Chapter 29 Everly
EVERLY
When Grey doesn’t answer his mother’s questions, I step forward. “Mrs. Adams—” But I hesitate because this isn’t something we can explain in a few short sentences.
It certainly isn’t conventional and marrying for convenience may not be favored in the eyes of God, but surely Ingrid can understand the direness of the situation. However, the right words tangle in my mouth.
How do we explain?
Ingrid’s nostrils flare, silencing me. She focuses on her son as though wanting to hear the truth from him.
Grey says, “No. We’re not married, Mom.” He doesn’t meet his mother’s eyes or mine. His shoulders sag slightly. I’ve never seen him in any posture other than commanding. A presence that can’t be ignored, but he fades into the clouds as if wishing to disappear.
I stammer.
Mrs. Adams’s head turns from him to me several times.
With Sonny’s hand in his, Grey takes a few more steps away from the church as though trying to distance himself from the lie. “Come on, we don’t want them to eat all the pie. It’s been ages since I’ve been in Mrs. Nelson’s kitchen.”
Ingrid catches up with Grey.
I walk a few steps apart from them because, likely, they need to talk. But it’s also the heavy weight of his deceit that slows me down. Why did he lie? I don’t take Grey to be the kind of person to do something like that, especially to his mother.
“You’re not married, but you have a ring on your ring finger. Pie or not, I want an explanation.” Ingrid’s voice floats to me.
Grey clears his throat, but his voice is thick when he speaks. “There’s nothing to explain, really. Um, this ring is a football thing. You know me, married to the game.” He laughs it off. “And, uh, Everly wears her grandmother’s ring. She’s very sentimental.”
I don’t have any jewelry from either of my grandmothers—my father’s mother will probably be buried with her precious metal and on my mom’s side, she passed away when I was younger.
Still a few paces behind Grey and his mom, I hold out my hand, gazing at the wedding band.
It’s thin and nondescript. There is no accompanying engagement ring.
Compared to the rock Todd gave me, so I could flaunt his wealth and that he was engaged to marry the Lefevre Metal magnate’s daughter, it’s easy to overlook this gold loop around my finger.
If Grey says we’re not married, why is he wearing the ring? Until now, he’s never done so before.
In my heart, I value marriage. It’s a sacred covenant and it’s a lie to deny our status even though the circumstances didn’t originally involve love.
They involved gratitude. I was so deeply grateful to the stranger who offered his health insurance, likely saving my life.
Because I was acting fast to prevent further disease in the future, I pledged my life to him as a way of saying thanks.
Wearing the ring is a reminder of what he did for me.
I never expected to see him again. And after Todd, I wasn’t eager to get into a relationship again.
I glance back at the church. Ahead, Grey continues to field his mother’s questions.
“So you’re not married to Everly?”
He grunts.
Oh, so he plays his mother like that, too, eh?
How could he lie to her? Especially after going to church? Then guilt about judging him punches me back. I didn’t exactly come forward with the truth either.
Grey’s deep voice rumbles. “Everly is my coach. For the remainder of my time in the Blancbourg program, she observes me and makes sure I’m minding my manners. Remember the whole moon-gate thing?”
“Me and the entire town, Greyson Harris.” However, that answer seems to placate his mom, and she doesn’t say anything else.
I feel like a shadow. I was never good enough for my father.
Todd just saw me as an opportunity to get what he wanted out of his career.
I failed at becoming an Olympic skater and then put my job on the line with Blancbourg by falling for Grey, for kissing him.
.. But now I know the truth. He probably just wants me around to help with Sonny.
Forget wifey or nanny. Now I feel nifey. Knifey. Totally stabby.
However, at the memory of his lips on mine, a fluttering sensation fills my chest, then crash lands. I’m not a liar. So how can I go along with the deceit?
The Marriage of Convenience Club rules come back. Number one and two. We don’t talk about it. But he and I will later.
Ingrid’s friends from church welcome us inside. Mrs. Nelson introduces the Literary Ladies Lunch Book Club, which, over time, just became an excuse to eat pie and gab.
Esther, a short woman with round cheeks, says, “When we started reading a lot of cozy mysteries, I wanted to rename it, Pies and Spies.”
“We voted it in, not that we discuss books much these days,” Mrs. Nelson says.
Esther leans into me. “I like the abbreviation, P.S. Like PostScript.”
“I like that too. I’ll call you the P.S. Book Club.”
“Thank you,” Esther says, self-satisfied.
This reminds me of my three thankful things in the Cookie Dough Diary, but right now, I feel so thrown by Grey’s denial, it’s like I got smashed in the face with a cream pie and then tossed into the lake.
