by Rea Frey
“Yes, for now. Try to get some rest.”
Carol rolls her eyes, and Grace knows she’s thinking the same thing. Why do people always say that? She couldn’t sleep if someone paid her a million dollars. She’d probably never sleep again.
They gather their belongings and walk back to Arbor House.
“I vote for cremation,” Alice says. “That way, Mason can always have her close by.”
“I second that,” Carol says. “Especially if she didn’t want a typical funeral.”
“Is there anyone we need to call?” Grace asks. “Besides her clients, obviously? I know she keeps all of their information in her book at home. Noah can supply the numbers since he’s there.”
They all rummage through the people in Lee’s lean, compact life as the breeze picks up. “Her sponsor?” Alice asks.
“Yes, her sponsor. And Mason’s therapist. Her therapist.” Grace ticks them off on her fingers. “I’ll start a list.”
“I just … I feel like this is all my fault. If I hadn’t arranged this trip, then she wouldn’t have fallen,” Carol says.
“Hey, stop that.” Alice loops an arm around her shoulder. “This is no one’s fault. It’s one of those freak accidents you hear about and now it’s happened to us. But we will get through it.” Carol leans into the hollow of her friend’s shoulder. “We will. Okay?”
They stop in front of the bright gate, the day ironically clear and beautiful, not a cloud in the sky. If Grace hadn’t left Lee alone outside, would she still be alive?
She brushes the what-ifs aside. She has a little boy to tend to, his mother’s body to take care of, and arrangements to make. Becoming Mason’s permanent guardian charges every nerve in Grace’s body. She adores Mason. She is the closest to him out of the group, and she wants to prepare him for everything that’s to come.
Doubt gnaws the lining of her stomach. What would Lee think about her taking Mason into her home when she’d probably died hating her? She can’t think about that now; can’t think of all the logistics, of their fight, of even telling Mason that Lee is dead.
They each separate to their rooms. Grace shuts the door, acknowledges Lee’s roller bag, her made bed, and a novel, untouched, on the nightstand. She riffles through her bag. The journal with the engraved L is tucked inside a mesh pocket. She picks it up. Is there some clue in here, some indication of what she was thinking or feeling?
The emotions sweep over her like a tsunami and she gives in to them, so overwhelmed, she doesn’t know what to do. She collapses in bed, all of the next steps crashing into her. She tucks the journal to her chest and flips it open.
She begins to read.
secret
lie
despair
resilience
jealousy
duplicity
betray
How many times can one person be disappointed?
Everyone thinks they know my motivations, my fears, my purpose.
Do we ever really know the people in our lives?
Do we ever really share our deepest, darkest truths?
No.
No one ever really knows someone else—all the ways you can present a version of yourself to the world that you want to be seen.
The rest stays hidden.
The rest stays yours.
No one will ever know the real me.
It’s something I’ve decided.
It’s something I will hoard just for myself.
I keep coming back to this one thing I heard over and over again: the heart wants what it cannot have.
But I will have it.
Because I deserve it.
I deserve what’s rightfully mine.
37
noah
Noah waits for Grace on Lee’s front steps. Mason is asleep. He still can’t believe that he and Grace are meeting under these circumstances. They need a plan—a tell-Mason-his-mom-is-dead script. He can’t fend off the questions much longer—where his mother is, why she’s not back, why he hasn’t talked to her.
Grace kills her headlights before pulling into the drive. Noah rushes down the steps to meet her. He wraps her in his arms and kisses the top of her head.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs.
Slowly, he lowers to his knees and gently palms her belly. Grace holds him there, his hair in her fingers. His left ear presses against the dome of her stomach and listens for life, even though he knows it’s too early. He releases her waist and stands. Ever since she found out she’s pregnant, there’s been no excitement—only cautious optimism. What would a loss like this do to her? To them? Finally, he eases her back toward the steps, which are cool and hard beneath his jeans.
“I just can’t believe a few days ago, she was here, and now she’s not, and … I just don’t even know. God, I’m so tired. I feel so responsible.” Grace drops her face in both palms.
“It’s not your fault.” He rubs her back.
She looks at him. “But if I hadn’t left her out there.”
“Don’t do that.” He slides his hand to the step behind her and sighs. “It won’t help anything. Trust me.” He knows the blame game all too well. He still plays it with Wyatt’s suicide all these years later, no matter how many times he’s been told it wasn’t his fault.
“I still feel responsible.” She wipes away smeared mascara.
“I know.” It’s all he can say because he does know. Nothing he tells her is going to change the way she feels.
“We have to tell Mason.”
He nods. “We do.”
“And then what?” Grace sighs. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
Noah pushes away the aftermath of his own brother’s death, all of the logistics, the funeral, and what came after. “When a parent dies, it becomes about legal guardianship and not custody.” He pauses, unsure how to frame his next statement. “Unless the biological father were to come forward.”
