CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AMELIA LETS HERSELF IN THE next morning. She’s halfway to the basement door when Grady grabs her hand. “Hey. How about some breakfast? You’ll see I wasn’t lying about being good at eggs.” He pulls her one, two steps toward the kitchen, with a friendly smile.
Amelia imagines Grady in the Truman dorms, the morning after a frat party, making the same pitch to get a girl to cut class and watch TV in his twin bed.
In the next second, she imagines she is that girl.
The thought is intoxicating but also scary. Having that freedom, no parents around watching to make sure she’s sleeping in her own bed at night.
But Grady is off-limits. And if there’s any line that Amelia absolutely, positively cannot cross, it’s that one.
“I’m good, thanks. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
Before starting up another batch, Amelia opens Molly’s diary and consults the last entry she read before falling asleep the night before.
June 5, 1945
One of my mother’s bridge friends told me about a trick yesterday afternoon. You know you’ve got a real diamond in your engagement ring if it’ll scratch glass.
When I told Tiggy, she said, “Maybe you should check yours.”
And I said, “Wayne Lumsden would never propose marriage to me with a fake diamond.”
“So, try it,” she teased. “Unless you’re scared.”
The only thing that scared me was how much Tiggy seemed to want my diamond to be fake.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. The truth is that Tiggy and Wayne have never gotten along.
Tiggy thinks Wayne’s cocky. She’s not wrong. He is. But I’ve always loved his confidence. He seems so much stronger than any of the boys in our grade. I think it’s because of what he went through in his family, left to fend for himself at such a young age. When it’s just me and him, he’s sweet as a kitten, but I’ve seen him get hot-tempered plenty. Since he shipped out, I’ve come to think of this as a blessing, because I know Wayne can handle whatever comes his way over there.
But boy oh boy, does he love to tease Tiggy. I wish I’d never told him that it bothers her, because once I did, he seemed to enjoy doing it even more. Sometimes he’ll even rib her in the letters he sends to me, knowing I read them out loud to the other girls. Near the end, he’ll write something like, “Tell Tig I’ve been passing her picture around to the single guys in my unit. So far, no takers besides our cook. He’s sixty and only has three fingers, but beggars can’t be choosers.” I am always careful to skip over those parts.
I honestly think they’re a bit jealous of each other. Which is silly. I can have room in my life for a best friend and a husband.
Anyway, Tiggy wouldn’t let it drop, so I slid the ring off my finger and went to the basement window. But before I made a scratch, I told Tig that, real diamond or not, Wayne and I were getting married.
And in my next letter, I’m telling Wayne that Tig’s agreed to be my maid of honor.
If I get my way, the three of us (plus Tig’s future husband, whoever he may be) are going to live Happily Ever After, here in Sand Lake, for the rest of our days.
Setting down the diary, Amelia pulls back the curtains on every basement window until she finds the etching on the glass.
Mrs. Wayne Lumsden.
There’s a loud rumble. Amelia shifts her focus from the scratches to the horizon, thinking it might be a storm rolling in. But the sun is out, there’s not a cloud in the sky. Then she realizes the rumbling is Grady’s feet on the floor above her, louder as he runs from the living room down the hallway and pulls open the basement door.
Amelia lets go of the curtain. She doesn’t have time to hide the diary before Grady’s hopping down the stairs two at a time. It’s in plain sight, right on the couch.
Luckily, he’s too frantic to notice.
“Amelia, I need your help right now.” He takes her hand and pulls her back the way he just came.
“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“I just got a text from my dad. He’s back in the States. He’s on his way over here to check up on me. And if he thinks I’m not doing a good job, he’s going to make me sell the place.”
Her stomach lurches. “Are you serious? I thought your family lived in Chicago.”
“He’s part of this private jet club. He can go anywhere at any time!” He shakes his head, panting, “Everything needs to be perfect. And I need to look like I’m in charge.”
“You are in charge,” Amelia reminds him, pointing to the misaligned buttons on his shirt.
Grady gives her a pained stare. “Please help me. If he finds out about the ice cream, that we’re days from going out of business . . .”
Amelia wants him to finish. But he’s so panicked, her own heart starts to race.
