Chapter 32
SASHA
The next couple of weeks pass surprisingly quickly.
I keep myself busy with work, spending time with Griff, Glo, and of course, Chester and his deck.
There’s a lot more to do than just replace the boards, and I learn more than I ever wanted to know about concrete foundations.
I come to the belated realization that not all DIY is for me.
As Griff suspected, the most difficult aspect of this project is dealing with Chester, who just about lost it when we came over with the lumber after that day at the store.
“I told that hammerhead I’m fine to do the deck myself,” he said when we pulled up in the truck with the wood that first day. He wore himself out cursing at Griffin about it, overlooking the fact that it was me spearheading the mission, no matter how many times I told him.
Griffin threatened him with the doctor, which sent Chester into a new fit.
We stayed away for a couple of days, during which time the doctor apparently came by and told Chester he needed to rest. “Hogwash,” he told us when we came by next.
But he didn’t stand in our way as we began prying up the old boards.
Then several days of rain came, and while we were waylaid, I read up on all things Eleanor Cleary and did minor beautification projects around the cabin.
Griffin, meanwhile, spent whole days at his desk in his shop, breaking only to eat and check in on me, and once, to run me a bubble bath and give me a foot massage because I said Vivian had run me off my feet that day.
Watching that big man work his big hands on my feet had me swooning almost as much as I did when I thought about that moment in the parking lot.
Griffin’s been amazing, and not just at standing up for me at lumber stores, either.
He helps when I need him and stays out of my way when he gets itchy about something I’m doing.
Despite the way he keeps his cabin orderly, he’s not particular about it.
He lets me rearrange items and bring in new art and potted plants and throw pillows.
He never criticizes like my mom used to do about literally everything I ever tried.
If he’s concerned about what I’m doing, he just retreats to his shop.
It’s almost like I’m not hiding out in his small town, fake-married to this man because I’m on the run from a terrifying situation created by my own brother.
The longer I stay here, the longer I can go almost forgetting these facts. But they’re always there, thrumming in the back of my mind, no matter how perfect this life is looking from the outside.
Or feeling from the inside.
But today the sun is out, the air cool and crisp, and the leaves already beginning to turn from green to yellow and orange as I pour my coffee in Griffin’s kitchen.
He’s already at his desk, but an hour ago, when I woke up breathing hard from a bad dream about being back in the city—I’ve been having a lot of those—he calmed me down with his sleep-gruff voice in my ear, his hand stroking my hair as I curled into him.
That led to some incredibly delicious morning sex in the shower, where Griffin had me up against the wall losing it as he gently thrust his big length into me, still whispering those sweet reassurances into my ear.
Now, after I run to the shop to give him a lingering kiss goodbye before heading out to the truck, I think about how it would be a great day to work on the deck.
But I’m off to a shift at Bijou. I work at the shop two afternoons a week and one morning.
I’m not upset about it—I like spending time around my favorite mode of artistic expression.
Best of all, most of my shifts cross over with Glo.
Behind her hand, Vivian says it’s because Glo needs more training.
But I’m not sure what Vivian’s smoking, because Glo is amazing.
She works hard, and we work well together, restocking and reorganizing the store for the winter season while helping customers as they come in.
On our first shift together, I learned she used to be the CEO for some marketing firm in San Francisco.
“What on earth are you doing way over here working in a clothing store?” I asked, slightly incredulous, when she told me that.
She hadn’t looked me in the eye. She just gave a quick smile and said, “I needed a change of pace.”
There has to be more to her story. But I don’t press it, because I have my secrets, too.
But I’m grateful for Glo. Our friendship might be in its infancy, but my first instincts about her were on point.
She’s an amazing person. She’s smart and funny, and unlike lots of people I’ve worked with at high-end clothing shops, she’s down to earth, too.
While we’ve only been friends for a few weeks, we mesh so easily it feels like we’ve known each other for years.
We talk through our whole shifts as we work, pausing only when customers come in or Vivian stops by on her way to see her sister.
We’ve been out for drinks a couple of times, and she’s been over for dinner twice now, too.
It’s not until we meet for coffee like we have been and stumble into the topic of what our plans are for the future—and we both kind of trail off—that I decide if there’s anyone I can open up to besides Griff, it’s Glo. And I’ve been desperate to open up to a friend.
