CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THAT NIGHT, AMELIA IS TORTURED by dreams of ice cream, like a sugar-starved kid. But only during the few minutes she manages to fall asleep. Mostly, she is wide awake, tossing and turning in her bed, kicking at the sheets.
She does not ride her bike to the farmhouse the next morning.
Instead, she drives with Cate to the lake. They aren’t on the schedule today until second shift, leaving them a few sunny hours to tan and swim. Cate is already enviably bronze. Amelia sprays herself with extra coconut oil, hoping to catch up.
From their towels, plans for their Fourth of July party begin to take shape. There was never a Fourth party before, which seems like a startling error in retrospect, and Amelia suspects it could potentially become a new summer tradition, if Meade Creamery somehow survives.
Amelia types up a shopping list on her phone—food and fireworks, basically—and then she and Cate brainstorm a rough itinerary for the night. They’ll start with a bonfire beach cookout. Hot dogs wrapped in crescent roll dough, then roasted on sticks, ears of corn smoked in their husks, gooey perfectly half-burnt s’mores. Once the sun begins to set, they’ll hold a bunch of contests—prizes TBD—for things like the best interpretive dance using sparklers. And then the night will end with Amelia and Cate rowing a canoe to the middle of Sand Lake and setting off as many fireworks as they can afford to buy for the girls on shore.
The whole morning, Amelia keeps expecting to hear from Grady. A text, or maybe even a call. Isn’t he curious why she isn’t there like usual? Isn’t he wondering where she’s at with the ice cream?
Maybe he knows she needs a break.
Or maybe he’s accepted that it’s a lost cause.
* * *
When Amelia gets to the stand for her shift, she stays down at the stand and tries her best to pretend things are normal. She sings along to the oldies on the radio, she takes the lead on all newbie chores to give the other girls a break. It feels good to be back with them, and the girls are excited about the Fourth of July plans, but Amelia isn’t able to lose herself the way she used to. She can’t forget that the stand is in trouble, and it hurts her heart. But Cate is so clearly happy to have her back, signaling in a hundred small gestures—hip checks, hugs, ponytail swats—that Amelia’s made the right choice.
At the end of the night, and without a word from Grady, she stoically brings the receipts and deposits up to the farmhouse. Deep inside, she’s hoping to see him. Hoping he’ll invite her in.
Grady has the lights off.
* * *
On July 2, Home Sweet Home sells out.
* * *
On July 3, chocolate.
* * *
On July 4, Amelia takes the final drums of vanilla and strawberry out of the storage freezer and moves them into the scooping cabinet. The stand is only open for the first shift on the holiday. If it were a full day, they wouldn’t make it to closing.
It’s become so depressing, Amelia avoids working the windows. It wounds her when customers order flavors they don’t have. Their ohs of disappointment feel like arrows shot into her heart, a constant reminder of how Amelia felt the day Molly Meade died, thinking she’d never get a taste of Home Sweet Home again.
The girls offer vague excuses about problems with production, promises that they’re trying to get things fixed. They offer free toppings. Amelia doesn’t want them to lie. Just apologize. But what does it matter, at this point?
To that end, Amelia wants tonight to be epic. Nervous that they don’t have enough fireworks, Amelia sends Cate back to the vendor tent that’s sprouted up in the Walmart parking lot with a whole week’s salary. Cate’s only supposed to be gone thirty minutes, but it gets to be almost two hours. Amelia wonders if Cate stopped in to say hey to the people at JumpZone. Maybe she’s trying to get her old job back.
After Amelia closes up and sends Sophie and Jen home, she changes out of her uniform and into the festive clothes she’s brought with her: a blue-and-white-striped tank, cherry-red shorts that tie in the front in a bow, and a pair of espadrille wedges. Amelia and Cate have planned to head to the lake straight from work to begin setting things up on the beach. The other girls will join them around six.
Where are you? Amelia texts Cate.
Sorry. I ducked into Walmart to get bug spray but the lines are crazy. Be back to the stand soon.
Amelia walks up to the farmhouse to hand Grady the deposits. They still haven’t spoken. After putting the bank bag in the mailbox, she turns to walk away. But then she whips back and rings the doorbell, intending to inform Grady about the ice cream. How there isn’t any more left. How it’s really, truly over.
