CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AMELIA IS STILL WAITING FOR word from Grady when she climbs into bed for the night. And she’s trying everything she can to relax until he reaches out. A scented candle flickers on her nightstand, and she’s wearing a calming face mask that she’d forgotten to use before prom. But as she lies back on her pillow, eyes closed, the wet mask sheet clinging to her face, a lump bobs tight in her throat, making it almost impossible to swallow even the smallest sips of her chamomile tea.
The cruel reality is that, no matter how things go with Grady and his dad, Amelia has already forever lost the summer she’d hoped to have. One that would reinforce her friendship with Cate, make it strong enough to withstand the distance and change that college would bring. In fact, Amelia’s not sure if she’ll ever hear from her best friend again.
Yes, Cate was a terrible Head Girl, but had Amelia really been any better? Using Grady’s promotion of Cate as a Band-Aid, hoping it would smooth over their problems so she wouldn’t have to tackle them head-on. Amelia’s letting things slide only made the problems worse. In that way, hadn’t she set Cate up to fail?
After the mask is done, she dabs her face dry with a tissue and tosses it into her wastebasket. On her night table, next to the candle, is Molly’s diary.
As Molly’s entries have closed in on the end of the war, Amelia has hesitated to keep reading, knowing the terrible things coming. Both in the war itself—Amelia still feels sick thinking of her country dropping a bomb that instantly killed over 80,000 innocent people in Hiroshima—as well as the most painful parts of Molly Meade’s life, the death of Wayne Lumsden. But tonight, she decides to read straight through until the very end, wanting to poke the bruise.
There is another gap in Wayne’s letters, one that Molly attributes to their fight about her ice cream. Initially, Molly is indignant, filling the pages of her diary with news of how business is booming. As summer comes to a close, it’s as if clarity returns to Molly.
August 14, 1945
When the news came in from the president on the radio—Japan unconditionally surrenders—every girl in the stand froze.
Tiggy and I had been scooping two cones. She dropped hers right on the floor, rushed forward, and hugged me. The others pushed out the door, screaming, crying, grabbing the folks in line who hadn’t heard. People in the cars turned up their radios. Horns were beeping, people sprinting.
Mother and Daddy came running down not five minutes later. Mother lifted her skirt and danced the jitterbug—which I didn’t even know she knew how to do—with Daddy right there in the stand, and they kissed like newlyweds.
Everyone rushed out to Main Street. All of Sand Lake.
I’ve never seen the streets so full. The entire town hugging and weeping and cheering in the street. I had so many conflicting feelings, all those innocent people killed, but the war was over now. No one else would die. Our boys will come home. My brothers and Wayne back as if they never left.
I wonder when I will hear from Wayne.
Will he still want to marry me when he gets back?
Or have I ruined things between us?
When the stand closes, at the end of August, Molly has nothing to occupy her mind. Every entry is full of worry about Wayne, regrets, and fears.
In her last entry, dated September 2, 1945, Molly described how she invited the girls for ice cream at the lake to celebrate the official end of the war. But the night was unseasonably cold and the girls were all worrying about their figures again.
On the back of that page, there is a newspaper announcement, neatly clipped and taped inside, dated almost exactly one year later. It is for a memorial service at Holy Redeemer in honor of Wayne Lumsden, war hero, declared missing in action. The rest of the diary’s pages, nearly half of the book, are left blank.
* * *
The buzz of Amelia’s phone wakes her up. Her room is dark. The candle has burned down to nothing.
It’s Grady.
I’m turning onto your street. Can you come outside?
She texts back, It’s two in the morning. If my parents catch me sneaking out, they’ll kill me. Though Amelia recognizes that, in a few weeks, she’ll have the freedom to do whatever she wants.
Please.
The waning hope in Amelia’s heart twists into something tighter.
Okay.
She quickly pulls on a pair of shorts, then tiptoes downstairs in the dark. Her mom is in bed, but her dad has fallen asleep in the den, an infomercial flashing colors on the walls.
From the front window, Amelia watches the pink Cadillac creep slowly past her house and park on the other side of the street. Grady kills the lights. Opening her front door as quietly as she can, Amelia slips outside in her bare feet.
The asphalt still feels warm from the day.
Grady reaches over and unlocks the passenger door for Amelia. She climbs in, and before the interior lights click off, she sees the redness on the bridge of his nose, the back of his neck. “You’re sunburned,” she says, touches his arm gently with her fingertips.
