Chapter 35
Grace
“You’re sure this time?” Monica asked. “Because you’ve put that same blue silk in the cart and then taken it out again three times now.”
“Yes, absolutely. The green satin was too heavy. And blue is a good color on me. Plus, it’s on sale,” I said. “Yup, blue. Final answer.”
Zoe, whose face was a study in boredom, sighed dramatically. “About time. Can we go now?”
“No,” Monica answered. “I still need to pick out fabric for my costume. You’ll help me sew it, won’t you, Grace? I just need some kind of gingham jumper or pinafore. Nothing fancy.”
Though my decision to postpone my return to the Saturday Market until after the ball had taken off some of the pressure, I was still very busy. But so was Monica.
The Dogmother’s Ball was nearly sold out. There was no way she could run the restaurant, cater a dinner for 125 people, and make a costume for the event. I doubted she’d be able to leave the kitchen long enough for anybody to see her costume, but still. She deserved to get in on the fun.
“Sure,” I said. “A pinafore won’t be hard. What are you going as?”
“Little Miss Muffet. I found a hilarious spider outfit for Desmond online, so he’s all set. I planned to buy mine online, too, but all I could find was ‘Sexy Miss Muffet.’ ” She stuck a finger into her mouth, pretending to gag. “Really? Sexy nursery rhyme characters? Since when did Halloween and costume parties get to be one more excuse to objectify women and cater to bizarre male fetishes?”
“You’re going as Miss Muffet?” Zoe made a face. “That’s so lame.”
“ ‘That’s so lame,’ ” Monica parroted, making her voice a whine. “Fine, Miss Fashionista. What do you think I should go as?”
“A Kardashian.”
The set of Zoe’s mouth and rapid-fire response told me she’d prepared her answer in advance specifically to annoy Monica. Surprisingly, Monica didn’t take the bait.
“I’m serious, Zoe. If you were going to a ball and could have any costume you wanted—any costume that won’t get you arrested, I mean—what would it be?”
Zoe, who seemed surprised to be asked for her opinion, took a moment to think.
“Pirates,” she said finally. “From France. But girl pirates with a big hat with feathers, and strings of pearls, and a ruffled blouse, and a big, swooshy skirt. You’d need to tuck the skirt up into your belt so you could fight, and a sword on the belt, too, a gold one. And black boots.”
“Wow,” I said. “That seems pretty specific.”
“I was reading this book about pirates,” Zoe said. “Turns out a bunch of them were girls, from all over the world. I thought it was pretty cool. Usually in the adventure stories the guys are the only ones having fun. The girls either stay home and wait for them to come back, or get kidnapped and wait to be rescued. Boring.
“But these girl pirates? They were in charge of whole ships and crews, and they sailed all over the place, and robbed treasure, and fought in battles. And they were real. Sometimes, they got captured or killed. So that kind of sucked. But at least they had adventures. And I bet the French pirates had really cool clothes. Because, you know,” she said, and shrugged, “France.”
“Right,” Monica said. “Because that’s where all the cool clothes come from. Okay. You’ve convinced me. We’re going to the ball as French girl pirates.”
“We?”
“I’m going to need a crew, right? You can’t be a pirate if you don’t have a pirate band.” Zoe shot her a suspicious look. “Hey, you don’t have to go. I can always ask Alex to babysit.”
After an eye roll, probably her fiftieth of the evening, Zoe said, “Okay, fine. But can I bring a friend?”
“That depends. This is an all-girl crew,” Monica reminded her.
“Not Ryan. Zinnia Applegate. She’s in my English class.”
“Sure, but . . . Zinnia?”
“I know, right?” Another eye roll. “Her parents are crazy too. I’m going to go look at that purple stuff over there,” Zoe said, pointing to an entire shelf of violet-hued fabrics. “Purple is good for pirates.”
Once Zoe was out of earshot, I said, “Five minutes ago she hated your guts, now you’re the leader of the All-Girl Pirate Band.”
“Don’t be too impressed,” Monica said. “In another five minutes she’ll probably hate me again. But at least she’s speaking to me. If I ever get Zoe and Alex speaking to me at the same time, then you can be impressed.”
