twenty-eight
My shoulder slumped against the window of seat 23C, decidedly not a part of business class this time around. The plane was full, and the woman next to me was snoring. I did my best to give her ample berth, but her head had fallen onto my shoulder three times before I just let it stay there. At least one of us was getting the rest we needed. After my late-night walk across the city, I’d caught a cab from St. Patrick’s back to the pied-à-terre and had immediately started to pack, stopping only to book a ticket out of New York and back to Iowa for the following day. Which was actually the same day, if I thought about it, and I didn’t really want to think about it.
I watched as the plane banked in a wide arc over Des Moines. The change in landscape from my first visit back home a few months prior was nothing short of miraculous. The long stretches of brown and gray fields had given way to a riot of green, and the beauty was inescapable. We flew over undulating hills, fields planted in neat symmetry, rows of corn and soybeans reaching for the sky. Trees surrounded farmhouses, their various shades of green adding texture and movement to the overall portrait. A series of Grant Wood paintings moved below me, and I sighed, feeling the strange mix of contentment and sadness that was bringing me home to the quiet beauty of this place.
The pilot let down the landing gear, and the sudden clanking jerked my seat partner awake. She lifted her head, strands of her white bob falling into her face before she tucked the hair self-consciously behind her ears. She looked at me and winced. “Did I nap on you?”
My smile was genuine but didn’t reach my eyes. “You did. Quite well, actually.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, putting a hand to her mouth. “How embarrassing. I’m afraid I had a long night last night, and I didn’t sleep well.”
“It’s no problem,” I said wearily. “I understand the long night.” I started to gather my things. I’d pulled out a book before takeoff, but it had remained unopened on my lap. I was too distracted by my thoughts and my upcoming apology tour to read with any focus. I tucked the book into my bag and kicked the bag with my toe until it was fully under the seat. Leaning back, I closed my eyes, waiting to land.
“Are you headed toward home or away from it?” The woman’s voice was gentle, landing carefully in my heavy thoughts.
I thought a moment before turning to answer. “Toward,” I said, nodding. “Definitely toward.”
“Me too.” She straightened her blouse and sat up straighter. “I’d expect we will both sleep better tonight.”
I closed my eyes and hoped she was right.
Gigi refused to let me heft my bags into the back of the minivan. When I tried, she swatted my hand with her own and glared.
“I know I look old, but I can still lift a suitcase.” She nodded toward the front of the car. “You just get in and rest. You look horrible.”
I shuffled to the front of the car, knowing she was right about how I looked. After returning from my sojourn across Manhattan and booking my ticket, I had fallen into bed, still in my clothes, only to toss and turn for the waning hours of the night. I slipped into the front seat and glanced at myself in the side mirror. I whistled.
Gigi turned to me when she’d settled into the driver’s seat. “What on earth happened?” she said as she turned the key in the ignition. “You aren’t due back for weeks. And you have dark circles under your eyes. You are not a fussy woman, Grace, but I haven’t seen you without concealer since ninth grade.”
I sighed as she pulled carefully out into traffic, making her way to the bypass that would skip downtown and take us to Silver Creek. “Gigi, I ruined everything.” I groaned. “Again.”
I unloaded my sorrowful tale, my tone dry and unaffected. I’d spent so many tears, I was all out. The miles peeled away behind us as I told Gigi about the rapid rise of Flyover, the meeting with Hedda, the planned photo shoots, catalog, travel. She listened, asking few questions, eyes on the road. Shame burned in my throat as I realized I’d lived the last month in New York in a self-absorbed and self-justified bubble, my texts and calls not nearly enough to paint a full picture of what was going on in my life or in the company she’d worked hard to build.
It was only when I got to the part about vomiting on James’s rug that she allowed a small smile. “Atta girl,” she said, turning to wink at me before returning her gaze to the road.
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I studied her profile. “Gigi, I’m so sorry.” She said nothing so I continued. “I’m so sorry that your beautiful dresses, with their beautiful fabric, are now owned entirely by someone who will discard it all in a heartbeat if that means a bigger bottom line.” I gripped the handle of the passenger door, willing myself to say it all. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call enough when I was in New York. I thought I’d grown out of all that selfishness, but I can see that I’m not anywhere close.”
She shook her head. “I disagree.” She covered my hand in hers, stealing a glance at me. “You messed up, yes. You got fixed on a goal that turned out to be something you didn’t really want. Gracie, this is the plight of the human race.” She smiled at me. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. But you are a grown-up, honey. A grown-up with a big, sound heart. The proof is all in front of you: you weren’t able to sacrifice your sewing girls on the altar of the almighty dollar.”
I listened, holding tightly to her ready forgiveness.
“You know,” she said unhurriedly as she exited the interstate and pulled onto the highway that would lead into town. “You’re acting like James owns more than he does.”
I turned to her. “What do you mean? He owns it all.”
“Nope.” She shook her head. “He most certainly does not.” She set her jaw. “Here’s what he owns: he owns the fruit of some long hours of work, some great design fixes, probably some memories you’d like to forget.”
My cheeks burned, remembering how not even twenty-four hours prior, I’d been eating with James and kissing him at his table.
“He has that big lofty office in New York City where you worked, and he has lots of deals with lots of buyers. And a really smelly rug. Don’t forget the rug.”
I laughed, rueful. “Other than the rug, it sounds like he came out way ahead.”
She shook her head. “He owns some ideas, but only the ones you’ve shared with him during the last few months. There are plenty more where those came from, I’m guessing.” She slowed as we passed a group of deer feeding in the twilight, careful to watch for their sudden movements until we passed. “Don’t let him take more than he has, Grace. You still have all sorts of things. You still have the bright, curious, gifted mind God gave you. You have a hometown full of people who love you. And you have mercies that are new every morning. That’s not my promise, mind you. That’s a promise from God Himself. New morning, new mercies. That’s the deal.”
“I know. God and I are on better terms these days,” I said quietly, finding the words less foreign on my tongue than I anticipated.
Gigi watched my face and was silent, though I could see her shoulders relax, like a well-worn weight had lifted from her.
The night was midnight blue on the fields around us, and I could see a smattering of lights on the horizon. Silver Creek was straight ahead.
We’d arrived home. The porch light was on, beckoning with its soft, clean light. I could see through to the kitchen, where I knew a small counter lamp illuminated scrubbed countertops and a tin of fresh-baked cookies, probably peanut butter impressed with the tines of a fork and sprinkled with sugar. My eyes filled as I knew again how loved I was in this place, how tenderly Gigi would treat me, even though I’d completely messed up.
She leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, just escaping a fat tear that fell in her wake. “Come on in, honey. Tears feel better in your own house.”
I dragged myself out of the car, and Gigi met me, encircling me with her arms as we stood in the driveway. I tucked my face into her neck and she hugged me, waiting for me to feel what I needed to feel.
I sighed. “I think I’ll fall asleep before I even turn out the light.”
“Just as well,” she said as she pushed open the front door to the house that, I knew, would always cushion my fall. “A good night of sleep and fresh mercies tomorrow morning and you’ll have the courage to do what you need to do.”
I wasn’t entirely sure she was right, but as predicted, I didn’t have much time to worry about it. The quilt on my mom’s old bed was all I needed to close my eyes, hands clutching the worn fabric, and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.