twenty-nine
Sunlight the shade of buttercream filled the room when I opened my eyes the next morning. I stared at the ceiling, feeling at once disoriented and completely familiar with my surroundings.
Home. The thought came to me unbidden, and I let out a deep, weary sigh. My route had been circuitous and not without some serious pitfalls, but I had made it home. A bit worse for the wear, I noticed, my eyes still puffy and back muscles stiff from all the travel and sleepless nights. But I’d made it, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a lightness in my chest as I thought of facing the day.
Only one thing on the agenda, really, and though the thought of it made my stomach roil, I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I took a long, hot shower, taking care to scrub the last few days away as I caused the small bathroom to steam up. I let my hair succumb to the curls that were impossible to fight in the humidity of late summer in Iowa. As I applied minimal, soft makeup, I paused every few minutes to jot down notes on the pile of index cards accumulating next to me. I pulled on my favorite pair of jeans, an off-the-shoulder top I’d designed myself but not yet taken into the office at Flyover, and a pair of strappy sandals, and I took to the stairs, clutching my pile of index cards.
Gigi was sitting at the kitchen table, Bible open next to her but long done with her morning reading and neck deep in the day’s copy of the Des Moines Register. She shook her head as she looked up from the news.
“Every day I hope things will get better as I sleep, and every day I find they have not.”
I smiled. “What about those new mercies you were talking about? Aren’t any of those in the paper?”
She laughed softly. “Not exactly. I look elsewhere for those.” She tapped the Bible next to her with one knuckle and rose from her chair, the legs bumping along the wood floor as she pushed them back. “Coffee?” she said, already moving toward the pot.
“Yes, please,” I said, and we moved in concert in the tiny kitchen, Gigi with a large pour of coffee with extra cream and I with the toaster, a quickly scrambled egg, and a thick-cut slice of Canadian bacon. I sat down with my breakfast and Gigi pushed the coffee gently toward me.
“You look pretty,” she said, smiling. “Your eyes are bright and clear. A marked improvement over last night.”
I swallowed a bite of toast. “Thank you,” I said. “My personal goal is to make it through the day without adding red rims to these eyes. Do you think I can do it?”
Gigi paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. After a beat she said, “Not likely. You’re rather emotional these days.”
I frowned.
“However,” she said, one finger up with her addendum, “I’ve found that it’s better to be honest, no matter how horrible you look by day’s end.”
I raised one eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s the wisdom you’re dropping as I make my way to apologize to the man of my dreams?”
She grinned. “See, now? You’re well on your way already.” She patted my arm. “And your mascara is still intact. Good work.”
I shook my head as I continued eating. I was forcing it, despite the jumble of nerves in my stomach. But after the Calamari Incident, I’d eaten sparingly, and I was grateful to find the bacon and eggs smelled good to me. I sipped the last of my coffee as Gigi asked me about my plan for the day.
“That is,” she said, “other than Tucker.”
I felt my heart lurch downward, saddened again for my mistake in letting him go. I sat up straighter in the worn wooden chair. “I need to go to the barn, take inventory, see what I can salvage and what I need to sell or dump.”
“Dump?” Gigi was indignant. “I should say not. All the garments in that barn are handmade works of art. And they’re going with you and me to the flea market this weekend, thank you very much. People around here are already talking about getting Flyover originals before the whole thing goes to pot in China.” Her eyes were flinty, and I knew it would make no difference to argue, but I offered a weak objection anyway.
“James will probably want that inventory. We were swamped with orders.”
Gigi scoffed. “James can have it if he comes over here and gets it himself. I dare him.” She narrowed her eyes at me, both hands on her hips, and I burst into laughter.
“All right,” I said, conceding, “I’ll let him know your terms. He’s never been one for courage, so I’d guess he’ll call it a loss and contact his overseas suppliers with an increased order.” I giggled. “Though I must say, I would love to see him go up against you and the grannies. Goldie would have her way, I’d imagine.”
Gigi sniffed. “Not if I got to him first.”
I rose from the table and washed my dishes quickly under the tap. Smoothing my hair, I turned to her.
“All right. I’m off to humble myself.”
“Is he expecting you?” Gigi asked, giving me a quick hug before handing me the keys to the minivan.
“Not exactly,” I admitted. I leaned against the back door and pushed it open. “But I think I know where to find him.”
Tucker’s crew had been busy. The farmhouse filled my view as I rolled to a slow stop on the gravel driveway. A few men were working on the roof, but the rest of the house was framed and solid. The long planks of siding had been painted a soft white, and the wraparound porch had floors laid that, I knew, would one day gleam with shiny varnish. I walked slowly toward the bare-wood porch steps, already picturing long flower boxes and a huge porch swing with striped pillows. I squared my shoulders, shaking off the impulse to design a house that wasn’t mine and turning my thoughts to trying to repair the mess that was mine alone.
God, please help me get through this, I prayed.
The tall front door, etched glass flanking each side, stood ajar and I nudged it wide enough to walk through. A man was in the light-filled foyer, bent over something that was set up on sawhorses. The saw made a ferocious whine as he finished a piece of baseboard trim. I cleared my throat and he looked up. Removing his safety goggles, he said, “May I help you, miss?”
I swallowed. “I’m looking for Tucker. Is he around?”
A grin spread across the man’s face. “I do believe he is. Boss!” he called, turning his head slightly toward the back of the house but eyes still twinkling and on me.
Tucker came around the corner and strode down the hallway, stopping short when he saw me.
“Tuck, you have a visitor.” The man made it sound like I was the Queen of Sheba.