When he doesn’t answer, she presses the doorbell again, and again, and again. She feels tricked by him. Grady swept her up into his frenzy, sucked her into his family drama. All that time they spent together, those risky, flirty moments. She sacrificed her summer and her relationships to help save something she thought was as important to him as it was to her. Molly Meade wouldn’t have wanted that.
Grady doesn’t answer, even though the pink Cadillac is there. Could he be in the basement trying to make ice cream? If he was, would she forgive him for ghosting her?
The house is unlocked. Amelia slips inside.
But the basement is quiet. It hasn’t been touched. He’s not in the living room, not up on the second floor. Amelia hears Moo mewing and follows the sound into Molly’s office. Moo is sitting on the desk chair, contentedly scratching at the wooden armrest.
On her way out, Amelia notices that the letters from Grady’s mother are no longer on the mantel. Her heart catches, remembering that sad look in his eyes. Did he finally read them?
No.
Grady hasn’t touched them. He’s only moved them over to the pile of papers that he’s destined for the shredder. Actually, they’d probably be shredded by now if he hadn’t jammed the thing.
The anger simmers inside her. Why wouldn’t he want to read them?
Amelia’s not sure why she herself is drawn to them. Maybe she can’t bear the legacy of of another dead woman disappearing—of Grady’s mother’s words thrown away by her one and only son. She picks up the bundle and unties the string around them. She’s somehow made a habit of reading things she has no business reading, it seems.
Most of them are letters, and there are a couple of greeting cards, too. A birthday card to Molly. A Christmas card with a school picture of Grady inside. He’s wearing an annoyingly cute little sweater-vest, reindeer leaping across the red wool.
Then Amelia comes across an envelope that feels thicker than the rest. Amelia opens it up. It’s an ornate thank-you card, silver foil with a white ribbon bow affixed to the front. Inside, there’s a picture of Grady’s parents and Molly Meade, standing in a posh reception hall.
Grady’s dad looks so happy and young. Almost like Grady, only with slightly curlier, puffier hair. He might be only a few years older here than Grady is now, she thinks. There’s something boyishly earnest about his smile. And Grady’s mom, elegant in a white lace dress.
Molly looks beautiful too. Her hair isn’t white, it’s still somewhat reddish. She’s stylish, in a gold tweed dress with bell sleeves, a rose-colored silk bag. In the picture, she’s squeezing Grady’s mom’s hand. And she looks happy in a way that Amelia wouldn’t have expected. There’s not a trace of sadness for her own doomed romance to be found.
Dear Molly,
According to current wedding etiquette, couples have one year from the date of their nuptials to send thank-you cards. I’m embarrassed it’s taken the full year to write this note, especially when your present was far and away my favorite of all the gifts we received.
Molly, I’m honored that you would share your recipes with me. And that vintage ice cream maker is a work of art. Is it your original?
One upside to this card coming so late—I can share the news that I am expecting! The ice cream is coming in very handy in that regard. And being pregnant is the perfect excuse to have a scoop of Home Sweet Home each day!
It was lovely to get to talk to you at the reception, albeit briefly. I will check with Pat’s secretary and find a time for us to visit this fall before the baby comes.
Love,
Diana Denton-Meade
Amelia gasps and calls out for Grady. But there is no answer. Only the quiet of the old farmhouse.
She runs into Molly’s bedroom and checks the window that looks out on the back acreage.
She sees him, quite a ways off, out for a run, rising and falling in a steady rhythm along a path in the back fields, moving farther and farther away from her.
She tries his cell but it goes straight to voice mail, his cool professional voice instructing her to leave a message.
Instead, she flies down the steps—how to run in wedges is another thing Amelia picked up from stand girls—and out the front door. She hops on her bike and stands on her pedals to get around the farmhouse and into the fields as quickly as possible.
The farther away from the house she gets, the louder the sounds of nature get. The buzzing of insects, the breeze in the grass. She zooms past a large concrete pad, all that’s left of the burned-down barn.
“Grady! Grady!” she shouts, coming up behind him.
He has his music on. But he must eventually hear her, because he turns and glances over his shoulder, and promptly stumbles and falls to the ground.
“Jesus, Amelia! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
As he picks himself up, she sets down her feet and tries pushing the card into his hand. It takes him a second to realize what it is. “I can’t believe you were going to throw your mom’s letters away.”
