Maurie went through the motions over the next few days, checking off things on her long to-do list. The grand opening of Every Occasion was on Friday, which happened to be the day before Valentine’s Day.
Maurie’s emotions were all over the place though. Taffy knew something was up, but Maurie had simply said she wasn’t ready to talk about it, and thankfully Taffy had respected that. The store was coming together nicely, and seeing the progress each day sent warm bursts through Maurie’s heart.
But then she’d return home in the evenings, see new evidence of Grant’s progress, and almost collapse beneath the weight of memories. And grief. Intellectually she knew that Grant had done the right thing—it could have very well been someone else who’d called the cops that night. Did it really matter that it was Grant?
No, she told herself over and over.
But she couldn’t quite get over the emotional side of it.
Grant had come to ask her to a dance. He’d seen the awfulness that was her life—a life she’d hoped to hide from regular people. And Grant had taken action ... had called in the law in order to correct the situation. If Maurie had found that out as a teenager, she would have been mortified knowing that the boy she had a crush on had been a witness.
But the other, more dangerous thoughts kept circulating inside her mind. What if Grant hadn’t called the cops? Her mom wouldn’t have been arrested. Maybe she would have cleaned up her act. Gotten into rehab like she’d talked about more than once. Maybe her mother would still be alive.
The thought haunted Maurie.
Certainly, Grant wasn’t responsible for her mother’s poor choices, but...
Maurie pulled up to the curb of the house.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Taffy said from the passenger seat.
Maurie looked over at her best friend; she’d almost forgotten she was there. “Sorry, I’m not trying to ignore you.”
Taffy rested a hand on her arm. “You can tell me anything, Maurie. When you’re ready, of course.”
Maurie nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I know. And thank you. It’s just hard because...” She couldn’t finish.
“Can you tell me what he did?” Taffy said in a soft voice. “Do I need to break some kneecaps?”
Maurie gave a half laugh. “No, it wasn’t ... recent.” She took a deep breath and told Taffy what Grant’s role had been the night she’d been taken into foster care. Apparently all deep confessions happened in idling cars. When she finished, Taffy didn’t say anything for a moment.
Maurie fully expected her friend to go through the same litany that had been in her own head.
Instead, Taffy turned to look at Maurie. “You need to make peace with your mom.”
Maurie blinked. “What? She’s dead.”
Taffy nodded. “You can still make peace. I don’t know what it will look like. Maybe a conversation at her gravesite?”
Shaking her head, Maurie clenched her hands into fists. “I can’t go there.”
“What do you think will happen if you go?”
Maurie hesitated, then said, “That I’ll spiral into that dark place again. That the memories of my mom will be too hard to deal with?”
“I could come with you,” Taffy said.
She’d offered more than once, and Maurie had always turned her down. On one hand, Maurie knew Taffy was right—there would probably be some closure if she went to her mom’s gravesite. On the other hand, Maurie had tried to close the door on her past, and she didn’t want to reopen it. Grant’s confession had cracked the door open far enough.
“Whatever you decide,” Taffy said, “I’m still going to be here for you. But I’d hate to see you throw away a very good part of your future for something in the past that can’t be changed.”
The tears were back. “You think Grant is my future?” Maurie whispered.
“He’s crazy about you,” Taffy said.
Maurie wiped at her cheeks. “I think I’m in love with him.”
Taffy laughed softly. “Of course you are.”
“Why does it hurt so much then?”
“Oh, hon.” Taffy hugged her.
Maurie closed her eyes and squeezed Taffy back as if she could somehow squeeze away the pain of forgiving her mom, and even forgiving Grant. Her therapist had long ago told Maurie to forgive herself, and to stop second-guessing every conversation and choice made around her mother. Her mother had been the adult, Maurie the child.
Still ... Maurie found her mind going back to that place again of deep regret.
When Taffy drew away, Maurie felt calmer. Maybe she could visit her mother’s gravesite. And maybe she’d take Taffy along.
“Feeling better?” Taffy asked, her eyes full of compassion.
Maurie sniffled. “I’m going to bake an apple pie.”
Taffy laughed. “Of course you are, and I’m going to eat it. And I’m sure Grant will be eating leftovers when he shows up in the morning.”
At the mention of Grant, Maurie felt another twinge in her heart. She missed him. So much. She wanted to know how Trent was doing. She missed that kid too. Maurie sighed and opened the car door. “Apple pie it is.”
Taffy followed her into the house, and while Maurie prepared the crust, Taffy brought her laptop into the kitchen. While Taffy responded to customers and confirmed orders, Maurie mixed and rolled the crust, then set it to chill in the fridge while she cored and peeled apples. Baking brought a sense of calm over her, and as she worked, she could think more clearly. The emotions that had so wracked her body seemed to fade, and in their place, she thought about her mother’s gravesite.