Tuck and I were adrift, neither of us saying a word but feeling the silence spread between us. Tucker blinked and then looked at the man working with the saw, who was standing with both hands on his hips, watching us as if we were his very favorite television show.
“Pete, this is Grace Kleren. Grace, Pete Miller.”
“Pleasure,” Pete said, taking off a work glove to shake my hand. He winked. “I feel like I already know you, Miss Grace.”
I bit my lower lip and the nervous smile that was forming.
“That will be enough chitchat from you, Miller. Back to work.” Tucker skirted the edge of the sawhorses and opened his hand. “Let’s head somewhere a bit more private.”
He fell into step behind me as I walked onto the porch. I heard Pete mumble something to Tucker about his need for privacy, and then Pete’s bark of a laugh before Tucker closed the front door. He was blushing when he came to stand next to me on the porch.
“Sorry about that,” he said, nodding toward the door. “It’s a little like junior high over here some days.”
I gestured to the house. “It’s really beautiful. You’ve done such great work.”
He nodded, turning a critical eye on the porch ceiling, the large picture window next to us. “It’s coming along.”
“The owner must be thrilled.” I was stalling, but my heart was practically leaping out of my chest and I needed a minute to collect myself. After all these years, I still underestimated how weak my knees became when I stood in front of him, close enough to touch his face.
“The owner is, um, not really paying much attention most days,” he said, eyes averted.
“Tuck,” I said. My heart raced and my hands were clammy but it was now or never. “I have to say a few things. Do you have a minute?”
His eyes were sober. “I do.”
“Okay. Good. Okay.” I reached into my back pocket for my index cards. Swallowing hard, I began reading. “I’m so very sorry, Tucker. Those are words that would be enough on the playground where we met in elementary school, after I stole your Trapper Keeper or accidentally clocked you during freeze tag. But a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t going to be enough this time.”
I pulled the first card off the stack, complete, and moved it to the back of the stack without looking up. “First, I’m sorry for not being clear enough with how grateful I am to you. You helped get the barn into perfect working condition, and you even made it pretty. You took me to Omaha, cheered me on, and flirted with a much older woman, all to help put wind in the sails of my dream.”
I looked up briefly as I pushed that card to the back of the pile, and I glimpsed Tucker’s face, eyes somber. He’d leaned against the porch railing and was watching my face. I continued.
“Second, I’m sorry for taking you for granted.” I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “I left Silver Creek years ago when I was pretty much a kid, and in my naïveté, I thought there were lots of men like you. Men who were honest, true, strong, and good to the core. I was wrong. There are not a lot of men like you. You are a gift, and I took that for granted, first for the years when we were growing up together, and then, horribly, as an adult who should have known better.”
I didn’t look up this time, just barreled onward.
“Third,” I said, “I’m sorry I mocked you for praying.”
Tucker interrupted. “You mocked me for praying?” He sounded confused.
I nodded. “Not out loud, but in my head. I’m sorry about that.”
Tucker raised one eyebrow, amused. “You are?”
“Yes,” I said, turning back to my cards. “I’ve been praying some, and turns out, it’s not a total waste of time. Turns out,” I continued with a sigh, “it can be a kind of a lifeline. And God hears. That’s new to me, but I know it to the bottom of me that it’s true. He does.”
My hands shook a bit when I pushed the card to the back of the stack, and I had to blink away the tears filling in my eyes so I could see the last card.
“Finally,” I said, voice trembling, “I’m sorry I let you go. I have recently found out what it feels like to be made to feel like I’m easily replaced. It pains me so much—” I had to stop as I choked back tears. “It hurts me to know that I made you feel like that, not once, but twice.” I whispered the last words and then looked up, eyes filled with tears. “And even if you’re with someone else now, someone who won’t hurt you the way I have, I want to put all my cards on the table. I’m sorry, Tuck. I’ve learned a lot in the last week, but most of those lessons have hurt you in the process too. I hope you can forgive me.”
Tucker barely let me finish the words before pulling me to where he sat on the porch railing. “There’s no one but you.” He kept his hands on my waist as he looked me in the eye. “And of course I forgive you.” He kissed me, gently, sweetly, a lingering kiss that made my head spin. When he finally pulled back, he used his hands to wipe away an errant tear still making its way down my cheek.
“No more apologies, all right?” He spoke quietly, pushing a strand of hair away from my face. “And no more index cards.” He bit his cheek but the smile appeared anyway. “I really didn’t love AP English the first time.”
I frowned. “The last time I made index cards and didn’t use them, I got in a heap of trouble. It’s good to be organized.”
He kissed my cheek sweetly. “No, it’s weird.” Another kiss, along the line of my jaw. “But I’ll tell you one thing.”
“What’s that?” I leaned into him, worrying that the lightness in my heart and head would soon prevent me from standing on my own two feet.
“Pete is going to be very, very happy you’re back.” He pulled me close and looked over my shoulder. “You are back, right?”
I followed his gaze behind me and saw a gaggle of workers standing in the picture window. When I turned, they started whooping and clapping, giving us the thumbs-up. Pete looked like he’d just won a heavyweight fight, all fist bumps and high fives to the men around him.
I laughed and waved, totally embarrassed and totally, ridiculously happy. “Yes,” I said, still laughing. “I’m back.” I turned to face him. “And I’m totally, finally, all yours.”
Tucker planted a kiss on my lips, his hands on my face, and grinned as the guys’ cheers escalated in volume.
“Hey,” he said.
“Mmm?”
“Welcome home.”