“I already read through them.”
“Grady, I know you’re lying.”
Grimacing, he checks his elbow. It’s scraped raw and bleeding. “Can you please not look at me like you hate me?”
“I don’t hate you, but please, you have to read this!” She presses the card into his hands. “Molly gave your mom the ice cream recipes. They were her wedding present to your parents.”
Grady clenches his jaw. He rips out his earbuds, flings them over his shoulder, and begrudgingly takes the card from Amelia.
Her heart is pounding. “Do you remember seeing this ice cream maker around? Maybe in your kitchen?”
His eyes run back and forth, back and forth. “No.”
“Your mom wrote that the recipes were very special to her. You don’t think your dad would have kept them?”
Grady chews the inside of his cheek. He seems to be rehearsing what he’s about to say before he says it. “Right after my mom died, Dad moved her things into storage. They’re at our beach house in Dooley. I have no clue what he saved.”
“Dooley. That’s like, what? Two hours away from here? You could leave now—”
“Amelia. You just called me out for not reading my mom’s letters. So what makes you think I’m going to want to dig through her things?”
“I don’t understand. Your mom loved this place. And Molly Meade loved you enough to leave it to you. Don’t you feel an obligation to them both to see this through till the end?”
Rubbing his hand over his face, Grady says, “Molly didn’t leave the stand to me. She left it to my mom, and I guess she never updated her will. I only inherited it because all my mom’s assets come to me. It’s a technicality.”
“You think Molly didn’t know it would work that way?” Amelia shakes her head. “Technicality or not, it’s yours now.”
“Don’t you get it? Knowing how important this place was to my mom only makes this harder. It’s one thing not to please my dad. I don’t know if I ever will, and I’m starting to think I shouldn’t even try. But I can’t let down my mom. Not any more than I already have.”
“Grady, you have to go and see if you can find them.”
His eyes drop to the ground, where he kicks at the dirt. Amelia holds her breath until he looks up at her, eyes hopeful and needy, his hands twisting his headphone wires. “Will you come with me?”
“Grady, I can’t.”
“Please, Amelia. I don’t mean to ask any more of you. That’s why I haven’t chased you down. This is my problem, not yours, and you’ve already gone above and beyond. But I honestly don’t think I can go through her stuff myself. I’ll show you where everything is. You can go through the boxes, see if you find them.”
“I have plans tonight that I absolutely can’t miss,” Amelia says, though she suspects that if she gave Grady a night to sleep on this, he’d very likely change his mind. “What time can we get back?”
“Two hours there, an hour to search through her stuff, and then two hours back. So around ten?”
Amelia would miss the dinner, miss the interpretive sparkler dance contest. But she’d be back in time for fireworks. “Can you be ready to go in ten minutes?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“You have to drive like the wind. A safe wind, but the wind.”
“Promise.”
They run back to the house together. Grady jumps into the shower and makes sure Moo has fresh food and water while Amelia heads down to the stand to see Cate.
She’s never been more nervous in her life.
Cate has her fireworks haul spread out on the Head Girl’s desk. “This was a great call, Amelia. You look so cute, by the way.”
“Cate, I need to talk to you about tonight.”
“What? Did something happen?”
Amelia takes a deep breath. “I found Molly’s recipes. Or I think I did. The thing is, we have to go to Grady’s dad’s beach house to get them. It’s not far. It’s only over in Dooley. We’re going to leave right now.”
“You and Grady.”
“I’ll be back in time for fireworks.”
“Amelia, I cannot believe you’d . . . Wait. Is something going on between you two?”
Amelia shakes her head quickly. “No!”
“Because we all said—”
“Cate, nothing is going on between me and Grady! I swear!”
“Then why can’t you just go tomorrow?” Cate’s lips press together in a thin line. “Why do you have to go at all?”
Amelia hasn’t told Cate anything about Grady’s real mom. She would like to, but now is not the time. She doesn’t have any time. “I don’t want to have any regrets.”
“You’ll regret missing tonight,” Cate warns. Or maybe it’s a threat.
“I won’t miss tonight! I’ll be back!” Amelia stresses again. “Save me a hot dog, okay?”
Cate’s gaze flicks upward.
Amelia rushes forward and hugs her best friend goodbye, and she can feel Cate’s disappointment. It almost makes her stay.
Almost.