Chapter 29
Marina
There are two women with the last name Wiles at the nursing home.
Darleen Wiles.
And Darla Wiles. She’s Grams’ nemesis after years of being mistaken for each other. She’s always had a bad hip and is, thankfully, doing fine after an emergency surgery.
Once I’ve stopped panicking, Grams and I go to the hospital together to bring her flowers, even though Darla has been caught hiding aces up her sleeve for years.
Once that’s settled, we stop for lunch, then head back to her apartment. Every step we take together, I’m relieved.
I wonder if during the next Festival of The Four Sisters, I can get a blessing for her continued health.
“As happy as I am to see you, I wish they hadn’t called.
” Grams shakes her head. We’ve talked about this a few times now.
She hates that my vacation was cut short, and the wrinkled lines on her forehead are deep and furrowed because of it.
“Oh, I’m only here for the gourmet decaf coffee they serve in the lobby,” I tease, raising my cup in the air. To say it tastes like water is a compliment. “You should know by now how much I crave this.”
“Even I can’t entertain that as a joke, Mari. Dump it out and make some real coffee.”
“Actually, can I talk to you about something?” I say, taking another sip of the coffee water. “It’s about the boy I met—Gil. Turns out, we actually knew each other from camp.”
“Is that so?” Grams asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“It’s just…” I say, letting the memories from the past few days play before my eyes like a movie. “I felt so comfortable with him, even around his family, who he introduced me to. It was all so … welcoming? I’ve never felt so at home, except for when I’m with you.”
“Well, you didn’t exactly have the best examples,” she says, her hand falling onto mine, and somehow, the wrinkles stand out a little more today. “I am sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Hardly,” she groans. “My biggest regret is not begging them to let me take you. I was too busy poisoning myself, and I’m so sorry.”
Beg them into taking me?
No, that’s not right. I remember how badly I wanted to live with her, how hard I tried.
An unwanted memory resurfaces. Little me, clutching a giant suitcase, walking to the door.
I asked my aunt if I could go live with Grams forever, and she laughed right in my face.
“They said you didn’t want me,” I whisper, meeting her gaze.
“That’s not true.” Grams’ voice is graver than I’ve ever heard it.
“Your uncle said it would be better for you to grow up around someone your own age. I was too lost to argue. It wasn’t until the school started calling me about missing lunches, slipping grades, and falling asleep in class because your aunt wasn’t picking up the damn phone that I knew something was wrong.
But then I was in the hospital after my final bender and I’ll regret that forever. ”
“Your Grandma is sick because of you.”
“I’d be sick too if I had you bothering me all the time.”
Despite the way our relationship has grown, part of me still believed all those things Aunt Andrea told me.
“No, no, they said I was...” I begin, shaking my head, unable to get those memories to mute for long enough to finish this conversation.
“My favorite person—you still are.” The wrinkles around her eyes are creased in that melancholy happiness that I always thought I was the cause of. Maybe I’ve had it all wrong. Her sadness wasn’t about a lack of love; it was a lack of power.
Grams might love me as much as I love her.
No, not might. She does.
She does.
“I love you, Grams,” I say, biting back tears.
“I love you more, Mari,” she says, and I exhale, taking in the words and feeling them wrap around me as tightly as the embrace we fall into. For the first time in a long time, I know this feeling isn’t one-sided.
We stay like that for a while until Grams takes a heavy breath and pats me on the back. She goes to the kitchen for cookies because after emotional conversations, they’re a necessity. However, she gets distracted and rummages through some papers at her desk.
“Are you hiding snacks around the house now?”
“Now? Oh, honey, I’ve been burrowing around this place like a squirrel for years. But no, after our last call I did a little digging around, and… where did I put—ah! There it is!” She holds up a crinkled piece of construction paper.
It’s a drawing.
My lips curve into a smile as I race up to trace the shaky lines. I vaguely remember sitting at a picnic table drawing, and I can even feel it in the way the paper must have been bent along the wood. I couldn’t have been older than eight when I made this, but the intention is clear.
