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Frank shrugs. “Health insurance is excellent.”
I roll my eyes. At least if I have to be driven around by someone it’s my best friend. Although, I could do without the commentary. I get in the front seat and Carter looks put out.
“Seriously? I have to sit in the back by myself? I have longer legs; I should get shotgun.”
Frank ignores us both and pulls out into Boston traffic. The ride to Bristol should take under two hours, but with traffic anything is possible. I flick the radio on and ignore my brother. Under my breath, I mutter, “Did you check in with Grace to make sure she doesn’t need you this weekend?”
He nods. “She says she has plans tonight, and the rest of the weekend she’s staying in. No need for a driver.”
I nod. I know about her plans tonight. My nerves are shot knowing that in a few hours the gossip magazines will be talking about Grace Kensington’s date with Hanson. A publicist has been hired to release a statement about her divorce which will be the only comment that is made to the press. I hate that I can’t just take her in my arms and walk around in public with her, but her publicist, her divorce attorney, and my team all advise against it. I’ll do anything to make Grace’s life easier, so if this is what we need to do for the time being, I’ll grit my teeth and bear it. Or I’ll get drunk with my brother and ignore the entire situation for the night. That is definitely the more likely result.
The closer we get to Rhode Island, the more I feel myself relax. Unlike the big buildings in the city, here there are bridges and ocean in every direction I look. The unease of going back to the house where we lived with our parents doesn’t relax Carter though. His leg is jumping in the backseat, and I can practically hear his thoughts tumbling through his head. I don’t have the same memories as him. I was too young.
“Do you want to stop by the grave now?” I ask Carter, peering at him from behind my shoulder.
He’s staring at his phone, his long legs stretched out across the seat. Raising his eyes only enough to glance in my direction, he nods his head.
Frank watches the interaction, looks at me, and acknowledges that he knows where to go. He signals left, and I feel Carter straighten his body behind me, righting himself, perhaps in preparation for the meeting with our mother.
Is it odd that the only real memories I have of talking to my mother involve her headstone? Possibly. I don’t know the sound of her laugh or the way she smelled, but I have memorized every word written on that hard slab of rock.
The air smells of grass, as if the groundskeepers have just mowed the lawn, and flowers line the gravel path. I’m told our mother loved flowers and tending to the garden. For some reason, this makes me think of Grace. I think she would probably like gardening as well. I wonder if she had a garden in the house she shared with her ex. Is that something she misses? Is it something she would want in the future?
Grace never answered my question the other night. Does she want kids? Part of me could feel in her kiss that she felt all the things I was saying. That, like me, she knew we were planning a life together. But it’s too soon to press her on that. She’s not even divorced yet. While I’m traveling at warp speed in my mind,there are many obstacles still standing in our way.
Frank stays back in the car while Carter and I walk along the path in silence. It’s not awkward. We’re both lost in our own thoughts. I don’t know what his are. Maybe he’s remembering our mother’s laugh, or the way she smelled, or a game they used to play. His tortured expression makes me think maybe I’m glad I don’t remember those things. I have no idea what I’m missing. The knife twists a little less when all you have is your imagination and nothing to really compare it to.
“We should have brought flowers,” Carter says, looking forlornly at her grave. Beautiful flowers surround the monument. A perk of having her laid to rest on our family’s property.
“Do you want a moment alone?” I offer.
In all honesty, I want to talk to her about Grace, and I can’t do that in front of Carter. When I was a kid, I would come out here and talk to her during the summers when we’d visit. I’m sure my siblings did the same. But we never did it in front of each other. Maybe because we thought it made us seem crazy.
Talking to stone. Or dirt. Or the sky.
But I don’t doubt that each of us did it at least once. And I have a need to do it now. Carter barely looks at me; he just nods and grunts an affirmation.
Our family home sits on the water, overlooking Mount Hope Bay. I walk down the lawn toward the sailboats bobbing in the water. The bay is almost an orange color from the sun setting above.
I sit down on the grass, unbutton my suit jacket, and fold my arms over my knees. Then looking out at the sea, I talk to the woman I barely knew about the woman I’ve fallen in love with.
Chapter 35
Grace
As I sway in the arms of Jonathan to “When A Man Loves a Woman,” I mutter under my breath, “I am going to kill you.”
Jonathan chuckles against my ear, then spins me away from him in some fancy move that only boys who had been raised with money learned. He has more charm and charisma in his pinky than anyone I’ve ever met. He could talk an old man out of his life savings and a woman out of her panties. Right now his eyes are crinkled in pure delight and focused solely on me.
If not for the fact that I’m immune to his charm, I would be putty in his hands. “You’re making me look good, Gracie. Just smile and pretend you’re having a good time.”
If anything, I owe him for taking the heat off Cash and me, so I bat my lashes and look up at him like a woman smitten, likely making every woman surrounding us immensely jealous. “This is your last dance, Jay.”
He raises his blue eyes in a dare. “Then I better make it worth it.” Before I can stop him, he dips me dramatically to the room’s applause. When he rights me onto my feet, he nuzzles his face into my neck.
To an outsider, it would look like he’s kissing me, but even though he’s a scoundrel, he is also my friend and with me he’s a gentleman. He simply breathes me in, whispers a thank you and then with his hand on my back, steers me in the direction of the bar.
“Pretty sure the media got their shot, and your publicist is going to have a busy night tonight,” he says as we walk.
