A New Hope
Page 32
Grace didn’t bother with anything in the kitchen or great room. She wasn’t too tired to think about the way things had turned out. She felt reasonably sure this ALS, with the limits it put on Winnie’s life, had softened her. Winnie had always been a difficult, stubborn woman; their relationship had been challenging. If Winnie wasn’t sick right now the chances were good that they’d be fighting over all these details—the wedding, the groom’s family, everything. That was the history they’d had—one power struggle after another with very brief periods of affection.
Now, when it was almost too late, Winnie was becoming the kind of mother Grace had always longed for. Tolerant. Warm.
Rather than cry about it, she’d be grateful for this. It was a gift.
* * *
Winnie sat up in the bed. The television was a gray blur; the DVD had stopped playing. She looked at her phone—it was the middle of the night. It was the snoring combined with her full bladder that had roused her. She turned on the light and stretched a leg toward Mikhail’s knee, giving him a kick.
He jolted awake, startled. “Shits of the gods,” he grumbled.
“You should go to bed. You’re snoring.”
“You are sure it wasn’t you, snoring?” he said.
“The snoring had a Russian accent. Go to bed,” she said, looking at her phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I call Grace when I have to get up, when I need something,” she said.
“Ach, let the girl rest. I will get what you need.”
She smirked. “The toilet?”
“I will take you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not peeing in front of you!”
“Of course not!” he barked. “I take you, you hold the bars, I leave, I close door, you sit, you make it rain, you do what you do—I suppose you don’t shake it off like a man. Then you can pull yourself up on the bars. Then what? Whistle?”
She was shocked silent for a moment. But then she smiled. “I’ll call Grace.”
“No, let the child sleep. You want I should get you some water?”
“First the bathroom,” she said, scooting to the very edge of the bed.
He stooped, put her slippers on her slender feet and pulled her up. “Lean on me,” he said. “I’m not a young man to carry you, but you can still walk ten steps. You’ll be fine, then back in the bed, yes?”
“Mikhail,” she said with a laugh. “Make it rain? Really?”
“You have trouble to understand meaning of this? I trust you know what to do.”
“I’m going to do it right here if you keep making me laugh,” she said.
“Please, no,” he said. “I am wearing the stocking feet.”
Winnie did all she could to comply, though a middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom had never been so entertaining. She did as he suggested, holding the handicap rail beside the commode until he left. Then, adjusting her nightgown, lowered herself, made it rain—with a little laughter at the thought—and then stood. And flushed. Oh, how she wished she could whistle.
There was a little light tapping.
“Yes, come in. I’m waiting for you,” she said. “I’m going to get a whistle!”
“Shits of the gods,” he muttered. “Come, your highness,” he said, tucking her arm in his. “Is not good for your rest to have so much talking in the night. In bed you go. Come, come.”
He held the sheets back, lifted her feet to help her, took the slippers off and covered her up. Then he returned to the chair, pulled the throw over him and stretched his legs out. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Going again to sleep.”
“Go to bed! That’s uncomfortable!”
“Ach, is perfect. Is excellent. I never had better sleep. Stop with the talking.”
“You’ll never sleep!”
“You are correct! I will never sleep! Someone cannot shut her royal mouth! Enough!”
She looked at him for a long moment, then reluctantly turned off the light and lay down.
In the dark he said, “If I am right here, I’ll know if you’re dead,” he said.
“How will you know?” she asked.
“It will finally be quiet.”
* * *
Troy, his brother and dad, Cooper and Spencer, set up on the beach for the wedding. There were tables for the food, provided by Carrie. An arch that Iris and Ginger had covered with flowers had to be anchored. There was a stack of beach blankets that Cooper stored in the basement of the bar and a pile of canvas and aluminum beach chairs for people to use. There were a few picnic tables around, too heavy to move closer to the party but useful just the same.
The flower van was parked in the drive of Winnie’s house; the catering van would be parked on the beach as the time drew near. In addition to food and flowers, Cooper arranged for a couple of kegs and several large bottles of wine. Twenty or so people had been formally invited, another twenty-five had been informally invited, still another twenty-five would probably show up.
Troy was told to get ready downstairs in their little apartment while Grace would be on the main level with her mother. Because it was her mother’s event, too, a beautician had been called to do hair and makeup. Winnie could not have done it herself and God knew Grace couldn’t do it for her. Iris and Ginger came over early to bring flowers and help; Ginger brought the dress.
Several times during the week Grace had looked at her wedding gown, a work in progress. She’d tried it on a couple of times and been happy with it. It was so different now, less than an hour before the vows, Grace’s hair pulled back and caught up in curls that cascaded down in back, makeup finished. She stepped into the dress, Iris closed up the many small buttons in the back, and she turned toward the mirror on the inside of the closet door.
“Oh, my God,” Winnie said in a breath. “Stunning. Beyond stunning.”
“It’s beautiful, Ginger,” Iris said. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you,” she said a bit shyly. “It was a joy.”
“It almost looks like Pippa Middleton’s dress,” Grace said. “Oh, Ginger, I’m never going to be able to thank you properly for all you’ve done for me.”
