Chapter 30 Everly
EVERLY
Mrs. Nelson is on her feet, guiding me out of the kitchen. We sit down on a brown couch with cherry-shaped throw pillows. She passes me a tissue from a box with cherries printed on it. “Sweetie, I know I’m a perfect stranger, but do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.” This is the truth.
I don’t know any of these people and truly, the only person I owe the truth to is Grey. I professed my love without thinking. I unexpectedly love my husband, but clearly, he doesn’t even want to acknowledge me as being anything more than his coach.
Guess I failed there, too, because that was poor etiquette on his part.
Then what was that kiss? Why is he wearing the ring?
Heavy footsteps clomp by in the hall. A screen door opens and closes.
The other women flock to the living room, including Ingrid, who carries Sonny. They all join hands, saying a prayer.
Afterward, Mrs. Nelson says, “Can you tell us the story?”
Feeling comforted by their grace and understanding, I start at the beginning with a snapshot of my father so they’ll understand why I went along with the engagement to Todd, how that all fell apart, and what happened next.
Esther, one of the women who had also fought breast cancer, offers words of understanding. Everyone applauds us for how strong we are, but especially me for telling the truth.
Sonny, previously occupied by several small bowls of blueberries he’d sorted by size, crawls onto my lap and says, “Jeg elsker deg, Mamma.” He wears a bright smile and nuzzles into me.
I don’t know what he said, but the sweet little boy somehow knew exactly what I needed, and more than anything, I want to give him what he needs—a mother.
Ingrid gasps.
Everyone turns to her.
Margaret, aka Mrs. Nelson, says, “It’s hard enough to decipher toddler speak, what did he say?”
Ingrid presses her hand to her chest. “Everly, our family has been through a lot. That’s no excuse, but when I saw those rings on your fingers, I felt both sad and angry.
Sad because I didn’t get to be part of something that would’ve brought me a lot of joy—seeing my son get married to you, obviously, a lovely young woman.
And angry because Grey kept it from me. As I’m sure you know, he’s not the best at communicating. ” She imitates his grunt.
My lips twist toward a smile because she has that right.
“And things between us haven’t been the same since we lost his brother. He won’t talk about it. And I guess I haven’t shown the best example because I’ve done the same.”
“He’s hardly mentioned Bran to me.”
“It’s difficult to talk about. Earlier, I had a feeling Grey lied. I’m not quite sure why he’d do so, though. He’s going to have to reckon with that, me, and our Good Lord. But as we all saw, he’s wearing the ring, so that must mean something.” Ingrid folds her hands in her lap.
“But I blurted that I love him.” My cheeks go the color of cherries.
“Sometimes the heart speaks up for us when we’re feeling nervous,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“But he left.” I look in the direction of the door, feeling suddenly alone even among such a kind group of women and with Sonny singing one of his songs about a lumberjack who picks blueberries while looking for trees to chop down and forest animals to rescue.
Ingrid gets to her feet. “I’ll go find him. He and I need to talk.”
“Would you like company?” Esther asks. “The Pies and Spies ladies stick together.”
“Thank you, but Greyson and I are long overdue for a mother-son heart-to-heart.”
When the screen door closes, Mrs. Nelson presses her lips together and shakes her head with dismay. “Bran was such a good boy. So brave. So strong.”
“It was a risk when he enlisted with the Air Force, but everyone was so proud. One of our own going out there. We never thought anything would happen,” another of the ladies says.
The next one seated in our circle adds, “The heartbreaking thing is he was never found. Missing in action.”
“Presumed dead,” Mrs. Nelson whispers.
“I suppose it’s the kind of thing that never quite heals. Ingrid struggles, mostly in the form of quiet tears,” the next one says.
Taking in this information, I add, “I don’t think Grey had let himself feel anything until a short time ago.”
“Let me guess, it came out as anger,” the woman next to me says.
They discuss the phases of grief, including denial, anger, and depression.
“But why’s he angry with me?” I ask.
Ingrid returns and takes a seat on my other side. She grips my hand. Her eyes are darker gray than her son’s, almost slate, but I see the resemblance between them. “I take it you hadn’t told him how you feel until today.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t plan to like that either.” If at all.
Ingrid lifts her shoulders slightly with a shrug. “He’s probably upset that you’re braver than he is.”
Some of the women titter.
“But clearly, it’s one-sided. If he felt that way about me, he would’ve said that we’re married when you asked.”
“Are you simply married legally or in both word and deed?” Mrs. Nelson asks.
I take this to mean whether we discussed wanting to be together as partners or if we just exchanged vows for the insurance. “I don’t know.”
“Then you need to talk with him.”
I’m afraid. Not because of his anger, but what if he doesn’t care about me? What if the feeling isn’t mutual?
Ingrid pats my hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Everly. Now, I’ll admit that I’m not too pleased with him for lying or not telling me the truth in the first place, but I believe in forgiveness and second chances. I offered him both. I hope you can, too.”
Mrs. Nelson straightens a cherry-shaped candle holder on the coffee table.
“If I’ve learned anything from fifty-one years of marriage, it’s the importance of communication.
When I met Roger, he was like a caveman, grunting all the time.
Would you like the newspaper, dear? Grunt.
Would you like to go to the new restaurant in town for dinner?
Grunt. Are you a caveman? Grunt. I actually asked him that once as a test to see if he was paying attention and he grunted, not listening at all.
That’s when we had a talk. If our marriage was going to thrive, never mind last, he needed to talk to me.
Now, I knew he was a man of few words, but all that grunting was ridiculous.
” The corner of Mrs. Nelson’s lip twists.
“Sounds familiar,” I say.
Esther adds, “Think about it this way. No one enters into a relationship or marriage knowing how to do it. You grow together. So while Roger, or in this case, Grey, needs to learn how to communicate his thoughts and feelings, in a way, Margaret needed to find the courage to let her husband know how she felt, too. We know you’re brave, Everly. We know you can do it.”
“But what if he doesn’t—?”
Ingrid says, “I know my son and the way he was looking at you while you were eating your pie...I’ve never seen him so enamored.”
“Speaking of pie,” Esther says. “We have a rule that we don’t abandon ours.”
They head back to the kitchen with Sonny in tow.
“You’ll find him at the church,” Ingrid calls as if needing that slice of pie more than ever.
I thank them and head outside, wishing to go home.
But where is home? I’m not homeless per se, but I don’t have anywhere to go and lick my wounds after telling the man I loved how I felt in front of a roomful of strangers and his mother, resulting in him storming out.
Heidi isn’t far away, but I’m contracted with Blancbourg.
Even if we did bend some rules, I’m still supposed to be coaching him.
However, the ladies are right. I have to talk to Grey and tell him to get his head out of his #BruiserButt.