“Ha! Well, I guess we better start looking for swooshy skirt fabric,” I said, trying not to think too hard about the fact that I now needed to make two warrior pirate outfits instead of one and come up with something for Desmond as well—maybe just a hat and eye patch?
But pirate costumes would definitely be more fun to make than a Miss Muffet outfit, and if it meant Zoe and Monica might start getting along better, then it was more than worth the effort. I steered my cart toward a promising-looking aisle of taffeta. Monica came along.
“I was surprised Nan didn’t come tonight. Is she okay?”
“I talked to her a couple of days ago,” Monica said. “She’s fine. Just has a lot going on, trying to get the garden in shape for the ball. And she said she’s all set for costumes. They’re going as the cast of The Wizard of Oz. Nan will be Dorothy, Malcolm will be the Tin Man, Blixen will be the Cowardly Lion, Stuart will be the Scarecrow, and Nelson will be Toto.”
“What about Lovey?”
“Adopted by a nice family who lives in the country and already has one bulldog. What about that?” Monica said, pointing at a bolt of purple, green, and gold plaid taffeta.
I pulled it off the shelf and held it up to Monica’s face. “That’s actually kind of perfect. I’ll make your skirt from this and Zoe’s with whatever fabulous purple thing she finds. I think we’re going to need petticoats too. Just plain cotton, but we’ll need lace to trim the hem.” I plunked the plaid bolt into the cart.
“The Wizard of Oz costumes were Malcolm’s idea,” Monica reported as we headed toward the ribbon and trim section of the store. “He’s so much fun and he couldn’t be more perfect for Nan—the whole ‘must love dogs’ thing to begin with. He’s as excited about raising money for the rescue as Nan is. Besides helping with the gardening, Malcolm booked the band, figured out the lighting and sound . . . such a good guy. And the brogue,” she said, clapping her hand to her chest. “Is there anything sexier than a man with an accent?”
“They do make a great couple,” I agreed.
“But if I were Nan, I think I’d rather he come to the ball as a Highland warrior. There’s just something about a man in a kilt.”
“Speaking of men in costume,” I said, examining some eyelet lace that was on sale. “How is Bob going to feel about joining the All-Girl Pirate Band?”
“Shoot. I hadn’t thought about that. Maybe he can be our hostage. Actually,” she said, raising and lowering her eyebrows, “he might like that.”
“Okay . . . yeah. Too much information. Do the kids know about you two yet?”
Monica shook her head. I shot her a look and put the eyelet lace back onto the shelf, rejecting it in favor of a two-tiered white cotton lace that somehow seemed more pirate period to me.
“I’m not avoiding the subject,” Monica said. “Honestly. I’ve just been so crazy busy. When I get home at night, I’m so tired I fall into bed. Don’t tell Nan I said so, but I’ll be glad when the ball is over. I’ve just got too much on my plate.”
She did, it was true. So did I. So did Nan. But Monica looked so tired.
If Monica hadn’t been Monica—i.e., the biggest hypochondriac in Portland and therefore prone to panic over all things medical—I might have suggested she go in for a checkup. But she’d been in the ER not that long ago with the scary rash that turned out to be paprika. If there was something wrong, surely they’d have caught it then. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have cause for fatigue.
“I get it,” I said. “When all this is over, we all ought to go away for a few days—rent a condo at the beach or something.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” Monica sighed. “My cousin Lisa has a big beach house in Lincoln City. She’s offered to let me use it a bunch of times, but I’ve never taken her up on it.
“Maybe I should,” she mused. “I could just close the restaurant for a week in late August. It’d cost me some money, but I really need a break, so does the staff—Ben is such a pain right now.” Monica looked at me. “What do you think? Could August work for you? Or will you be too slammed?”
“I might not be able to take the whole week, but maybe a couple of days. It kind of depends on how things work out with my new employee.” I stopped, thought about what I’d just said, and laughed. “Boy, those are two words I never thought I’d hear coming out of my mouth.”
“Hey,” Monica said, correctly reading the undertone of anxiety in my laughter, “every entrepreneur feels like that when they’re starting out. You’re going to be good at this, Grace. You already are. And you’ll be a good boss. You know why?” I shook my head and she grinned. “Because you know how miserable it is to work for a bad one.”
“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?