Grady and Amelia grab all his papers and textbooks, shove the pile into the Cadillac, and together they drive everything down to the stand. He can’t bear to look at the jalopy of a food truck, still parked in the same place it’s been since the day he bought it.
Cate’s in the office, her bare feet up on the desk, painting her toenails. She’s so startled, she flinches and the bottle almost topples over. “Jesus!”
Luckily, Amelia grabs it just in time. She caps the bottle, opens the window, and tries to waft the smell out. “Grady needs to be in here.”
“What?” Cate says, indignant. “Why?”
Grady pushes into the office. “Someone very important is coming.” As soon as Cate stands up, he sits down at the desk. He takes out his laptop, spreads out some papers and his textbooks, and smooths his hair, which he has wet and combed down in a way Amelia has not seen before. After frantically assessing the desk, he pulls out the calculator and a pad, then jumps up and grabs the morning receipts, which have already been calculated, but then spreads them out as if they haven’t. Sitting back down, he swings a skinny navy necktie around his neck and ties it faster than Amelia would have thought possible.
Cate is watching all this, her back pressed up against the wall, dumbfounded. Still, she manages to keep her freshly painted fingers and toes carefully spread.
“Amelia, make sure everything in the stand is neat and orderly, okay? And that the girls look like they’re working hard.”
“They are working hard,” Cate says incredulously. “We always are.”
Amelia guides her out, grabbing the mason jar of now-dead flowers on the way and mashing them down into an overflowing trash can. “Just hurry. I’ll explain.” Glancing around the main area of the stand, she sees that the service windows are both smudgy. She lunges for a bottle of Windex and her feet nearly slip out from under her. “There are sprinkles all over the floor,” she says, disappointed. “When was the last time someone swept in here?”
“Seriously?” Cate howls. “It’s the middle of a shift. And I’m on my break. Also, I’m not the boss here,” she says, pointing to Amelia’s flower pin. “You are.”
Jen and Bernadette, the two other girls on this shift, are frozen.
“It’s okay, everything’s fine.” Amelia tries to reassure them while simultaneously straightening up and wiping, a tornado of stress. “But Cate and I are going to take over the windows for a little while. Jen, can you please go empty the trash cans? And sweep up these sprinkles, and”—she glances behind her—“Bern, I know we’re okay on waffle cones right now, but could you get some more cooking anyway, to get the place smelling yummy?” She takes a deep breath. “And please make sure all of you have your shirts tucked in,” she adds, taking her own advice.
“Who the hell is coming?” Cate says, doing the same. “The president?”
Amelia combs her fingers through her hair and glances out the window. “Grady’s dad is on his way here,” she announces. “So everyone, please . . .” Amelia blanks on how to end her sentence. Because what is she asking them, really? “. . . be on your best behavior.”
Not a minute later, a black Mercedes pulls into the stand’s driveway.
“Grady,” she calls out. “He’s here.”
Grady pops up beside her and peeks discreetly over her shoulder. “Okay. I’m going outside.”
The next few customers Amelia helps, she feels like she’s drunk, she has so much adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she hands over a double-scoop cone, she catches a glimpse of Grady greeting his dad out of the corner of her eye. Grady extends his hand for a shake, and his dad obliges.
“How was your vacation?” Grady asks breezily as he leads his dad inside.
“Courses were beautiful. I shot very well.” Grady’s dad surveys the place down the tip of his nose. “You’ve been busy.”
“I can’t believe you came all the way here to surprise me,” Grady says, his energy 180 degrees off from where he was a few minutes ago.
“I think you can understand why I felt compelled not to take your word for how well things are going.”
Grady’s cheeks burn. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m excited to show this place off.” Except Grady does the opposite. He ushers his dad into the office and closes the door.
“Grady’s dad is intense,” Cate whispers.
Amelia whispers back, “He’s here to spy on him to make sure things are going well.”
“Then you’d better make sure he doesn’t open our walk-in freezer.”
Frowning, Amelia walks over and puts on the purple jacket. Maybe two drums of each flavor are left. “Cate, why didn’t you tell me we were so low?” She grabs the clipboard to see, but no one has been filling out the stock sheet.
“Because I didn’t want to upset you. And don’t even say anything about the clipboard, okay? It’s painfully obvious what we have left.”
