“No, no, but that doesn’t mean she might not by next weekend.” Grace felt an overwhelming urge to cross her fingers behind her back, the way she had when she was a kid and she was lying. She’d always hated lying to her mother. This time she told herself it was Nat’s lie, so it was on her.
“What do you know that you’re not telling me?” Maggie stared at Grace, a stare intended to intimidate.
Grace almost caved, but she stayed strong. “Nothing. I just meant we don’t know what her plans are. Suppose she decides to go see Elena and we fly to Philly and Nat and Daisy aren’t there.” Natalie could conceivably decide to drive to DC to see her college roommate for the weekend. It wasn’t much of a stretch. “And no, she didn’t say she was going to. I’m just saying we don’t know what her plans are, and it would be foolish to make the trip to surprise her only to find out she isn’t there or she’s made other plans.”
“You have a point.” Maggie frowned. “I just miss seeing her and Daisy and wish they weren’t so far away.”
“I miss them, too. Why don’t you call her tonight and see when she might be free?” Grace made a mental note to text Natalie to give her a heads-up.
“I’ll do that.” Maggie patted Grace on the knee. “Thanks, sweetie. Now don’t you have to get ready to go to the bookshop?”
“I do.” Grace swallowed the rest of her coffee, stood, and stretched. “Don’t forget, I’m meeting Tuck at the little house tonight, so don’t hold dinner for me. I’ll probably grab something at Ray’s after I leave the shop before I walk over to Jasper Street.”
“Would you like to take my car?” her mother offered.
“No, thanks. I like walking around town.” Grace leaned over and gave her mother a kiss on the top of her head.
Grace was almost to the door when Maggie said, “Gracie, are you sure you’re not hiding something from me? For a moment there, before, you had that look about you.”
“What look was that?” Grace skirted the real question.
“The look that says you’re hiding something.”
Grace shook her head. “Nothing to hide, Mom.” She went inside and straight up to her room on the second floor. She sat on the bed and sent a text to Natalie: Mom knows something’s up. She’s turning up the heat. Trying not to break but the sooner you come clean, the better. And heads up—she’s going to be calling you sometime soon. Get your shit together. xxox
PS—you might not want Daisy to talk to Mom. She’ll spill the beans.
Grace had spent much of her long but satisfying workday in the shop’s second-floor office. She’d finished a website for a new client and emailed it for their approval, posted two more boxes of books for sale on the shop’s site, and answered the day’s emails and sales inquiries. She’d spent several hours working the shop’s cash register while Liddy called in her book orders for the following week. When six o’clock rolled around, Grace said a cheery good night to Liddy and headed across the street to Ray’s Pizza for his Thursday night special, advertised as soup and a slice: a cup of New England clam chowder, a slice of pizza, and a sixteen-ounce cup of soda. While she ate, she went over her notes and her sketch for the house, interior and exterior. She made a few last-minute changes, asked for a lid for her Diet Pepsi, and set out toward Jasper Street and the little house. She wondered if it had a separate address from Liddy’s, and made a mental note to ask.
It took less than ten minutes to arrive at her destination. She stood at the end of the driveway to take in the entire lot on which the little house had been built. The driveway was long and curved, the macadam in need of repair. The entire property was overgrown, the blue cornflowers, orange poppies, and wild daisies fought the knee-high grasses for space, and there were trees in desperate need of pruning. She thought the wildflowers were charming, but the grasses would have to go. She loved the look of the trees lining the drive, but the branches overhanging the house should be cut back. Window boxes below the front windows would be lovely. She sighed with pleasure at the mental image she’d fashioned of the newly painted house—maybe pale yellow?—with shutters and a front porch, a definite must-have. She slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door, trying to picture it painted something prettier and more distinctive than its current uninspiring muddy green. Maybe blue?
The house was as quiet as it had been on her previous visit, the air as still, but this time she felt its welcome. It knows, she told herself. The house knows I want it and I’ll do right by it, and it’s happy I’m here.
Grace went room to room, opening windows to let the breeze blow through from the front door to the kitchen. She opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio, which needed its share of attention, weeds having grown up between the flagstones. Moss covering a forgotten planter marked the end of the patio and the beginning of a path to the pond. She was just about to follow that path when she heard a truck pull up out front. She checked her phone and noted Tuck was right on time. She went back into the house and called, “Hi, Tuck. I was just out back, and I was . . .” She stopped midway between the kitchen and the dining room. “Oh.”
“Sorry. Did I scare you?” Linc Shelby stood just inside the living room, his hand on the front doorknob. He had on well-worn jeans and a faded red short-sleeved Henley-style shirt with the buttons undone, and aviator sunglasses. His dark hair was slicked back and appeared damp, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. He looked more GQ than small-town carpenter, and caught off guard, Grace felt she’d been struck by lightning.
“Oh. No. I, ah, I was expecting your father.” An embarrassing flush spread from her chest to her face, clear up to her hairline. It was so unlike her to stammer.
“He pulled a muscle in his back this afternoon doing something he shouldn’t have been doing, so he sent me in his place.” He paused. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“You sure? You don’t look as if it’s okay.” He removed his glasses and hung them from the V of his shirt. No longer hidden, his eyes appeared dark brown, almost bottomless, and too wise for a man in his midthirties.
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just I expected to see Tuck when I came in, so I was surprised to see you, that’s all. It’s fine it’s you. I mean, fine that you’re here.” Grace knew she sounded ridiculous, stumbling over her words. Where was the woman who had hypnotized juries with her spellbinding rhetoric?
Obviously, she’d stayed behind in Philly.
“So, what did you have in mind?” Linc looked around the front room, his hands on his hips.
“For . . . ?”
“The house. Dad said you wanted to completely renovate this place.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Popcorn. I’m assuming you want that taken down.”
“The popcorn ceilings.” She got a grip. “They go all through the place. Yes, I’d like them gone.”
“Dad said you were working on a sketch or a floor plan?”
“Yes.”
“Want to show me?”
“Sure,” she said, though she didn’t move. “There was one thing . . .” She pointed to the far wall. “How hard would it be to build a fireplace there?”