Surprisingly Betsey’s is almost empty. It’s nearly unheard of, even on a late weekday morning.
I decide, spontaneously, to tell a version of the truth.
“Well, the truth is, I can’t make any plans right now. I’m kind of hiding out here.”
Glo’s shapely brown eyebrows go up, but her expression is encouraging. So, heart pattering, I forge ahead with something close enough to the truth that my feelings are honest.
“I had an…overzealous ex-boyfriend who wouldn’t take no for an answer,” I tell her. While it makes me ill to call Vincent an ex, even if it’s a lie, it’s a bit less alarming than “criminal stalker.”
“Griffin and I were…seeing each other,” I say, trying to remember the wording I used with Griff’s family. “He suggested we come back here for a bit to put some distance between me and my ex.”
Of course, I don’t go into the fact that we fled New York City. But I try to describe how scared I was and say we left quickly enough that I walked out on everything there.
It’s only when I finish talking, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest, that I notice Glo looks kind of wobbly. She’s holding her banana bread wrapper so tightly her knuckles are white.
“Sasha,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
Regret hits me instantly. I said too much. “It’s fine,” I say, even though it’s not fine.
But to my surprise, she chews her lip, then says, “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.” I haven’t scared her off at least.
“I’m hiding, too.”
I’m shocked, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved to have someone who understands. Then concern overtakes everything else. I wouldn’t wish this kind of anxiety on anyone.
She looks over my shoulder toward the window behind me, as if the danger is still out there. Then back at me, her voice lowered. “It’s my ex-husband. I found out he was into some stuff he shouldn’t have been while we were together. Some really bad stuff.”
I lean forward, taking her hand.
Glo waves, her eyes welling. “It’s fine. But I can’t really talk about it yet.”
“I understand.”
She shrugs. “I just feel kind of rootless, you know? This town, it’s so pretty, but it feels like I didn’t get far enough away from him. From everything.”
“Do you think you’ll settle here or keep going?”
She sips her coffee. “I don’t know. What about you? I guess that’s a discussion between you and Griffin.”
I swallow, looking down. It is. Or it might not be. Maybe we’ll just shake hands at the end of all this and speak to each other through lawyers and divorce papers. The thought is so depressing I ask for a piece of Glo’s banana bread.
She slides the whole thing over to me. “What about career-wise, Sash? Do you ever think about what you want to do long term?”
I have. I’d love to do something with fashion, but I have no idea what. The industry itself doesn’t really appeal to me, but the clothes do, so I don’t know where that leaves me except retail. Plus, I’m not sure how to align my desire to do good with fancy clothes.
But I don’t say all that. I try to shrug it off with a joke like I always do when thinking about my future. “What, you mean you’re not going to work in Vivian’s shop until you retire?” I ask.
Glo snorts. “I mean…if you do.”
We both laugh. But I can still hear that nagging voice in my head that this can’t be it for me.
Glo sighs. “I liked my job. I was honestly almost as pissed at my husband for having to leave it than about what he did.” Then she blanches. “That’s not true at all. But I do miss it.”
“Could you get a marketing job here?”
“Not like I had there. I got to call all the shots. The only way I could really do that would be to start my own firm. And I just can’t even think of how much energy it would take to go out on my own.”
I get the sense she doesn’t love being on her own, just like me.
“So Bijou it is.”
She laughs. “Exactly, and actually, we better get going. Vivian will have a field day if we’re both late.”
Viv likes nothing more than to have a real crime to snap at us for.
On our way to the shop, I glance over at Glo, an idea occurring to me. “Hey, what do you think about coming out with Griff and me tomorrow night?” I explain how we’re meeting his brother to talk ghosts at the Rolling Hills.
Glo lights up. “Hey, I stayed there when I first got to town. There’s a ghost?”
“Sort of,” I laugh. I fill her in on everything as we walk to Bijou.
When we come through the doors, Vivian’s looking at her watch, her face snippy, which isn’t unusual.
“Just in the nick of time, ladies. I was beginning to wonder if I should call the fire department.”
“That would be fun,” I say. “I’ve seen those guys around town.”