Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
It was high school all over again.
“It doesn’t fit,” Grace says, standing in front of the beach house’s small bathroom mirror, tugging at the neckline of her dress.
Jenny’s dress—a simple white linen maxi she threw in her duffel bag, just in case—which she insisted Grace wear, telling her she’d feel better about things if she is confident in the way she looks.
“It doesn’t sit right on my chest. It’s pinching my rib cage.
” Grace pulls and twists the fabric to get it to lie right. “I feel like I can’t breathe in it.”
“That’s impossible,” Jenny insists, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and picking on a leftover pancake.
“For one, we’re practically the same size.
And second, it’s designed to be loose-fitting.
” She takes another nibble, wipes her fingers on the front of her PTA tee.
“Pretty sure the shortness-of-breath thing has more to do with the situation you’re about to walk into than it does with hemlines. ”
Grace huffs, takes another look at her reflection. “What am I doing?”
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Jenny stands, smooths a strand of Grace’s hair. “I think that’s what you’re about to go try and figure out.”
“You’re sure you don’t care that I’m ditching you to go meet him?” Grace asks.
Jenny smiles at her in the mirror. “I didn’t come to be entertained.” She blends an uneven patch of makeup on Grace’s cheek. “I came to make sure you’re okay.”
Adam stands when he sees her. He wears a collared shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a pair of khaki shorts—casual dressy.
Grace makes her way through the dining room, still pulling on the neckline of the dress.
The restaurant is busy—families having early dinners, couples getting a head start on the night, the space buzzing with conversation and the clink of glasses.
“I wasn’t certain you’d come,” Adam says when Grace arrives at their table.
“Neither was I,” she admits.
“Well, I’m glad you did.” He pulls out her chair. “You look very nice.”
They both sit and fidget, smoothing napkins over their laps, taking sips of water, neither of them sure what to do or say next.
Nearby, laughter rises from another table.
Just as their silence begins to feel awkward, their waitress appears, sets down two wineglasses, and tells them she’ll return in a few minutes.
“I hope it’s okay that I ordered for you.” Adam gestures to the stemware. “I noticed on the menu that they have that rosé you used to like. The dry one that the Italian place near our old apartment used to stock.” His smile is so small it’s almost not even there. “Remember?”
Of course she did. They used to go every Wednesday night, Adam meeting her after he left his office, Grace just emerging from the library or a coffee shop or whatever her chosen writing cave was that day.
231They’d drink wine and talk and eat off each other’s plates.
It felt so grown-up, like something from a good sitcom.
Except that it wasn’t. It was real life.
“I do,” she says, not able to lie and pretend those memories have faded.
Adam nods, happy to hear this. He holds up his glass, gently taps it against hers.
They both take small sips. Grace can’t ignore the fact that it does taste like that old place, that whole era in their relationship.
Their sixth-floor apartment with the tiny kitchen and the radiator that made too much noise.
How the light filtered into their bedroom.
The way their shared future felt as big and beautiful as the city’s skyscrapers.
“I drove the whole island today,” he tells her. “Back and forth a few times.” He takes a drink of his blush beverage, like he needs it to calm his nerves. “Stopped off at the lighthouse for a bit. Went down to the boardwalk. Took a walk on the beach.”
Grace doesn’t say anything. Instead, she listens, her fingers trailing the stem of her glass, and tries to gauge what he’s getting at.
“I tried to imagine you at every different place,” Adam says. “This week. In the past when you used to come here.”
Grace swallows, but it doesn’t go down smoothly. “And what did you find?”
He pushes his glass away, leans in a little closer. “Someone I missed.”
Grace feels it then. It’s gentle, but there. A quiet tug, like a current pulling her out to sea. She thinks about fighting it, swimming against the tide and getting herself back to shore. Instead, his words floating there in the space between them, Grace lets herself drift in it.
“I haven’t been able to shake that dream for days, Grace,” Adam states.
His words quiver. It’s subtle, but enough for her to notice.
“I miss the people we were back then so much.” He licks his bottom lip, delaying his next statement.
“Things felt so easy then, you know?” he says without listing everything that’s happened since then.