She could go there in the morning, with Taffy. Maybe even take some flowers. Tell her mom about the new shop on Main Street. Then ... maybe she could talk to Grant. Apologize to him at the very least. After these past days of silence, she was sure that Grant was probably fed up with the drama. He’d been through enough with his ex-wife.
Maurie ignored the tears welling in her eyes and stirred the sliced apples into a mixture of cinnamon, sugar, and nutmeg. By the time she’d finished the lattice strips of the upper pie crust, she’d determined that tomorrow morning would be the time to visit her mom’s gravesite. And she wouldn’t change her mind.
“Taffy,” Maurie said.
Taffy looked up from her laptop. “Hmm?”
“Will you come with me to the Pine Valley Cemetery tomorrow morning?” Maurie said. “Early, before Grant shows up to work.”
“Of course, hon,” Taffy said. “I’ll be ready.”
More questions showed in Taffy’s expression, but she didn’t press for any other information, and for that, Maurie was grateful.
When the pie was safely in the oven, Maurie walked about the house, looking for the new changes that Grant had finished that day. All the light fixtures had been upgraded and were in working order. He’d installed a new vanity in the bathroom, so now it matched the tile above the bathtub.
She walked into her bedroom, where he’d installed blinds and redone the baseboards. He’d set the soft-blue paint she’d picked out on a tarp in the corner of the bedroom. Grant had already spackled all the cracks and holes in the walls. He’d also taped the new baseboards with blue painter’s tape. She’d told him she’d do the painting after the grand opening of her store, and then they could order carpet from his carpet-layer friend.
Now Maurie didn’t know if that was going to happen. She hadn’t even spoken to Grant since the day of his confession.
She settled onto her bed and pulled one of the pillows to her chest. She’d spent most of her childhood in this bedroom, and although it looked different with the new bed and bedding, and the filled-in cracks on the wall, she could still visualize every crack and hole. Shapes she’d stared at until it became too dark at night. She used to watch the evening sunlight advancing across her room until the gold-orange was replaced by violet. She’d read under the covers with a flashlight and kept her door locked when her mom had her “friends” over.
Although the house was quiet now, the echoes of music and laughter from her mom’s parties still seemed to seep through the walls. Maurie climbed off her bed and knelt on the floor, in front of the paint cans. She used the metal opener to pop open the lid of the first can. For some reason she’d always loved the smell of paint.
Next she picked up the wooden stick and plunged it into the thick paint. She watched the paint swirl as she stirred, then she drew out the stick. Before she realized what she was doing, she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail and picked up one of the brushes.
She dabbed it onto the wall right over a spackled crack that she always thought looked like the letter J. She stood back and surveyed the color. With the paint, the crack was no longer noticeable. She painted over another spackled crack, then another, until the entire wall looked like an abstract blue-and-white painting. She poured some paint into a roller pan, then used one of the new rollers. The paint went on quickly and smoothly with the roller, and soon she had an entire wall finished.
Switching again to the brush, she finished off the corners.
“What are you doing?” Taffy’s voice came from the doorway of the bedroom.
Maurie turned. “Painting.”
Taffy placed her hands on her hips. “I can see that ... I thought we were going to paint after the store opened.”
Maurie filled up the roller with more blue paint. “Plans changed.”
“Do you want my help?”
“I think I’m good,” Maurie said. “Just working out some things.”
Taffy nodded, and when she left the room, Maurie moved the bed and single bedside table. She hadn’t purchased a dresser yet, so she piled the clothes from the closet on top of the bed. She wouldn’t be able to sleep in the bedroom with the paint fumes anyway.
Maurie finished sometime around one in the morning with a second coat, and then she crashed on the couch.
Her alarm went off at 6:30 a.m., and at first she was disoriented as to why she was on the couch. Then she remembered. She dragged herself to her feet and walked to her bedroom to survey what she’d done the night before. After flipping on the light, she walked in. The walls were beautiful. Unflawed, unmarred, and uncracked.
She pressed a finger to several spots on the wall. The paint was mostly dry and didn’t need a third coat.
Maurie jumped in the shower, and by the time she was ready to go, Taffy was making awful instant coffee in the kitchen.
“Let’s stop at the Main Street Café,” Maurie said. “Anything is better than that.”
“In a hurry to get out of here before You-Know-Who shows up?”
Instinctively, Maurie glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. It was almost 7:30, and Grant came around 8:00 a.m. She shrugged. “I’ll be in the car, and I’m stopping at the café, so whatever you choose to drink here is your choice.”
“I see you left out the pie with a note,” Taffy said, a smile in her voice.
Maurie had written a note to Grant before crashing on the couch. He could have the whole pie if he wanted. “I did.”
Taffy eyed her. “I’m ready if you are.”
“I’m ready.”