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“We’re going to finish up here, grab the kids from next door where they’re watching a movie and we’re going to go home, without saying one word, because if it were you in there, flirting with me, and someone got in your way, you’d be furious. They’re adults. They appear to like each other. They’re two people who have been through a lot and they’re having a good time for once. I suspect they know more about what they need right now than you do.” He shook his head. “You’ve got a really scary big-sister thing going on. Don’t be a bully.”
She gasped. “I just don’t want either one of them to go down the wrong path with the wrong person. It seems dangerous to me. And I don’t approve of the way Matt has handled himself the past year or so, but he’s my brother. I love him. It won’t make me feel good to see him hurt, either. After all, the past couple of years has been hard on everyone.”
“I know. Letting go isn’t easy. But I’m right about this. He has to find his own way. And Ginger does, too. You told Matt about Ginger. Matt isn’t going to use and abuse her. Can you really imagine he would? He might be your naughty little brother, but I’ve gotten to know him.”
“He probably wouldn’t,” she relented.
“I saw a sweetheart side of Matt today I didn’t even know existed and I’ve known him for a year,” Scott said. “He’s not fooling anybody—he’s here because he heard about this barn raising from Ginger.”
“He says they aren’t involved,” she said. “That they’ve sworn off relationships.”
“And maybe they have. But something there is helping them heal. When I let you turn around, look at them. They’re enjoying each other, enjoying the day. They’re up to their armpits in hard, dirty work and they’re smiling like kids. Honey, I want you to do something you have a hard time doing. I want you to have no opinion.”
“Oh, now—”
“None. Zero. Nada.”
“Now you’re making me sound like a real buttinski! Like I’m in everyone’s business!”
“You’re related to half of northern Oregon, Peyton. And you are certainly not the only one in the family who butts in.”
“Well...it’s a hot-blooded family.”
“Will you stay out of his business? Out of hers?”
“All right, all right. Hey, you don’t have some kind of spanking fantasy, do you?”
He grinned at her. “Only if it’s you spanking me.” He turned her around. “Look,” he said, indicating the couple in the kitchen. Ginger had a knee on Matt’s shoulder while she reached for the highest cupboard above the refrigerator with a rag; he braced her with hands stretched up and holding her at the waist. He snuck one hand upward to tickle her ribs, but he held her safely. She laughed as she wiped out the cupboard, and he lowered her to the floor gently. “You going to leave that alone?” Scott asked Peyton.
“Yes,” she said tiredly. “And I’m not spanking you.”
“Oh, nuts,” he said, laughing at her.
* * *
The house on the hill above the beach was empty of helpers now. Smoke was rising from Cooper’s grill on his deck two doors down. There were people walking along the beach and as the sun set, lights from the town were starting to pop up like fireflies. Grace sat on one of the newly acquired chairs next to the newly acquired outdoor table, facing the ocean. Troy trudged up the outside deck stairs, wiping his hands on a rag.
“That’s that. Downstairs bathroom is scrubbed and outside deck swept. I haven’t put the sheets on the bed down there, but it wouldn’t take five minutes if you want to stay here tonight. Makes more sense to go to your loft, though, where all your stuff is. We can get moved in this week, unless you changed your mind...”
She looked at him with moist eyes. “They did this for us,” she said softly. “They cleaned, installed, unpacked, hung pictures. The window guy is putting in the shutters tomorrow. It’s ready, Troy. Our friends got it ready.”
He sat down in the chair next to her. “Because they don’t want us to say ‘I do’ minutes before I have to rush you to the hospital. You really want to move here right away? You don’t want to let your mother settle in first?”
“Once we have furniture in the game room it’ll be just like our own apartment. You can store your toys in the garage. After we let your parents use your apartment for their visit, we can bring your couch over for downstairs. Then you can give up the apartment and we can live here.”
“Listen, we’ve talked about this a little bit, but this is serious business. Even though that downstairs is like a private residence, we’ll be living with your mother, your old Russian coach—because we both know he’s never leaving—and there will hopefully be nursing help. I can’t have my pregnant wife making them all comfortable, directing traffic or waiting on an invalid day and night. We’re going to have to agree on how we’re going to handle this situation. Gracie, it’s not going to be easy. It usually takes a staff of five to manage her.”
