Chapter 33
GRETA RUSHED ACROSS the town, her head tucked against the rain. It was falling harder now, trickling down her cheeks and clinging to her eyelashes.
The cherry blossoms in the tree shivered under the weight of the droplets.
Parakeets huddled together on a branch. The ice-cream van had shut up shop, and the rain dappled the water in the fountain bowl.
Shopkeepers stood in their doorways, gazing up at the sky and trying to make sense of the impossible.
‘Are you okay, madam?’ the baker called out as Greta dashed past.
‘Yes, fine. Thank you.’ Greta lifted a hand in a quick wave, not even glancing at the rows of glazed doughnuts in his window. ‘Goodbye, and thank you, sir.’
She choked back a sob as she rushed through the town she loved.
When she finally pushed through her front door, the warmth of the house enveloped her. She could smell Maple Gold coffee, a trace ofJim’s cologne, and the sweetness of Lottie’s pancakes.
Greta stumbled into the living room, running a hand over her flattened hair. Wet patches marked the front of her dress.
Jim and Lottie sat cross-legged on the floor, leafing through a photo album together. The tenderness radiating between them made Greta want to pull them close for a hug.
Lottie laughed as Jim pointed out a picture of the three of them playing mini-golf. Another showed the Perks family slurping milkshakes through striped straws.
Greta swallowed hard. She had to leave. But how could she walk away from this? From her family?
‘Hey, Mum,’ Lottie said, her face brightening. ‘Dad found some old photos. Come and take a look.’ She patted a space on the carpet beside her.
Greta hesitated, knowing she had to go quickly. But she lowered herself down.
Jim held up a photo of Lottie as a toddler, her hair tied with ribbon into neat bunches. She was surrounded by pink balloons, and the number four stood proudly on top of her birthday cake.
Greta shook her head, fighting back a tear.
In reality, Lottie had spent her fourth birthday curled up in bed with a stomach bug, groaning and holding her belly.
She and Jim had to call off her party at the last minute.
But in Mapleville, there was a photo of Lottie with an armful of presents, grinning among her friends.
Jim turned the pages, revealing more snapshots. Christmas mornings and bonfire nights, family outings and meals. They looked so familiar, and yet also off.
She was home. And yet she wasn’t.
Greta traced her fingers across a photo of her and Jim wearing matching sweaters before forcing herself to look away. She pushed herself back up to her feet. ‘I have to go . . .’ Her voice cracked. ‘I need to leave here . . .’
‘Leave, where?’ Lottie glanced up. ‘We were just about to play cards. Dad fancies a game of Uno.’
Uno. They hadn’t played that together for a long time. Greta’s bottom lip trembled as memories surfaced. The three of them sitting in a taverna on holiday, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice and grinning over their closely guarded cards.
Did she have time for one last game?
She looked quickly out of the window. The rain was firing down even harder now. The sky was a smoggy grey.
Tears burned Greta’s eyes. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Lottie’s ear. ‘Another time, okay? I have to be . . . somewhere else.’
Lottie nodded with a confused smile. ‘That’s okay, Mum. I’ll play with Dad. Then we can all have a game later.’
‘Yes,’ Greta whispered. ‘Let’s do that.’
She leaned over, planting a light kiss on Lottie’s forehead. She gently trailed a hand down her hair until she tore her fingers away, clamping them to her chest.
Every last second. Every last detail felt significant. She wanted to memorize them, to hold on to them.
When she got back to Longmill—if she got back—she would cherish the small things, fleeting moments like this, not as wistful memories, but as proof that life was meant to be lived in the present, not anchored in the past.
Lottie jumped to her feet and headed upstairs. ‘I’ll go and get the game. See you later, Mum.’
‘Yes,’ Greta managed to croak.
Her eyes trailed after her daughter. She held on to a last glimpse of pink plaid disappearing around the corner.
She was left alone with Jim.
He stood up to face her. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
Greta couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight. ‘Away,’ she whispered.
He angled his chin. ‘Want me to come with you?’
Yes. I want you to come.
But she screwed her eyes shut and shook her head.
Jim placed a finger gently under her chin, lifting her face towards his.
He leaned in and their lips met in a long, tender kiss.
It felt just as warm and welcoming and loving as she’d longed for.
It was so easy for Greta to picture herself waking in his arms each day and continuing her life in Mapleville. A life full of love and hot coffee.
‘I love you, Mr Perks,’ Greta murmured as she pulled away, allowing herself to take in his bright blue eyes. ‘No matter what happens to us. No matter where we are.’
Jim smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead. ‘And I love you, too, Mrs Perks. Wherever we are.’
A smile trembled on Greta’s lips. There were so many things she could say, but none of it would make sense to him. So instead, she simply said, ‘Thank you.’
Then she kissed him again, more fiercely. One last time.
When she finally tore herself away, her heart felt ripped in two. She fixed her gaze on the front door, pushing herself to move toward it. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said as her eyes swam with hot tears.
As she headed down the path, the air was cooler, soothing to her hot cheeks. Greta glanced back one final time. Jim and Lottie stood on the doorstep, smiling and waving in sync.
Greta hurried on, her eyes fixed on the rain-spattered pavement as she rounded a corner. Only then did she let her tears flow freely.
She wanted to go home.
The warning signs were all around her now—the heavy clouds, the rain. But Iris said it had to be a choice, a decision Greta had to make.
But how? How could she return to Longmill? What still connected her to Mapleville?
Greta looked up, staring at the inky clouds. The sun was a white hazy ball.
And suddenly, she knew.
Her fingers touched her collarbone, brushing the smooth surface of the one thing that tied her lives in Mapleville and Longmill together.
The pearls.