“Well, that goes both ways,” she said. “I came to this little town to get a break, a changed perspective, and look what I found. A job I love, good friends, a new lease on life. A lot of that is made possible by you, Grace.”
Now, when it was almost too late, Winnie was becoming the kind of mother Grace had always longed for. Tolerant. Warm.
Rather than cry about it, she’d be grateful for this. It was a gift.
* * *
Winnie sat up in the bed. The television was a gray blur; the DVD had stopped playing. She looked at her phone—it was the middle of the night. It was the snoring combined with her full bladder that had roused her. She turned on the light and stretched a leg toward Mikhail’s knee, giving him a kick.
He jolted awake, startled. “Shits of the gods,” he grumbled.
“You should go to bed. You’re snoring.”
“You are sure it wasn’t you, snoring?” he said.
“The snoring had a Russian accent. Go to bed,” she said, looking at her phone.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I call Grace when I have to get up, when I need something,” she said.
“Ach, let the girl rest. I will get what you need.”
She smirked. “The toilet?”
“I will take you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m not peeing in front of you!”
“Of course not!” he barked. “I take you, you hold the bars, I leave, I close door, you sit, you make it rain, you do what you do—I suppose you don’t shake it off like a man. Then you can pull yourself up on the bars. Then what? Whistle?”
She was shocked silent for a moment. But then she smiled. “I’ll call Grace.”
“No, let the child sleep. You want I should get you some water?”
“First the bathroom,” she said, scooting to the very edge of the bed.
He stooped, put her slippers on her slender feet and pulled her up. “Lean on me,” he said. “I’m not a young man to carry you, but you can still walk ten steps. You’ll be fine, then back in the bed, yes?”
“Mikhail,” she said with a laugh. “Make it rain? Really?”
“You have trouble to understand meaning of this? I trust you know what to do.”
“I’m going to do it right here if you keep making me laugh,” she said.
“Please, no,” he said. “I am wearing the stocking feet.”
Winnie did all she could to comply, though a middle-of-the-night trip to the bathroom had never been so entertaining. She did as he suggested, holding the handicap rail beside the commode until he left. Then, adjusting her nightgown, lowered herself, made it rain—with a little laughter at the thought—and then stood. And flushed. Oh, how she wished she could whistle.
There was a little light tapping.
“Yes, come in. I’m waiting for you,” she said. “I’m going to get a whistle!”
“Shits of the gods,” he muttered. “Come, your highness,” he said, tucking her arm in his. “Is not good for your rest to have so much talking in the night. In bed you go. Come, come.”
He held the sheets back, lifted her feet to help her, took the slippers off and covered her up. Then he returned to the chair, pulled the throw over him and stretched his legs out. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Going again to sleep.”
“Go to bed! That’s uncomfortable!”
“Ach, is perfect. Is excellent. I never had better sleep. Stop with the talking.”
“You’ll never sleep!”
“You are correct! I will never sleep! Someone cannot shut her royal mouth! Enough!”
She looked at him for a long moment, then reluctantly turned off the light and lay down.
In the dark he said, “If I am right here, I’ll know if you’re dead,” he said.
“How will you know?” she asked.
“It will finally be quiet.”
* * *
Troy, his brother and dad, Cooper and Spencer, set up on the beach for the wedding. There were tables for the food, provided by Carrie. An arch that Iris and Ginger had covered with flowers had to be anchored. There was a stack of beach blankets that Cooper stored in the basement of the bar and a pile of canvas and aluminum beach chairs for people to use. There were a few picnic tables around, too heavy to move closer to the party but useful just the same.
The flower van was parked in the drive of Winnie’s house; the catering van would be parked on the beach as the time drew near. In addition to food and flowers, Cooper arranged for a couple of kegs and several large bottles of wine. Twenty or so people had been formally invited, another twenty-five had been informally invited, still another twenty-five would probably show up.
Troy was told to get ready downstairs in their little apartment while Grace would be on the main level with her mother. Because it was her mother’s event, too, a beautician had been called to do hair and makeup. Winnie could not have done it herself and God knew Grace couldn’t do it for her. Iris and Ginger came over early to bring flowers and help; Ginger brought the dress.
Several times during the week Grace had looked at her wedding gown, a work in progress. She’d tried it on a couple of times and been happy with it. It was so different now, less than an hour before the vows, Grace’s hair pulled back and caught up in curls that cascaded down in back, makeup finished. She stepped into the dress, Iris closed up the many small buttons in the back, and she turned toward the mirror on the inside of the closet door.
“Oh, my God,” Winnie said in a breath. “Stunning. Beyond stunning.”
“It’s beautiful, Ginger,” Iris said. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you,” she said a bit shyly. “It was a joy.”
“It almost looks like Pippa Middleton’s dress,” Grace said. “Oh, Ginger, I’m never going to be able to thank you properly for all you’ve done for me.”
“Well, that goes both ways,” she said. “I came to this little town to get a break, a changed perspective, and look what I found. A job I love, good friends, a new lease on life. A lot of that is made possible by you, Grace.”