“I know. I think we’ll be okay. School’s out soon. Maybe we can tell your family on the phone, move into this house, let your family use the apartment and the loft for a visit and just get married while they’re here. On the beach?”
He pulled her close. “I married you in my head weeks ago. We should give my son a proper name.”
“It’s a girl, Troy.”
“It’s a boy, Gracie. I know it.”
“It’s a girl. Bet?”
“When can we find out?”
“I don’t know. Twenty weeks? We have things to do, Troy. Next we have to make a baby room.”
“We’ve just done so much. Can we have a day off?”
“I’m going to call my mother tomorrow and tell her the house is ready. I think she can be up here by the end of the week.”
“I’ll call my mom and dad tomorrow, too,” he said. “Are you going to insist your name be Gracie Dillon Banks Headly?”
“I’m going with Headly,” she said. “The most adorable history teacher at Thunder Point High.”
“Not adorable, Grace. Hot. The girls think I’m hot.”
Five (#ulink_ff5cdf1b-ac41-5cec-8b43-0f1f7e6ef761)
“When I was a little girl I made very little houses,” Ginger told Matt. They sat at a small table in a dimly lit Mexican restaurant. She nursed a glass of wine and he had a beer and there were chips and salsa on the table. She had a plate of enchiladas and he had a mammoth burrito. “I made miniature houses and people out of everything—Q-tips, cotton balls, pipe cleaners, shoe boxes, paper cups and paper clips. I used twigs and flowers and leaves and gum wrappers. Eventually, when I had the supplies, I used cardboard, paper and glue. In winter when I was outside I used snow and made castles. When I was about seven my parents gave me a great big dollhouse for Christmas—the obvious gift, right? And I wanted nothing to do with it. It just sat in a corner of my bedroom because I liked the sloppy little houses I built.”
“All little girls play house,” he said. “My sisters played house. Peyton was always the mother. And she was a very strict mother.”
“What’s your earliest memory?” she asked him.
“Hmm. I’m not sure if it’s an early memory or some family story that’s been repeated so often I think I remember it. It might be when Mikie showed up. My parents had two cribs and a bassinet in their bedroom. We were all lined up to meet him. Ellie was two, Sal was one and Mikie was in the bassinet by the bed. My mother said, ‘This is your new brother, Michael, and from now on your father is sleeping in the barn.’ I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. Eight kids in a little over ten years.”
She laughed happily at that.
“You have little leprechauns in your eyes.”
“My mother’s side of the family, I guess. We’re the only green-eyed members of the family. And I’ve met most of the Lacoumettes—no leprechauns there, I think.”
“That’s for sure,” he said. He put down his fork. “What happened to your marriage?”
“The marriage?” she asked, like that was an odd question. “Matt, I told you, I fell for a musician. A singer with a guitar. He played other instruments, too, but mostly guitar and piano. What I didn’t tell you, I was a groupie. He was in and out of Portland and for three years I followed his gigs. He called when he was in town or even near town, like Seattle or Vancouver or Astoria, and would ask me to come. It was nothing for me to drive three hours just to be with him. On and off, off and on. He’s ten years older and even though he’s had a few breaks here and there, he doesn’t really have a pot to piss in. He wasn’t interested in marriage or family or settling down, though he did move in with me because I had a freestanding garage he could use as a studio. So one night when he said, ‘Hey, babe, maybe we should just get married,’ I jumped on it. Brilliant, yes? I was all over it because hey, I was over twenty-five by that time and all I’d ever really wanted was to be a wife and mother. So I married a self-centered, absent, maybe even adulterous musician who rarely remembered to even call me. My mother thought I’d lost my mind. My brothers hated him. My father still wants to kill him. I married him as fast as I could before he changed his mind. We were married for seven days when he got a job in San Francisco of uncertain duration and he not only took it, he said I wouldn’t enjoy myself, given his terrible hours, and besides, I had to work. He said he’d probably be back in a few weeks. Turned out it was sooner, but he left again a week later, that time for a month. When I tried to talk to him about it he said, ‘Hey, I told you I’d be a lousy husband. I’m just not into it. My music is really important to me and I’m so close. Baby, I’m so close. And you love my music.’ Also, he usually needed money. And I stupidly gave him what I could.”