Grady calls out, “Amelia! Can you bring my dad a scoop of each flavor?”
“Coming!”
“Coming!” Cate singsongs, mocking her. “You sound like his secretary.”
“I do not,” Amelia says, knowing she does.
Amelia makes four junior-sized cups, careful that each flavor is a full, round, beautiful scoop. She stands at the office door, ready to enter, but there’s a conversation in progress. She presses her ear to the door.
“What’s it like up in the house?” Grady’s dad asks.
“Hot,” Grady says with a jovial laugh. “But I can take it.”
“And the girls aren’t distracting you too much?”
“No, no,” Grady says. “They stay down here. And I’m up at the farmhouse, working, basically twenty-four-seven.”
Amelia frowns. That’s not entirely true, Grady.
“I worried this was going to be a party for you.”
“Oh, anything but. Between my online classes and running the business, I don’t have time for any distractions.”
“And how are they taking to having a man in charge?”
“There’ve been some growing pains,” Grady says with a laugh. “But they know who’s boss.”
Amelia shakes her head. What the heck does that mean?
After a pause, Grady says, “Sorry, Dad. I don’t know what’s taking her so long with your ice cream. Hey, Amelia!”
Amelia nudges the door open with her foot. “Here you go, Mr. Meade,” she says. Grady’s dad nods and then leans back, as if she were an inconvenient waitress, to allow her the room to place them on the desk in front of him.
“Frankly, Grady, you’re doing better than I expected.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“But now you need to be asking yourself how you can take things to the next level. I want you thinking big.”
“How do you mean?”
“Like your email about raising prices. Your spreadsheet was solid, but you missed opportunities like, say, shrinking your scoop size.” He peers into the cups Amelia arranges before him, and then up at her with a pressed smile. “How many ounces is this, dear?”
She bristles. “Four.”
“See? Go down to three. You’ll get however many more scoops per three-gallon drum, at a higher price.”
“So . . . give them less and charge more?”
Every muscle inside Amelia clenches tight. Is he serious? She really, really hopes he is not serious.
Grady’s dad clears his throat and his eyes roll from Grady over to Amelia.
“Um, did you need something, Amelia?” Grady asks her.
“No.”
“Then would you mind closing the door on your way out?”
Stunned, Amelia nods obediently and backs out.
Grady’s dad barely notices her. He doesn’t say thank you. And he doesn’t take a taste. Instead he leans back and says, “I have a buddy who’s done some franchising in Chicago. I’ll give him a call.”
“Are you going to try the ice cream? It’s really good, Dad. That flavor was Mom’s favorite.”
“Actually, I could really go for a coffee. Can you call that girl back in here?”
That girl?
“Amelia?” Grady calls out.
Cate puts her hands on Amelia’s shoulders. Amelia hadn’t known she was standing there. “Please,” Cate says, raring to go. “Let me.”
“Cate, don’t.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ruin anything.”
“Hey, Amelia?” Grady calls louder.
Amelia positions herself behind the office door where she can peek in without being seen.
“Amelia’s taking care of something,” Cate says, entering the office. “Can I help you?”
“Oh.” Grady is standing at their coffeemaker. “Sorry. I couldn’t find any coffee.”
“That’s because none of us drink coffee,” Cate says. She smiles sweetly at Grady’s dad. “Can I make you a cup of tea instead?”
He doesn’t look up from the spreadsheet he’s holding. “Yeah, okay.”
Cate runs hot water through the coffeemaker while Grady’s dad flips through some more of the ledgers. “Mind if I take some of these with me? I’d like to look them over.”
“No. Not at all.”
“Here’s your tea,” Cate says, delivering a cup.
Grady’s dad takes a sip. “Mmm. What is this?”
“An herbal blend.”
“It’s good,” he says, surprised, taking a second, deeper sip. “Have some,” he tells Grady.
“Do you want a cup?” Cate asks Grady.
Amelia can hardly keep from laughing behind the door.
Grady and his dad are sipping on PMS tea.
* * *
It’s late when Amelia hears Grady open the front door of the farmhouse. Almost closing time. She knows he left the stand with his dad not long after she went up to the house. Cate texted her to say that the two of them had climbed into Grady’s dad’s Mercedes and roared off.