Her books. Her successes. Her losses. All the ways life smashes down on a relationship to figure out if it’s a diamond or a rock.
“It was just 232you and me.” His eyes softly close while he indulges in a long breath.
“We can go back,” he says, sounding desperate.
“We can be those happy, easy people again.”
Could they? Could she? Was it possible for someone to revert and become the person she used to be? Our experiences. Our emotions. Could they ever be wiped away, the slate made clean?
“People change, Adam,” Grace says. “Love is supposed to change and evolve along with them. Otherwise you find yourself stuck living in the past.”
“The past?” He bites his cheek, and without him even saying it, Grace can read his thoughts. Those papers. Her early draft on the table. “Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about that a lot lately.”
A long, quiet beat, one that pulses with anger and sadness and jealousy and regret, falls over them like a gauzy veil, one that’s transparent and yet hard to see through.
Is that why he’s here? Because he’s been thinking about their past?
The one they shared? Or because he senses that she’s been thinking about her own, the one she experienced before she met him?
Who could say. Time and feelings—they’re such confusing things.
“I bought you something,” he says, his tone curling upward like a leaf, as if he’s trying to make amends for their last exchange.
“It’s a little birthday gift.” Adam pulls a small gift bag from beneath the table.
“It’s nothing fancy. Just something I saw in my travels today that I thought you’d like. ”
Whether it’s the dress or the inner workings of her body, Grace can’t be sure. All she knows as she removes the crinkled pieces of tissue, lifts the petite box inside it, and pulls away the lid, is that her lungs no longer work right.
“It’s just a tchotchke,” Adam states, trying to sound casual. “From this little shop I wandered into earlier. I didn’t realize until I was inside and saw the baskets of shells and beachy wind chimes that you and Birdie took me there one rainy morning the week I came down.”
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Her fingers tingling, Grace lifts the ring and examines it between her fingers. A tchotchke, yes, but also more than that. A simple band of silver etched with a subtle wave motif. A piece of jewelry, and yet years’ worth of memories, too.
“I was browsing to see if they had anything a bit nicer. Maybe something with a real stone in it.” Adam quietly laughs, amused by something.
“The closest they had were earrings made of sea glass.” Their waitress sets down a breadbasket, then walks away.
“When I saw that ring in the display, I remembered you telling me you had one just like it when you were younger, but that you’d lost it. ”
Grace can’t speak. Instead, she just places the ring in the dip of her palm and looks at it.
“Anyway,” he says, not having a clue of the weight his gift actually carries, “I thought maybe it’d make you happy to finally have it back.”
Her hand moves before her mind has a chance to stop it—slowly, cautiously, like she’s not even entirely aware of what she’s doing until it’s done. The ring slides easily onto her finger, covering the faint white line of skin where her sparkly wedding jewelry once sat.
“You don’t have to actually wear it. I know it’s a bit young looking, not quite your style these days.” He looks at the way it sits on her finger. “It was more about the memory, I guess.”
Even though Grace’s face is tilted down, she senses it.
A prickle. A shift in the air. Something inside her turns, as if toward a magnet.
A sensation that she’s swum out too far and gotten caught in a current—a pull—she can’t outswim.
Someone, somewhere in this room, is looking at her.
An invisible energy she feels in every cell, too strong for her to dismiss.
Her chin lifts slowly, her breath so off-kilter she’s scared to move too fast, as if anything sudden might make the moment shatter.
The restaurant narrows into a tunnel. The other tables.
The ocean views. The waitstaff and other diners.
Even Adam. They all fall away. The ring, still snug on her finger like a promise, fades, too.
It’s as if she’s underwater, everything newly muffled and distant.
In this moment, there’s only one thing Grace clearly sees.
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Ray.
He sits, motionless, at the casual indoor bar just off the main dining room, a pint of untouched golden beer before him.
Their eyes meet, like a key sliding into a lock.
He doesn’t need to say anything. Doesn’t need to make any dramatic movements.
She knows. The only thing in this space he’s been looking at is her.
Time collapses.
The memories all rush in at once.
Thirteen. Ray laughing as she tried again and again to get the high score on her favorite game, his voice rising with hers when she finally did. The first flutters of something new.