Matt’s mouth hung open. He was speechless. If there was one thing about the Lacoumette men, they would die before they’d live off a woman. “You’re making this up.”
She gave him a rather patient smile. “I could not make it up. I fell for a singer because he had what I thought was a beautiful voice and I believed that once he saw how happy I could make him, he would never want to leave me again. Oh—he would write music and play music, but our love for each other would come first. That was the lie I told myself. There was one part of the equation I hadn’t taken into consideration. He didn’t love me.”
“You married him when he hadn’t even said he loved you?” Matt asked.
“Of course he said it,” she said. “He said it all the time, along with a lot of beautiful things. Sometimes I even heard them again and again in songs he wrote. He was extremely romantic. But he didn’t mean them. He’s a poet, Matt. A dreamer. A liar.”
“And you left him?”
“Sort of. I left after he told me he just couldn’t do it—that whole traditional marriage and family thing. He sat me down, told me how wonderful I was, how he didn’t deserve me—boy, wasn’t that the truth. And he said it just wasn’t for him. No wait, he said it wasn’t his scene.” She took a sip of her wine. “I thought he’d change his mind, come around. He didn’t. I know you know, Matt. That I lost a baby to SIDS.”
“How do you know I know?”
“Because everyone knows. It’s kind of strange—I thought that might be terrible, having everyone know. But it’s not. It’s easier, in a way. Because I don’t have to explain to anyone that yes, I have baggage. Heavy baggage. My newly pregnant friends are so careful—they try not to talk about their happy new pregnancies too much. I wish they didn’t have to guard my emotions like that. But it’s so thoughtful, don’t you think?”
“I’m sorry, Ginger. Sorry for your loss. Yes, Peyton told me. If she hadn’t, I don’t know how I would have guessed. You seem...” The sentence trailed off.
“Normal?” she asked. “Catch me some early, early morning when I wake up from a dream and can’t breathe. Or maybe on a sunny afternoon when I wonder if he’d be walking yet. Or in a store when I see something that would look so cute on him.” She took another sip of her wine. “Or maybe, take a look at me having dinner with a beautiful man I can never be more than friends with because my track record is...just...too much. I don’t even make sense to myself. What was I thinking?”
“You have to remember, my track record sucks, too,” he reminded her. “How long did it last? Your marriage?”
“About three years.”
He smiled. “I made it seven months. I didn’t fall for a singer but I did fall for the prettiest girl in the biology department. She was a part-time model. Completely self-absorbed. She thinks farming is inconvenient, dirty and boring. We have completely different values.”
“Maybe we should introduce her to Mick. He’s anything but boring.”
“Wait a second. Mick?”
“My ex. Mick Cantrell. His real name is Edward—he changed it to Mick because he thought it was sexier.”
“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. He dunked another chip. “I should’ve known better. Hell, she told me she didn’t want to be a farm wife.”
“And Mick told me being a husband and father wasn’t his scene.”
“I hope you’re not still in love with him,” Matt said.
“I don’t think I am. Not only wouldn’t I give him another chance, he doesn’t want one. But don’t give me any credit for being smart there—just look at what I put up with first. But you? Are you still...?”
He shrugged. It would be terrible to lie to her. “Some days,” he said. “When I have those days that I don’t understand why everything went to hell. My hours were terrible before we got married and I thought we were happy. She was the one who wanted to be married so bad it made her teeth ache. Why the hell would she marry me? I was the worst person for her to marry. And now she wants to have coffee. Or drinks. She wants us to be friends, to get over it, even try again...” He shook his head. “Aw, God, don’t tell Peyton that, please. I don’t want to talk about that with my family.”
“I’m not going to say anything to anyone about this conversation. But can I say one thing? It’s good to have someone like you to talk to.”
He reached for her hand. “We have some things in common. But Ginger, once we’ve gone over the details of all this crap in our rearview mirrors, we’re going to talk about other things.”
She squeezed his hand across the table. “Like what?”