“I was so nervous, I forgot to put on sunscreen.”
But what is Grady feeling now? Amelia searches his face for any happiness, any relief, any glimmer of success. He manages a tired smile, which Amelia clings to as a good sign, and she asks him, “How did it go?”
“Everything was great for the first nine holes,” he tells her. “I was basically doing exactly what my dad said, trying not to get emotional. I laughed at all his jokes, listened to college stories I’ve heard a million times over, and purposely screwed up almost every one of my putts. And he kept saying to me, Isn’t this nice? and Isn’t this great? and We have to get out here more often! ” Grady wrings the steering wheel. Guiltily, he says, “I hate to say it, but it was nice, pushing everything aside and getting along with him.”
“Believe me,” Amelia says quietly, “I get it.”
“Once we hit the back nine, I started making my pitch. Casually, you know? I explained the situation to him, told him that if he loaned me the money to cover the repairs and a new walk-in freezer, I’d be willing to implement all his business ideas—scoop size, price increase, salary cuts. And I promised I’d pay him back, with interest, basically double the sum and give him fifty percent of all the profits until then.” Grady swallows.
“And the ice cream?”
“I said that was the one change that I couldn’t entertain.”
At this, Amelia impulsively leans forward, takes Grady’s cheeks in her hands, and kisses him.
He kisses her back, his hands slipping up her neck and into her hair. When she tries pulling away, he leans forward, holding his lips to hers, extending the kiss for a second, two, three. Like he doesn’t want it to end.
When they finally pull apart, Amelia learns why.
“He’s not going to loan me the money, Amelia.”
She’s taken over by a helpless, shivery panic, not unlike the moment when the safety bar clicks down on a roller coaster and there’s no getting off. “Because of the ice cream? I mean, what if you found another dairy? There has to be someone who’ll sell you the ingredients for cheaper. Maybe—”
“No.”
“Well, did you talk about your mom? Tell him how important this was to her? Did you tell him how you almost cried tasting Home Sweet Home?” She shakes her head. “You should have gotten him to eat some that day he came here. Maybe then he’d understand.”
Grady is starting to look frustrated with her. “It’s just not a good business decision. The profit margins are small, and there’s so much work to be done on the building. There are other things I didn’t factor in either, which my dad brought up. Like that no one is going to be living in the farmhouse all winter.”
“So hire someone to take care of it! Or! Or you could rent it out!”
“And then what? I’m supposed to come back here every summer for the rest of my life?” He avoids looking at her when he says, “If Molly hadn’t died, I’m not sure she could have kept this place going another year. In some ways, maybe it lasted as long as it needed to. As long as she did.”
“Let me guess. Because you’re listening to your dad, he’s going to send you back to Truman and reinstate all your credit cards. Is that what you really want?”
“No.”
“So the stand can be your freedom!”
“I know. I’ve . . . decided to sell the property.”
All Amelia can do is blink. Grady left to try and save Meade Creamery. And he came back ready to sell the entire place.
“Look, I spent the whole drive back to Sand Lake trying to think of a way to make this work. I think I got so wrapped up in this place and with you, and proving myself to my dad, that I wasn’t thinking clearly about the practicalities. I don’t want to be a businessman.”
“What?”
He seems to understand that she’s whiplashed. “I’m going to sell the stand, and use that money to pay my own way to Truman. I’ll go back on my terms. I’ll be out of my dad’s pocket forever. I’ll be able to find something I love.”
Desperately, she says, “But your mom . . .”
“My mom was not a Meade. And I know she would want this for me.”
“So that’s it. It’s over. How much do you think you can get?” It sounds crass asking, as crass as it would be to curse.
“I’ll get enough to cover me until I graduate and hopefully a little extra.”
“When?”
“If I make a deal, it’ll be for the end of the summer. The stand will keep running. I figure if the big freezer quits, we can use the one in Molly’s basement and just run stuff down as needed.” He looks up at her. “I wouldn’t cut this summer short. I know how important it is to you.”
Amelia puts her hand to her heart, needing to make sure it’s still beating.
“Amelia, you have to know how sorry I am that everything worked out this way. I really wanted to save this for you.”
“I know you did.” She gets out of the car and slams the door, because he didn’t, because if he really believed in Meade Creamery, he would never think of selling it off. And that’s all there is to it.