Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
“Regrets are worthless things.”
—excerpt from the unpublished memoir,
Darling, I Must Say by Gloria Hayes
The rest of the week went something like this:
Ali invited every class at Two Harts Elementary School to a special presentation at the public library. She even arranged permission slips and chaperones. The only thing she didn’t do was tell Mae.
Mae “accidentally” put out a city-wide email asking if anyone had seen the missing library copy of What to Expect While You’re Expecting because Mayor Goodnight wanted to check it out.
As far as a gossip fodder, that one took off immediately.
For the record, Ali was not expecting anything, but her mother was still not convinced.
Not to be outdone, Ali visited the library office after hours and accessed Mae’s work computer. (She had no problem guessing her password, either.) She took a screenshot of the desktop, then set that as the computer wallpaper and hid all her icons. Mae spent hours trying to open her files.
In retaliation, Mae managed to get into Ali’s office and covered any available surface, including all doors and desk handles, with Vaseline, followed by feathers.
Every morning, the crowd at the Sit-n-Eat debated who would do what next. Ellie had been right; everyone was taking sides.
“Are you really dating that boy?” one of my oldest customers asked. To be fair, he was in his nineties, and everyone was younger than him.
“I plead the fifth.”
“The only people who say that are guilty,” he said. “Hashtag Team Mae.”
Even going to see Gloria was dicey. I had to sneak in lest I get waylaid by anyone.
But I was trying to stop by every night now.
She’d been napping more and was noticeably weaker, but she still refused to tell me anything.
And that damn Death Cat was here almost every time I went to visit.
Plus, even though she didn’t say it, there was a sense of urgency for me to find this Warren guy.
That was proving to be more challenging than I expected.
But no one could truly hide anymore. I just had to keep at it.
“I think everyone’s an idiot in this story,” she said after I told her what Mae and Ali had been up to.
“I know. How long are they going to keep this up? It’s ridiculous.” I paced the small patch of floor in her room. “And it’s none of their business on top of it.”
“True, darling. Although your sister does love you.”
“Ha. She has a terrible way of showing it.”
“You have been lying to her for months so I’m not sure your method is any better.”
I threw myself in her throne-chair and glared at her.
She started to laugh but it turned into a ragged cough. I jumped up to help her, but she put up a hand to stop me. “I’m fine. Just hand me my water.”
No, nothing was wrong with her. “Please tell me what is going on with you.”
“I’m fine. Leave it be.” She handed back the water bottle. “What I said was you’re all idiots. That includes you and Abe. Looking love right in the face and pretending it doesn’t exist.”
“I explained that. It’s too complicated.”
“People make things complicated when it doesn’t have to be.”
“Or sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“Oh, good grief. Are you the voice of the bitter aunt in a Hallmark movie now?”
“I don’t know what I am.” Abe and I were doing an admirable job of keeping our distance from each other.
We were polite and friendly. He was still helping me with my song, but Hallie always stayed in the room with us like a chaperone at the high school prom.
Was he afraid I was going to tackle him to the ground and have my way with him?
“Darling.” She held a hand out to me. The bones were fragile, the skin pale and thin.
It was the hand of an old woman, and a wave of sadness punched me in the gut.
I was not used to seeing Gloria as frail and weak.
She was always so vibrant and full of life.
“Hand me that photo album there and come sit on the bed next to me.”
I climbed onto the bed with the album.
“You like to say I never talk about life before New York.” She cradled the album in her hands. “But I suppose I liked to keep those memories for myself. They’re all such good, happy ones.”
The album cover was brown and worn and when she opened it to the first page, it revealed black pages with curled corners. It looked as though this book had been handled many times. A treasured possession.
The first few pages were of a small girl with bouncy curls whose infectious smile made it clear it could only be Gloria as a child. “I was adorable, wasn’t I?”
I smiled. “Very.”
“An absolute daddy’s girl. My older sister would get so annoyed at that, but it wasn’t my fault God made me this way.”
“Your sister must have wanted to strangle you on a regular basis. You were probably unbearable.”
She nodded. “Oh, definitely. Don’t worry. I made it up to her when we were older.”
On the next page, the black-and-white photos showed an older Gloria, perhaps fourteen or fifteen.
Some were with her family or sister, at Christmas, or a birthday.
But in many of those photos, there was another face that kept appearing—a tall, gangly boy with a head of wild, pale hair and light eyes.
“That is Warren.” She traced his face with a fingertip. “I loved him very much. He was my first kiss, you know. He loved me, too.”
A soft smile settled on her face. She seemed lost in her memories for a long moment.
“First love,” I said.
“Indeed. But we knew each other very well. I’d always dreamed of leaving Two Harts and making it big in New York. So, we never, ever spoke of a future together. Sometimes I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“If he’d asked me to stay, would I have?” She closed the album with a little sigh.
“Do you regret never telling him how you felt?”
“Regrets are worthless things.” She waved a hand at me. “Write that down for the memoir.”
“That you’re never going to write?” I muttered, but I pulled out my phone and did as she asked.
“No regrets. Mostly I’ve just wondered: was he happy? Did he have a long life? I know about the three kids, but maybe he had more. He always wanted a big family. I always wanted my name big in the lights.” She clutched the album to her chest.
“I gotta say, this was kind of a depressing story.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t. I loved him when I was fourteen and I love him now.
But if I’d stayed in Two Harts, if we married, I never would have met Thomas and that would be so much sadder.
That man was the love of my life. Warren was the love of my childhood.
Very different. Sort of how Aidan was the love of your childhood. ”
She was right. Aidan would always be special to me. I had loved him once and a small part of me would always love him.
“Maybe,” she patted my cheek, “Abe is the love of your life.”