A New Hope
Page 48
“But I’m happy right now,” he went on. “That doesn’t mean I’m diving in too fast, but for God’s sake, let me try being happy. Will you?”
Peyton got tears in her eyes. “Aw, Matt...”
“Jesus, don’t cry! Don’t! I want to smack you so don’t cry!”
“I’m pregnant,” she said, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I hate that you ever thought I didn’t want you to be happy.”
“Awww...I’m not mad at you, Peyton. Well, a little bit because I thought you wanted to keep me away from Ginger. I just thought you wanted me to be happy your way,” he said. He got up from the kitchen table and found the box of tissues. He tossed it at her and it accidentally hit her in the head before she caught it. He winced.
“I did,” she said. “I wanted you to be happy my way. I have a little issue with that being-right thing. But I didn’t know you knew so much about yourself. About Ted. About rocky situations. About working through things with an amazing woman. About looking for love in all the wrong places. I just thought...”
“That I was a big dumb lummox.”
“Well...”
“Save it,” he said. And he waited while she mopped her eyes and blew her nose. He tried keeping a scowl on his face while she sniveled. He crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. It was all an act. He wanted to hug her.
“Really,” she said with a sniff. “Nothing could make me happier than to think of you in a healthy relationship with a nice woman like Ginger.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” he said.
“If I say sorry can that be the end of it?”
“I don’t know, Peyton,” he said. “Can you mind your own business?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You might want to go a little easy on me.”
“That’s the price of forgiveness,” he said. “Your word. Then you stand by it and mind your own business.”
“All right,” she said irritably. “I can’t believe you made me cry.”
“Those were fetal tears and you know it. I can’t remember when you’ve ever cried over one of us boys.”
“I might cry a little easier these days,” she relented. “So. You’re going to be around awhile?”
“I’m going to leave for the farm Sunday night. We might bump into each other but let’s be clear, I’m here to be with Ginger. I need to spend time with her.”
“All right, jeez.”
He softened. He smiled warmly. “Maybe next week or the week after we can get together.”
“Well, don’t go to any trouble,” she shot back.
“So. We understand each other?” he asked.
“We understand each other, mutiko,” she said, meaning little boy.
That made him frown. “Don’t push it,” he warned. “I have things to do.” He stood to leave. After taking a couple of steps toward the door he turned back to her. He put a small kiss on her forehead. He hugged her gently. “Behave,” he warned.
Thirteen
Grace had never wished illness on her mother but it was true that the relationship she had with her now was better than ever. Their routine was calming. When Grace rose in the morning she would go upstairs to Winnie’s room. She would usually knock softly, not just to be sure Winnie was awake but also to be certain she wouldn’t wake or disturb Mikhail, who never admitted to spending nights in the chair beside Winnie’s bed. Grace would go into her mother’s room to find Winnie sitting up, wearing her favorite bed jacket. This particular morning she’d seen Mikhail out on the deck with coffee.
Winnie’s trembling had worsened and she could no longer fluff her hair or paint on her rose-colored lips—two things she hated to be seen without accomplishing. Grace actually enjoyed helping her mother with these small tasks. It made her feel useful, indispensable even.
“Time for that silly wench from the town to come out and give us a fix-up,” Winnie said of the local hairdresser who had obliged them by making regular house calls.
“As long as you promise not to call her that silly wench,” Grace said with a laugh.
“I know better than that, for God’s sake. It’s like insulting the chef—he might spit in the soup.”
“You could end up with red hair. Or bald,” Grace pointed out. “Would you like to have your tea on the deck?”
“Only if I don’t look like the wrath of God,” Winnie said. “First the ladies’ room, please.”
“The fog hasn’t lifted, but the sun is over the mountains already. You can watch it rise and chase the fog out to sea,” Grace told her. “You’ll need your shawl. Troy and Mikhail are already out there with their coffee. It’s a lovely, dewy morning.”
Winnie didn’t say so often but she liked this place. It was like a vacation, like a chilly and wintry Cabo San Lucas. When she was on the deck, which was a couple of times a day in good weather, there were regular visitors. Sarah Cooper liked to have a morning run with her Great Dane, Ham, and she would stop by some mornings to say hello to Winnie, leaving the dog at the foot of the stairs. Seth Sileski, on the other hand, enjoyed an early-evening jog and would then meet friends at Cooper’s, but he’d frequently stop by for a little report on the town first. Winnie really enjoyed the local news from Seth even if she didn’t know half the people. Grace liked a walk on the beach now and then and she always walked to and from the flower shop if it wasn’t raining. Dr. Grant took his little ones fishing off the dock sometimes and he used that opportunity to ask after Winnie’s health, and their next-door neighbors—the Lawsons—checked in frequently if they saw Winnie enjoying the sunshine.
This was actually new for Winnie—friends and neighbors who weren’t intimidated by her, who cared if she was well or ill.
Mikhail was often about, but he had his own routines. He now donned board shorts that were extralong on his short body, a hat, white socks in his brown German walking shoes. He walked on and off all day long. He went into town, had a meal at the diner almost every day, visited with Waylan at his bar, sometimes helped Grace and Ginger pull in their sidewalk displays at closing time. Even though he didn’t drive he made regular visits to the service station having struck up friendships with the owner, Eric, and his right-hand man, Al. These days he talked a lot about buying a car. And weirdly unsurprisingly, he had many female fans who honked their horns and waved as they drove by. He frequently walked out of town to the nearest farm stand and brought home fresh vegetables. Grace said he must log twenty miles some days.
