.
Either way, it didn’t take much convincing to get into the car.
“I swear I’m not an axe murderer. I’m actually the mayor.
Mayor Keith Williamson. But you can just call me Keith.
” He winked and flashed me a cheeky smile.
Keith looked like a big teddy bear dressed in a suit, but he had broad shoulders and was built like a linebacker.
He had curly brown locks and brown eyes to match.
“Grace,” I greeted, making my way to the passenger seat. I got into the car, deciding to trust him. My feet were at the forefront of my mind. Keith made idle small talk about how he was the youngest mayor the town had ever had and he was passionate about making this sweet town even better.
“Believing in something is all we have in this world. If you don’t believe you can do something, who will?
” Keith asked. I was processing his words when he turned the steering wheel a little too quickly, subsequently making me jump, and I had to do my breathing exercises to try to ward off a panic attack.
He glanced at me with concern. I smiled sheepishly and waved him off. “Excited for my weekend retreat,” I remarked, and he nodded, continuing to speak about his hometown.
After the car came to a stop, I went around to the trunk, grabbed my bag, and flung it over my shoulder. “Thanks,” I called out and waved as Keith pulled away. I was in shock at how eager and friendly everyone in the town was, apart from Ms. Kenzie, and I hadn’t been here for an hour yet.
The Grand was an old craftsman-style house, covered in wisteria vines that wrapped around the porch. It was a faded white color, and some of the paint was chipping, but it only added to the charm. Near the entrance, there was a trellis with roses threaded through every inch of it.
I made my way inside, and the decor screamed cottagecore. But it was effortless—from the floral-patterned furniture to little trinkets on every surface. The front desk matched the outside but was a brighter, more updated white color. Probably because it wasn’t exposed to the outdoor elements.
“Checking in?” an older woman with Coke bottle glasses asked, looking at her day planner cheerfully.
“Yes, I have a reservation under Grace Harrington,” I said softly, realizing there were other guests reading in the library area adjacent to the check-in desk.
She nodded and eyed me carefully, no doubt judging my outfit. “Here’s your key. Room nine, upstairs to the left. I’m Fiona and I’m not a toucher.” Her chin gestured toward my hand, which lingered midair, waiting for her to shake it.
I smiled, liking this older, brazen woman already.
“I would normally show you to your room, but I’m expecting a shipment for dinner tonight,” Fiona said regretfully.
“Dinner is at six sharp. If you miss it, there are only snacks. Breakfast is at seven thirty. If you need anything, let me know. I live in the cottage behind the property. Try not to need anything.”
“Thank you so much,” I called and made my way up the stairs.
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “Fancy Pants.”
This small town was turning out to be a character all on its own. Not to mention the cast of characters I’d met along the way so far.
I threw my small duffel bag onto the bed, soaking in my home for the next two days.
The bed was covered in a paisley quilt and there was a plush chaise lounge.
Plopping down beside my bag, I leaned down to undo my heels before they were my undoing.
Needing a moment to refresh myself, I went into the bathroom.
When I saw it had a gorgeous clawfoot tub, I decided to draw myself a bath.
I poured the complimentary bubbles from a glass bottle beside the tub into the water.
Once the warm water had filled sufficiently, I sank down and closed my eyes slowly, trying to do a quick meditation to clear some of the noise in my head.
I woke with a start, realizing that I must have fallen asleep in the tub. My skin was all pruney and slick from the bubbles. I rinsed off and checked the time on my phone. Fuck, seven thirty.
I missed dinner, and right on cue, my stomach grumbled. That wasn’t all I missed by the looks of the bubbles on my phone.
My phone finally decided to work it seemed. Four missed calls and two text messages. Three of the calls were from my mother and the other one was from Cordelia, who my mother probably called to “check on me.”
I opened the text messages and both were from my mother.
Call me. GMA wants to book you for a tell-all interview. It’s a good offer. Grace, please be reasonable.
I tossed the phone to the side and decided to enjoy my one weekend of freedom and anonymity.
Where hopefully nobody knew who I was. Nobody would care about what I’d done and who I’d done it with.
Nobody placed their expectations on who Grace Harrington was.
Nope, I could be the real me. Whoever she was.
Maybe a drink and some music to cleanse my soul were exactly what I needed. I successfully connected to the bed-and-breakfast’s Wi-Fi and googled “bars”.
The first suggestion that came up was a place oddly, yet simply, named Bar.
I couldn’t decide whether it was an ingenious idea or lazy branding.
Their online reviews were decent, with lots of comments about the hardworking owner and how it was a friendly environment.
I tried searching for them on Instagram to get a better sense of the atmosphere and vibe but came up short.
I threw on a cute outfit, swiped some lipstick on, and headed for the door.
Curious to see what the hype was about, I followed the directions from my GPS and walked toward Bar.