A stick figure me, next to a green blob with eyes.
Gil.
“You have always had the most wonderful imagination,” she says with more than just a twinkle in her eyes. There’s a question she won’t ask and an answer I won’t tell her.
“Can I keep it?” I ask, the urge to do something special like frame it is so strong; it would fit perfectly at Gil’s house.
It’s been half a day, but God, I miss him already. For so much of my life, I’ve felt aimless, pushed around by the tide, but with him? There is something solid.
I love him, and looking at this shaky crayon drawing, I think I always have.
“It’s your drawing, sweetie, of course,” she says.
“There’s something different about you since you got back, and it’s not the faded pink hair dye.
I think you should do this sort of thing for yourself more often, maybe even with the new fella.
Sounds like he has an awfully nice place on the water. ”
“Grams.” I narrow my eyes. “I’m not moving in with my boyfriend of less than a week. Besides, you deserve—”
“Deserve?” She shakes her head. “I’ve had a full life.”
A full life.
She says it like she’s dying and not a poker shark in peak health.
“Mari, it’s my responsibility to care for you, not the other way around,” Grams says, taking a deep breath.
“As much as I lo—like Gil, I won’t leave you,” I argue. “You’ve been the one constant thing in my life since … forever.”
“I tried.” She shakes her head, her voice bitter. I hate that she somehow feels like everything she’s given me isn’t enough. “I can’t pretend I’ve been able to provide for you—a stable home, a place to come to for holidays—”
“I mean, the Jell-O cups here during Christmas are pretty fancy,” I deflect, unable to sit still in the discomfort I’m feeling.
“And everyone appreciates the way you sing Christmas carols in the common room,” Grams says, but she doesn’t smile.
Her hand is soft on top of mine, aged with blue veins and wrinkles, which make her seem older—like a flower wilting from not getting enough sun and water.
“But I couldn’t give you all the things you deserve.
I’ve never been able to give you the things your aunt and uncle couldn’t. ”
“That’s not true,” I say. My voice is small, and I wish this weren’t so hard. I don’t want to cry. Then she’ll cry, and I’ll cry harder, but the tears are already falling. Fuck. Because the thing Grams has always been able to give me that my guardians couldn’t is love.
“They never cared about me, but you always have,” I say, and she doesn’t deny it.
How could she? Instead, my Grams does the only thing she could ever do, the only thing that really matters; she’s present, and she holds me as our sobs rise into a duet.
I wish things had been different, but no matter what, I’ll always be glad we had each other.
“I’ll be okay here,” Grams finally says, wiping a tear away from her lips.
“Call me, text me, visit when you’re able, but for God’s sake Marina, don’t let me stop you from living your life.
Whether it’s a move away or a world tour, the best thing you can give me is finding happiness, and I wouldn’t mind a few great-grandchildren. ”
“Grams!”
“Hmm?” she says, adding a dramatic yawn in for effect.
“Do not pretend like you didn’t just say what you said!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She shrugs. “I am getting older, you know.”
“Please, your joints are weak, not your memory,” I scold. I’ve seen this woman play Sudoku. “You’re the healthiest you’ve been in years. Do not let your doctors hear you make jokes like that—which, by the way, are very insensitive to your neighbors with actual memory challenges.”
“Okay, okay, fair point,” she concedes with an uneasy shrug.
“But please. Marina, let yourself be happy. I think you found something this past weekend, something long forgotten—and I’m not talking about your fella.
Your eyes have a sparkle again, and I don’t want you to lose that.
You do what you need to, even if it means leaving me behind. ”
“I’ll never do that,” I promise, squeezing her hand tight. “But I will start thinking about the whole ‘future happiness’ thing, starting by quitting the store.”
“Finally!” she says, throwing her arms around me. “That witch doesn’t deserve all you do for her.”