That was hours ago.
The day has been on rewind in her head; she’s been replaying how Grady and his dad treated her. Grady’s dismissive tone, his father’s condescending attitude, calling her “dear.” Grady didn’t even bother to introduce her, or single her out in any way. And as Head Girl, she feels like a total failure for not standing up for herself. She’s supposed to be a role model? Thank god for Cate’s PMS tea clapback.
She ends up making a pretty great batch of chocolate. Not as good as Molly Meade’s but pretty darn good. Could they sell this? Absolutely. But she doesn’t feel happy. She feels humiliated.
Amelia hears Grady kick off his shoes; the floorboards of the hallway creak under his feet. The basement door opens and Grady trudges down the steps. She doesn’t say anything to him. No hello. No How was dinner?
Not that he notices.
Grady falls onto the couch like dead weight. “Well, that was completely exhausting. I swear, nothing is good enough for him. It’s like, I think I’ve figured out how to make him proud, but then he immediately ups and moves the goalpost.” He adjusts a pillow so it’s behind his head and kicks off his shoes. “He never asks for my ideas, he never wants to hear what I think. The whole night was just him going on and on about all the things I should be doing with Meade Creamery. Bigger brand presence. Adding revenue streams. Sell the milk bottles. Sell the polo shirts.”
“What?”
“Oh, yeah. He wants me to start selling your Meade Creamery polos for twenty-five bucks apiece.”
Amelia drums her fingers in frustration. Only Meade Creamery girls get pink polo shirts. They aren’t nearly as special if everyone can buy one. “And what did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. He doesn’t want me to say anything. He just wants me to do it.”
She spins toward him. “What about his idea for using smaller scoops? And charging customers more?”
“I don’t love the idea, but it would buy us more time.” Grady stretches, letting one long leg go to the floor. “You said you’re close, right? I have faith in you.” Amelia rolls her eyes. “What’s that about?” he says, drawing a circle in the air with his finger.
“Nothing.”
“Come on, say it.”
Her hands go to her hips. “How come you didn’t even introduce me to your dad? I’ve been busting my butt to help you. You treated me like your secretary! When I’m Head Girl!”
He quickly sits up. “Wait, Amelia. Hold on a second. If it’s not already obvious, I have a very weird relationship with my dad.”
“No, that’s clear, Grady. Super clear.”
“I promise I didn’t slight you on purpose.”
“But you also made it seem like you’re the one doing everything.” She’s embarrassed saying this, because it’s not like any of this is hers. She’s a secondary character, background in the Meade family saga.
“I can’t have him thinking I’m not good at this.”
“He’s going to have that impression when you run out of ice cream,” she points out. “Which is going to happen very soon.”
“I’m hoping we figure it out before I have to tell him.”
“You mean you hope I’ll figure it out.”
“Hold up. I was fine to keep trying. You’re the one who volunteered to give making ice cream a shot. And I didn’t stop you because it seemed like you enjoyed doing it. And, to be completely honest, it’s been fun to watch you.”
Amelia doesn’t let herself soften. “I do enjoy it.”
“So what’s the problem?”
Amelia doesn’t like how this is getting muddled. “I don’t want you selling our uniforms! Make different shirts, if you want to, but don’t sell these.”
“Fine, Amelia. We won’t sell the polos. And I won’t raise the prices, and I won’t use smaller scoops. I definitely don’t want to make you upset.”
Cate texts her. Ready?
“I’m not upset,” she tells him, hooking her bag on her shoulder.
“You are. And I’m sorry if that’s my fault.”
“I’d rather you didn’t apologize, honestly. It’s business, right? Nothing personal?”
Grady lies back down and covers his face with the pillow. It looks like he might want to stay that way forever. “That was the idea,” he says, muffled. “But I’ll make an exception for you. Please. Just stay.”
Amelia’s heart races. This is the most overtly flirty thing he’s said to her, something much harder to ignore, play off, look away from.
Unless he’s saying it because of the ice cream?
Part of Amelia wants to know. A bigger part than she’d like to admit.
But Cate is the most important thing in her life. Not Grady. Not ice cream. Not Meade Creamery. And on top of all that she made a promise. So even though she wants to stay, she goes.
And if anyone would understand that, Molly would.