“That’s not true,” I say quietly.
“She lied to you! She made you fall in love with her, and the whole time she was planning on leaving for Oregon!”
I consider Rachel’s accusations—weren’t they my exact thoughts a week ago? What do I understand now, so clearly, that I didn’t then?
“Sometimes you’ve got to ride the twists and turns before you get to the clear stretch of road.” I squeeze Rachel’s hand in mine. “Thank you for looking out for me, but Rachel, you owe it to Laineandyourself to let go of this story you’ve believed about her all these years. It’s not true, and it’s poisoning how you feel about everyone in your life. Includingyou.”
Rachel’s sobs have reduced to hiccups, her eyes fixed on mine. I can tell she wants to argue in that way where your heart’s saying one thing, but your mind’s unable to back it up, so you sit there in resistance, wondering what the hell the right answer is.
“Did you know that day at varsity tryouts Laine begged the coach to let you finish?”
“No.Charlaine was the one who kicked me off the field,” Rachel insists. “She humiliated me in front of everyone!”
“She tried to help you, but the coach overruled her. That’s what I’m talking about. You have this …lensyou see Laine through, and it distorts the truth in ugly ways. You’ve got to let it go.”
She stares at me, emotions passing over her face as she battles versions of Laine in her mind, and we’re silent for a few minutes.
I check the sun, then my watch. “I need to get back. We still have a winery to decontaminate if we’re going to make the showcase.”
Rachel nods. Will our conversation today serve as a truce, where we peacefully go our own ways? Or could it be the beginning of something different? I slide out of the semi-crashed golf cart. The impulse to say my goodbyes and keep walking, to let Rachel make the decision of what comes next, presents itself, but the desire to have learned something from all this pain and upheaval is even stronger. Where Rachel falls in my heart is just a big, old ache I’m so tired of feeling. I come around to her side of the cart and offer her my hand. Surprised, she lets me help her up.
“Rachel, Laine and I are in love. Whatever comes next, we’re figuring it out together. Can you get right with that?”
“Guess I have to.” Rachel blows out a breath. Tries again. “Yes.”
Maybe it’d help if she realized that what I love about Laine now was part of what I loved about Rachel back then. The fierce grip on life. The ambition. The great calves.
Maybe if she realized that I see her, too. Thenandnow, and I’m still standing here.
“Come on. Let’s go find your keys.” I squeeze her hand, then pull her toward the winery.
“Then you’ve got some toilets to clean.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Some days, you wake up knowing the day is destined to become filler. Part of the yawning blur that sweeps you between the major touch points of your life.
But some days aremagic. You open your eyes, and the air feels charged with potential. Each minute stands by, ready, waiting,wantingto become a memory.
When I open my eyes the morning of the showcase, I already know I’ll remember today forever. Dawn whispers in through the cracked window, the crisp feel of fall like the cool of my mother’s hand pressed against my forehead. Maybe it is. All these years I’ve felt sewn into this place, stitched tight by the thread of her blood in my veins, but Mom never wanted that for me. She only wanted me to be happy, to find my own way like she found hers. By climbing a mountain with her great love, looking out onto the world together, pointing, believing, that where they dare set their sights, happiness would follow.
I’m happy, Mom.My heart lifts the words in the hopes she’ll hear them. I’m climbing this mountain. I’m finding my way.
And I swear I smell wildflowers in October.
I stretch and wrap my body around Laine.
“Mmm,” she murmurs, covertly removing her retainer and tucking it under her pillow. “Good morning, boss.”
I pretend not to notice, because I love her.
“Good morning, Beave.” I kiss the words across her bare shoulderblades, leaving a trail of goose bumps in my wake. “Would you care to make it agreatone?”
Laine finds my hand tucked around her stomach and brings it to her mouth, kissing the tip of each finger. She spends a little extra time on my thumb, wrapping her lips around it and giving it a long, slow suck that plucks me deep inside. With her other hand, she reaches behind to grab my thigh and drag it over her, grinding me against her hip in the process.
Guess that’s a yes.
Laine shifts until she’s on her back, looking up at me as I straddle her. She likes it this way, working me from below while watching me come for her above. Like she’s the conductor in the orchestra, watching the ballet on stage surge to the music she creates. I don’t mind starring on this stage for her. After all the years I spent desperate for Laine to look my way, feeling her hot, dark gaze trained on me now is a power I never imagined I’d have. One that’s borne from loving and being loved and resting in the faith that whatever tomorrow brings, it’s worth it.