“She’s done a lot for me too,” I say. “Obligation or not, Aunt Andrea has—”
“—been a viper for as long as I’ve known her.” The scowl on her lips is strong but unpracticed. Despite her jabs, Grams typically likes everyone but not Aunt Andrea. They’ve been civil of course, for my sake mostly, but there’s always been tension.
“Grams!”
“Quit the shop, then we can sort out how to get you back to that new beau, huh?”
“Yeah, Grams.” I nod. “Quit the shop, go to the audition, see what feels right.”
“Well, you said you’d come back with a new song,” she says with a smile. “And this is music to my ears.”
I sleep at Grams’ and wake up just early enough to feel nerves settle beneath the surface.
Gil has a life back home.
This band, Aligned Shadows could still be a piece of mine here.
The house they live in is as cozy as I imagined: small with chipped paint and lights on a string half-burnt out across the porch—a place filled with artists. Through the windows, I can see guitar cases leaning against the walls. The pavement vibrates with bass as I approach.
Star answers the door, her blue hair long and in waves. When her eyes meet mine, there’s a forgetful smile. “Oh, Marina! Hi!” She reaches out to shake my hand before looking at her phone to confirm the time. “We all got a little caught up. Come on in!”
Star moves aside, welcoming me into their practice space—a living room, crammed with equipment and buzzing with energy. There are more people than I expected lounging on the couches. Someone wearing a beanie, despite the heatwave outside, circles the band with a cellphone.
“We’re livestreaming. That’s cool, right?” Star’s energy is breezy as she moves to pick up her guitar.
“Oh,” I say. Considering my impromptu set at a mystical music festival recently, the idea of people watching shouldn’t make me pause. Still, something cold seizes my limbs as I continue into the space.
My keyboard is still at Gil’s, and I’m glad that in the lineup of equipment, they have one I can borrow. The band looks at me with eager eyes, like I could be the thing they’ve been waiting for.
Drawing in a deep breath, I press my fingers to the keys, letting my thoughts drift to that night with Gil on the dock. As I hum the still rough outline of the song I’ve been chasing this weekend, I begin.
Pictures of Gil’s home, of Camp Mangrove, of the kisses we’ve shared, and his hand in mine float through me as my fingers fly across the keys. I feel it, the haunting melody of the theremin in my bones even without him here. As I sing, I chase it, matching the melody until I’m breathless.
Aligned Shadows is staring at me. Unblinking, and seemingly unimpressed, until Star begins to clap. “That was … something else,” she says, which is surely a polite way of saying she hates it. “Different than your video.”
“A lot has changed since then,” I admit, forcing myself not to shrink.
Ned, the guitarist, lets out a strange hum. “In a week?” He laughs before turning on his amp.
Sometimes, that’s all it takes.
Still, we move into jamming together. I’ve learned a few of their songs in preparation for the first audition, and despite my rattled confidence, I do my best, keeping my energy up, even when chords are fumbled and the harmony stilted.
It’s not just the music—it’s them—no, us. The worst thing is? A week ago, I don’t think I would have noticed. It’s a cold reminder of what my life was like before realizing things could be better—a puzzle piece cramming into the wrong board.
“We’ll let you know,” they say, and instead of waiting for the rejection, I shake my head.
“You can be honest,” I insist. “You deserve a better fit. I feel it too.”
There’s only one person I want to make music with, and he’s waiting.
“No, no, Marina, you’re great,” Star reassures me, nodding to Ned. “I liked it!”
“Besides, think of the crowd Jett Brooks’ and Willow Wiles’ daughter will bring in! You’re a legacy!”
My heart drops.
“You knew?” I say, taking a step backward.
“Well, yeah, but don’t worry. It’s not the only reason we called you in. You have a unique sound.”
One that doesn’t mesh with theirs—and still, they’re willing to cram me on like an ill-fitting pair of Doc Martins because of my parents.
“No,” I say, surprised at how firm it comes out.
I can’t go backward, not anymore, because this past week, I’ve been something I’ve only experienced at Grams’ apartment: wanted just for being me.
And I’m not going to let go of that feeling so easily.