Jamie frowned. “I’m sorry, Grace. That really sucks.”
It did. Hearing him say so didn’t change anything, but it made me feel better. I said thanks and asked where he was going.
“Orthopedist appointment. I went out for cross-country and my knees hurt. My mom wants me to get checked out.”
Penny was standing with her back to us, looking out the window toward a small garden with orange mums and a fountain.
“Your mom is waiting,” I said. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I mean, I will be.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“I think so too,” he said, and for some reason, I believed him. He seemed trustworthy. And that’s how it all started.
I took some patches from the bag, the same off-white I was using in the center and some blue chambray, scraps from a shirt Jamie would never wear again. This block, a friendship star, would represent our beginning, a moment of kindness, a sea change neither of us saw coming.
I threaded my needle and started sewing, as I did every night, passing time, marking time, keeping my eyes on my stitches, refusing to look at the door or think about who Jamie was waiting for or when they might come.
Chapter 8
Nan
Monica’s normal speaking voice lies somewhere between bass drum and fog horn. But with Nelson asleep on Monica’s lap, I had to turn the water down so I could hear what she said when she leaned forward, searching Grace’s face.
“So? Did you sleep with him?”
“Of course not!” Grace snapped. “What a thing to ask!”
“Then what’s the big deal?” Monica looked disappointed. “The way you were acting, I thought you were getting ready to tell us all the sordid details. Sheesh.”
“The point is that I wanted to sleep with him,” Grace said, her expression as pained as her voice. “Or at least that I thought about it. For a minute.”
“Who wouldn’t? You’re not made of stone, are you? Luke is gorgeous. Not my type, of course,” Monica said with a shrug. “As we all know, I prefer my men short, dark, and serially unfaithful. But, aside from him being too good for me, what woman with a pulse wouldn’t want to sleep with Luke Pascal?”
“That’s fine for them,” Grace countered. “Or for you. But I can’t. I’m married.”
Monica’s smile faded. She dropped her teasing tone.
“Are you?”
“Stop it, Monica.”
“Grace, it’s a fair question. Are you?”
I shut the sink water off completely, cocking an ear for Grace’s response.
“Well, I think you should sleep with him,” Monica said breezily when Grace failed to answer. “Somebody should. He’s too good to waste.”
“Go right ahead. Be my guest.”
Monica spooned a bite of baked apple into her mouth and shook her head.
“Uh-uh. He’s too young for me. The whole cougar thing sounds good, but it almost never works out. Also, not Italian.” She shook her head again. “Can’t be me. Has to be you.”
“Won’t be,” Grace said. “Not with Luke, not with anybody. For better or worse, Monica. Till death do us part. That’s what married means.”
“Sure. I get it,” Monica said, spreading her hands. “And I admire your loyalty. And, yes, technically and legally, you’re married. But isn’t marriage more than a promise and a piece of paper? It’s supposed to be a relationship, right? Thus the phrase ‘marital relations.’ You haven’t had either of those, a relationship or relations, for close to two years. Over all this time, you’ve been there for Jamie, which is great. But he hasn’t been there for you—”
“Because he can’t!”
Grace is normally the quiet one of the group and not given to emotional outbursts. But she shoved her chair back from the table so hard that the sound of the legs scraping on the floor woke Blixen, who had been sleeping by the back door. Picking up on her distress, Blix got to her feet, crossed the room, and laid her head on Grace’s knee. It didn’t seem to help.
“What is wrong with you, Monica? Why would you say something like that? Don’t you think that he wants to—”
Monica raised her hands. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not saying Jamie did anything wrong or abandoned you. He didn’t plan or deserve this. But neither did you. Think about it, Grace. Think about what you just said—for better or worse, till death do you part.
“Jamie hasn’t looked at you, or talked to you, or engaged with anyone in any way since the accident. At this point, his life is like your marriage—a technicality.”
Monica leaned even closer, trying to lock eyes with Grace.
“Don’t say that to me, Monica. I mean it. Do it again and I’ll leave.”
Grace, who wouldn’t look at Monica, started stroking Blixen’s head, but hard, as if she were pressing out a layer of stiff dough. Monica fiddled with her fork, then looked at me.
“What do you think?”
I took the copper kettle off the stove, carried it to the table, and filled the cups.
“I think it’s time to talk about something else.”
Apart from the gurgling sound coming from the kettle spout, the room was silent. I sat down, sipped my tea, and waited. You can’t force these things. Nobody in the world wants to be instructed or lectured. Even when you have something to offer, it’s better to wait to be asked—at least if you actually want to help someone.
Grace, who had eaten no more than a third of her dessert, pushed her bowl to Monica’s side of the table. A peace offering.
“Fine,” Monica muttered, picking up her spoon. “What should we talk about?”
Monica looked at me and I looked at Grace. We could talk, really talk, or we could change the subject and chat. It was up to her.
After a moment, she said, “I just don’t understand what happened. All we were doing was dancing. Why should I suddenly be flooded with feelings for a man I hardly know? It felt so strange and out of control.”
She looked toward me, inviting my answer.
“Could it be pointing to