“Like, can you still make little houses? Do you read anything I might like? Is there time in your life for adventure? Would you have a dog? Or a cat? Or a bird? Are you sensitive to insect bites?”
She laughed at his questions and the twinkle in her eyes was back that fast. “Do you have a dog?”
“We have working dogs, a bunch of ’em. I don’t even know how many. They’re mostly with George—they mind the sheep. There’s a golden and a black Lab around the orchard—they hunt and keep predators away from the chickens. There are no animals in the house.”
“Well, I want a dog in the house,” she said. “On the bed, in fact. And on the sofa! I want a good old happy dog who looks at me with sad loving eyes no matter how late I get home...”
“And dog hair in the soup.”
“And dog hair in the soup,” she agreed, laughing.
He lifted his beer. “You’re all right, Ginger,” he said before taking a drink.
The conversation blessedly turned from bad marriages and other catastrophes to family humor—what her brothers did to her miniature people and houses, what his sisters did to him. Peyton and Ginny were older and tried to dress up the little boys like dolls and make them play roles as their babies. He had her laughing hysterically at the tales of ten people and one bathroom. She told of the fun game her older brothers had of tossing her back and forth, until someone missed and she broke an arm. Matt told of numerous fractures on the farm, all from doing things they were forbidden to do, like swing on the rope in the barn from the loft to the ground.
They had each driven their own vehicles to the restaurant so that when Ginger went home Matt could just head north to his apartment. He walked her to her car and stood with her right outside the driver’s door. He put his forehead against her forehead. “For the first time in a long time, I’m a little bit happy. Because you’re my friend,” he said.
“Me, too. Will you do something for me?”
“Sure, Ginger. What do you need?”
“When you get home tonight will you give me a call? Just so I know you made it without problems. I promise not to keep you on the phone.”
“Sure,” he said. He looked at his watch. “I’ll be waking you up in about four hours.”
When he called her, it was already after eleven. And then they talked for two hours.
* * *
Thank God for Ginger, Grace thought for the millionth time. She was in charge of the flower shop while Grace was at the new house preparing a nice dinner for her mother and Mikhail. And sadly, she was hoping that Winnie would prove to be too fatigued to be argumentative, demanding or feisty, because there were things she had to be told right away.
Oh, how she hoped her mother liked the house. They’d all worked so hard.
Troy had gone to the airport to fetch them. Winnie and Mikhail had come by private jet. She was standing in the kitchen when she heard the garage door slide up, the hum of the Jeep as Troy pulled in and she went to the kitchen door. She saw Troy get out and go around to the passenger side. He lifted Winnie into his strong arms and carried her into the house.
“We’re here,” he announced to Grace. “Let the party begin!”
And Winnie, God bless her, blushed and slapped at him. “Stop it, Troy! My partying days are long over.”
Grace kissed her cheek while Troy still held her very capably. “I’m so glad you’re here. How do you feel?”
“Oh, you know. Just always so tired.” And then she looked around the great room and kitchen. “Very nice, Grace,” she said.
And Grace felt every tight muscle in her body relax. She was surprised she didn’t sink to the floor in sheer relief.
Troy put Winnie on her feet then helped her to the chair near the open French doors, facing the ocean, and Grace pushed the ottoman over, lifting her feet up. Winnie shrugged out of her wrap while Grace sat on the ottoman and pulled off her mother’s shoes. She held Winnie’s feet in her lap and gently massaged them.
“You used to do this for me when I had a long day of skating,” Grace said.
“Seems so long ago now,” Winnie said.
“You’ll want to see the rest of the house but we’ll take it a little bit at a time. It’s actually a large house, but everything you need is on this floor. I’ve cooked us a little dinner...”
“I’m not very hungry, darling,” she said.
“I have a little soup if you’re tired and don’t want much to eat. But I hope you have enough energy to hear some news. It’s going to be a little exciting around here soon—and we’ll try to keep it manageable with regard to your health. We’re going to get married, Mama. We want to get married anyway but we’re going to put a little rush on it because I’m pregnant.” She covered her belly with one hand. “Due around Christmas.”
Winnie looked up and over her shoulder at Troy. “You do realize she’s never been in a relationship before, don’t you?”
