“Oh!” I exclaimed, “Speaking of bad bosses—Denise, who worked in accounting at Spector, called me yesterday and said Gavin got fired!”
“Really?” Monica said, her eyes lighting up in the same way mine had when I heard the news. “So your letter to the CEO worked?”
“Oh, I doubt that was the reason,” I said, while secretly hoping it was, “but it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Ava is taking his place, which is great. She’ll be a great boss.”
“She really liked you, didn’t she?” Monica asked. “Any chance of her asking you to come back?”
“Well . . .” I said slowly, “I think that’s why Denise called me. She didn’t come right out and say so, but she kind of hinted at it. But I told her I’m happy doing what I’m doing.” I laughed. “Of course, I might end up regretting that later; there’s a very good chance this whole thing will turn out to have been a terrible idea. But I’m going to do everything I can to make it work. I really feel like this is what I’m supposed to do with my life. And I’m having a great time doing it.”
“Good for you,” Monica said. “That’s how it should be. So, who’s your employee? And how is she working out?”
“Billie Dawson,” I said. “She starts next week. Nan found her at the grief support group—another misfit. Her husband died of a heart attack about six months ago; he was only fifty-six.”
“And she needs a job?”
“Yes, but she also needs something to do. She’s kind of . . . squirrelly,” I smiled, recalling the rapid-fire way she talked and her fidgety hands. “She said she hadn’t sewn since high school but five minutes after I sat her down at the machine, it all came back. She sews like lightning. I like her. I think it’ll be a good arrangement for both of us. And—”
The sudden catch in my throat caught me by surprise. I swallowed quickly and plucked a roll of blue tulle off a nearby shelf.
“What do you think of this for Maisie’s tutu? If I glued on some sequins?”
“Cute,” Monica replied without even looking at it. “Grace, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I swiped at my eyes. “It’s stupid.”
“Grace?”
“It’s nothing bad, really,” I said, smiling to prove I was telling the truth. “In fact, it was kind of sweet. When Billie came over for the interview, she saw my quilt blocks. She asked me about them, so I started telling her stories about Jamie. Then she started talking about her husband, Pete. It was just . . . it was really good. Billie’s decided to make a quilt for Pete, too.”
“Oh, Grace.” Monica grabbed me and hugged me hard. “That’s great. It sounds like you really helped her.”
“She helped me more. If Jamie and I had had a baby, I’d be telling our child all those stories but—” The dam in my throat broke and I started to cry in earnest, clutching her shoulder like it was the only solid thing in the world. “Oh, Monica. I’m so afraid I’m going to forget about him.”
“Forget Jamie?” Her eyes went wide. “That is never, ever, ever going to happen. The things you and Jamie learned together and went through together will be part of you always; he’s a part of who you are. Nothing and no one will ever change that.”
Monica squeezed me even tighter, making sure I was steady before putting her hands on my shoulders and pushing me back so she could look into my eyes.
“Is this about Luke? It’s all right for you to care about him. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love Jamie, or will ever love him less.”
“It’s not that,” I said, swiping at my eyes, putting the lid back on. “I just get emotional sometimes. I miss him. I think I always will.”
“Sure,” Monica said. “Why wouldn’t you? He deserves to be missed.”
“He does,” I said, clear-eyed again. “And Luke’s just a friend.”
“A pretty good friend, I’d say.”
I nodded. There was no denying it.
“So, if you’re going to the ball as Cinderella, will Luke be Prince Charming or the frog? Oh, wait,” Monica frowned. “The frog is a whole different story, right?”
I shook my head. “Maisie is my date for the ball.”
Monica tilted her head to one side and looked at me the way she would have if she’d caught me in a lie.
“Luke and I are just friends,” I said again. “We dance. We have fun. And then we go home. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Monica said. “So if you’re just friends, then what’s the big deal? You like to dance, he likes to dance, and there’s going to be a really good band. It’ll be just like class—you’ll dance, you’ll have fun, and then you’ll go home. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She waited for me to speak. “Unless you’re afraid of what happens if Luke becomes more than a friend?”
Monica drew her face close to mine. Her normally brash voice was almost a whisper. “Grace, listen to me. You’re not doing anything wrong. You can love Luke and love Jamie too. It doesn’t change anything.”
Doesn’t it?
Chapter 36
Grace
As the introductory measures played, I mentally checked my dance position, making sure my shoulders pressed down and my neck was long, that I was standing just off center from Luke with my back just slightly arched.
Florian counted off the final beats—five, six, seven, eight—and everyone stepped off to the rhythm of the castanets.
“Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow,” Florian chanted as we moved across the floor, performing two basic tango steps, then a progressive link to point us in the right direction before we transitioned into our promenade step.
“Better,” Florian said when we got to the end of the combination. “But remember, tango is about attitude, and power, and passion,” he said, pronouncing the