Mrs. Nelson’s kitchen is farmhouse style with a border of cherry wallpaper around the circumference of the room. In fact, there are cherries everywhere. Cherry salt and pepper shakers, cherry dish towels, and even a cherry soap dispenser.
We all sit down around a wooden table. Mrs. Nelson takes credit for making the pie as she serves everyone’s slices.
“It’s so wonderful to have you both here,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“Now, you may notice that I have a fondness for cherries—” She tells me how she’s distantly related to George Washington, bringing to mind the story of the cherry tree and the value of honesty.
A big red arrow points to our mutual lie, the omission of the truth.
Grey leans into me, seated by my side. “More like an obsession. See that potholder?” He points. “I made that when I was nine. Earned a Boy Scout merit badge, too.” He winks at me as though the lie he told and what I thought we meant to each other after last night doesn’t burn between us.
What are we? Husband and wife? Coach and client?
Friends? Tightness in my stomach vies with the fluttering in my chest. I want more with him, but after the bald-faced lie he told, I can hardly look at Grey.
And yet, my body betrays me as our hands brush when we reach for our plates, sending something warm and sweet across my skin.
“Anyway, I could go on about my cherry collection all day.” Mrs. Nelson joins us with the last slice of pie. “But I had frozen blueberries that I picked from last season, so I figured I ought to make room for more since we’re now into the summer. I also made the whipped cream from scratch.”
“Booberries!” Sonny cheers, sitting on his Grandma’s lap. She dotes on him but doesn’t look my way as if she knows that something doesn’t add up about Grey’s story.
The women gathered make sounds of approval and appreciation.
“Enough about the pie, we weren’t expecting guests.” Mrs. Nelson turns to Ingrid. “Why didn’t you mention Grey was visiting? I’d have made his favorite, strawberry rhubarb. We all know the boy has an appetite.” She tosses me a friendly wink.
“It was as much a surprise to you as it was to me,” Ingrid responds in a flat tone.
“We arrived yesterday. Everly had never been to Isle Royale before, and we all know this is the best time of the year to visit,” Grey says.
Several women comment on how true that is, as if they already dread the idea of the coming winter even though it’s still many months away.
“I take it you’re not from around here,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“Actually, I grew up in Michigan. My best friend Heidi lives in Powell, and I stayed with her last winter, so you have my sympathy for just how cold it gets. But most recently, I lived in Virginia.”
“What’s Heidi’s last name? Maybe we know her,” Ingrid says.
“Heidi Weaver—Hastings now. Her grandparents lived in Powell and she inherited the family home. She and I grew up a few towns over. The house needed a little work, but it’s on a beautiful piece of property.
” I leave out how, after the surgery, we’d take long walks in the woods.
It was so peaceful—the perfect place to recover and retreat from Todd.
While the blueberry pie is delicious, I’ve only taken a few bites. Meanwhile, Grey inhaled his portion.
“So, did you two meet there or—?” Mrs. Nelson asks.
“No, we met in Concordia. Everly is my coach,” Grey says.
“That’s partly true,” I blurt.
The women laugh as though we’re playing coy about our romantic meet-cute. Unlike Mrs. Adams, they still think we’re married.
Mrs. Nelson says, “I get it. My better half is my coach, too. In fact, Roger feels the same way. He’s said, if it weren’t for me, he’d be failing on the field of life.
Truth be told, I owe everything to him. But I suppose that’s one of the beautiful things about marriage.
Both people give so much to each other.”
Ingrid sets her fork down. “They’re not married, Margaret.” Her eyes fix on her Grey as if giving him a chance to tell the truth.
“But the rings—” the older woman starts, wearing an expression of bafflement.
My stomach knots with anxiety and in the center is the dead weight of the lie. I bite my lip. “Actually, we are married.”
Everyone jerks their gazes in my direction.
Grey laughs like I’m being silly.
I shake my head. “I cannot rightfully lie to all these lovely women, your mother, or at all.”
His eyes narrow. “But we had our rules.”
“I thought—” I thought we ditched the MOC club and started the Marriage for Real Club.
His eyes darken and he gets to his feet. “You didn’t mind lying to an insurance company.” The words are like grit against my skin.
I stand up too. “Why would you say that?”
“Everly,” he starts on a growl, but it’s like his words and thoughts scramble.
I thrust my chest and swing my arms to my sides. “But I didn’t tell the insurance company that I love you.”
The air leaves the room and so does my husband.
I drop my face into my hands and a sob breaks loose.