Peyton got tears in her eyes. “Aw, Matt...”
“Jesus, don’t cry! Don’t! I want to smack you so don’t cry!”
“I’m pregnant,” she said, and tears ran down her cheeks. “I hate that you ever thought I didn’t want you to be happy.”
“Awww...I’m not mad at you, Peyton. Well, a little bit because I thought you wanted to keep me away from Ginger. I just thought you wanted me to be happy your way,” he said. He got up from the kitchen table and found the box of tissues. He tossed it at her and it accidentally hit her in the head before she caught it. He winced.
“I did,” she said. “I wanted you to be happy my way. I have a little issue with that being-right thing. But I didn’t know you knew so much about yourself. About Ted. About rocky situations. About working through things with an amazing woman. About looking for love in all the wrong places. I just thought...”
“That I was a big dumb lummox.”
“Well...”
“Save it,” he said. And he waited while she mopped her eyes and blew her nose. He tried keeping a scowl on his face while she sniveled. He crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest. It was all an act. He wanted to hug her.
“Really,” she said with a sniff. “Nothing could make me happier than to think of you in a healthy relationship with a nice woman like Ginger.”
“All evidence to the contrary,” he said.
“If I say sorry can that be the end of it?”
“I don’t know, Peyton,” he said. “Can you mind your own business?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You might want to go a little easy on me.”
“That’s the price of forgiveness,” he said. “Your word. Then you stand by it and mind your own business.”
“All right,” she said irritably. “I can’t believe you made me cry.”
“Those were fetal tears and you know it. I can’t remember when you’ve ever cried over one of us boys.”
“I might cry a little easier these days,” she relented. “So. You’re going to be around awhile?”
“I’m going to leave for the farm Sunday night. We might bump into each other but let’s be clear, I’m here to be with Ginger. I need to spend time with her.”
“All right, jeez.”
He softened. He smiled warmly. “Maybe next week or the week after we can get together.”
“Well, don’t go to any trouble,” she shot back.
“So. We understand each other?” he asked.
“We understand each other, mutiko,” she said, meaning little boy.
That made him frown. “Don’t push it,” he warned. “I have things to do.” He stood to leave. After taking a couple of steps toward the door he turned back to her. He put a small kiss on her forehead. He hugged her gently. “Behave,” he warned.
Thirteen
Grace had never wished illness on her mother but it was true that the relationship she had with her now was better than ever. Their routine was calming. When Grace rose in the morning she would go upstairs to Winnie’s room. She would usually knock softly, not just to be sure Winnie was awake but also to be certain she wouldn’t wake or disturb Mikhail, who never admitted to spending nights in the chair beside Winnie’s bed. Grace would go into her mother’s room to find Winnie sitting up, wearing her favorite bed jacket. This particular morning she’d seen Mikhail out on the deck with coffee.
Winnie’s trembling had worsened and she could no longer fluff her hair or paint on her rose-colored lips—two things she hated to be seen without accomplishing. Grace actually enjoyed helping her mother with these small tasks. It made her feel useful, indispensable even.
“Time for that silly wench from the town to come out and give us a fix-up,” Winnie said of the local hairdresser who had obliged them by making regular house calls.
“As long as you promise not to call her that silly wench,” Grace said with a laugh.
“I know better than that, for God’s sake. It’s like insulting the chef—he might spit in the soup.”
“You could end up with red hair. Or bald,” Grace pointed out. “Would you like to have your tea on the deck?”
“Only if I don’t look like the wrath of God,” Winnie said. “First the ladies’ room, please.”
“The fog hasn’t lifted, but the sun is over the mountains already. You can watch it rise and chase the fog out to sea,” Grace told her. “You’ll need your shawl. Troy and Mikhail are already out there with their coffee. It’s a lovely, dewy morning.”
Winnie didn’t say so often but she liked this place. It was like a vacation, like a chilly and wintry Cabo San Lucas. When she was on the deck, which was a couple of times a day in good weather, there were regular visitors. Sarah Cooper liked to have a morning run with her Great Dane, Ham, and she would stop by some mornings to say hello to Winnie, leaving the dog at the foot of the stairs. Seth Sileski, on the other hand, enjoyed an early-evening jog and would then meet friends at Cooper’s, but he’d frequently stop by for a little report on the town first. Winnie really enjoyed the local news from Seth even if she didn’t know half the people. Grace liked a walk on the beach now and then and she always walked to and from the flower shop if it wasn’t raining. Dr. Grant took his little ones fishing off the dock sometimes and he used that opportunity to ask after Winnie’s health, and their next-door neighbors—the Lawsons—checked in frequently if they saw Winnie enjoying the sunshine.
This was actually new for Winnie—friends and neighbors who weren’t intimidated by her, who cared if she was well or ill.
Mikhail was often about, but he had his own routines. He now donned board shorts that were extralong on his short body, a hat, white socks in his brown German walking shoes. He walked on and off all day long. He went into town, had a meal at the diner almost every day, visited with Waylan at his bar, sometimes helped Grace and Ginger pull in their sidewalk displays at closing time. Even though he didn’t drive he made regular visits to the service station having struck up friendships with the owner, Eric, and his right-hand man, Al. These days he talked a lot about buying a car. And weirdly unsurprisingly, he had many female fans who honked their horns and waved as they drove by. He frequently walked out of town to the nearest farm stand and brought home fresh vegetables. Grace said he must log twenty miles some days.