Grace emits a short, harsh laugh. “He won’t.”
He looks at her, surprised. “Are you sure? Because if he knew what happened, he might step up and take responsibility.”
“No.” Grace shakes her head. “The father won’t come forward.”
Noah lets that information sink in. “How do you know?”
“Because she told me. She told me who the father is.”
Noah bristles. He runs through every conversation he and Lee have ever shared, but she never alluded to who Mason’s dad was. Despite the tragic situation, he’s still curious. “Who is it?”
She sighs. “She doesn’t know.”
“Whoa.” He thinks about the Lee he knows. He can’t imagine her sleeping around with some guy and not knowing who got her pregnant.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now.” There is an edge to her voice. “I just want to talk about logical next steps. I need to know exactly what to do and in what order.”
“Hey, it’s fine.” He rubs her back again. “I understand this is a lot.”
“I’ve got the guardianship papers. I have a copy of her will.”
“Wait, you’ve got guardianship papers?” he asks in surprise. “How?”
She glances at him, her face drawn. “Because she named me as Mason’s legal guardian should something happen to her.”
Noah registers this new information and feels immense relief that Mason will be with Grace. That he will be with both Grace and Mason. That, in essence, he will become Mason’s guardian too. They haven’t talked about being together forever, but with Grace’s pregnancy and the hope of their future … it makes sense. “That will make it a lot easier. Because Lee signed papers, it should be a simple procedure. We’ll set a court date. They will name you as his legal guardian, and everything should run smoothly. No pushback or anything.” He clears his throat. “I know his sessions are expensive. His therapy, all of that. We can discuss alternatives if you like?”
“I don’t care about money. I just want what’s best for him. I don’t want to disrup
t his life or routine.” Grace looks at him under the porch lights, her eyes glistening. “How are we going to do all this? We’re having a baby. I have a kid from another man. And now I’m about to take on the responsibility of another child who just lost his mother?”
“I know.” He pulls her close and kisses her temple. “But I’ll be with you every step of the way. You know that.”
“Will you?” Grace searches his face. “I get it if you don’t want to stick around for this, Noah. No one expects you to. It’s a lot to ask. Plus, you have other families and responsibilities.”
“What are you talking about? We’re having a baby together. I’m in this.” Noah works something out in his head. The future. The boys. The baby. Them. The thought of asking Grace to marry him flits across his mind, but he knows now is not the time. “Grace, you are my family. We’re in this together.”
Her entire body seems to relax. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Because out of everyone, Mason loves you the most.”
Something aims and fires in his gut. “I’m not sure about that. His bond with you is pretty incredible.”
She exhales. “How’s he been doing the past few days without her?”
“He’s wondering why he hasn’t spoken to her, and why it’s been longer than she said.”
“Ugh.” Grace moans. “We should tell him as soon as possible.” She fiddles with a stick she plucks from the steps and sweeps the branch back and forth in front of her. “We have no idea what we’re really in for, do we?”
“Not really. But it will be okay.”
“Poor Mason. My heart is just breaking for him.”
“I know.” He hesitates and decides to continue. “I know you have the papers, Grace, but I would suggest thinking really long and hard about this.”
“About what?”
“The guardianship. Becoming a parent to Mason is going to change your life. You and Luca have a rapport, a routine, your ups and downs, and your little traditions. But all that will change.”
Grace studies him. He can’t tell what she’s thinking, but he knows that having a baby will essentially do the same thing. A baby will change their lives. Having permanent custody of Mason will change their lives. Her best friend dying will change their lives. It already has.
She wipes a tear from her cheek. “It’s not up for discussion.”
He nods. “I wasn’t saying it was up for discussion. I was just saying there are other options if you need them.”
She whips her head toward him. “Like what? Giving him to a stranger? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hey, calm down. That’s not what I meant.” He’s thrown by her clipped tone, but he knows she is hormonal, tired, and devastated. “All I’m saying is that it’s normal to think things through.”
“I have. I’m taking him.” She stares straight ahead into the night, and he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“That’s an amazing, selfless thing. He’s very lucky.”
She moves closer to him on the steps. Lee sat like this, just days ago, scared to go on her trip. Scared of what might happen in her absence. And now her best friend is in her place, scared of what to do next.
Finally, her body softens and she glances at him. “I know she’d be happy to know you’re here with him. With us.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” Noah pieces together all the information they will have to tackle over the next few days: the logistics of the house, the funeral, telling Mason, the aftermath, making sure Grace stays healthy … It is a lot, but he’s been here before. He survived Wyatt’s death.
He knows he’ll survive this too.
38
grace
Grace startles at the unfamiliar surroundings. She slides a palm across the fresh sheets, toward the open space that, hours before, housed Noah’s body. She squints into the half-light. Not here. She stares at the ceiling—Lee’s ceiling—and listens for Mason. After a few moments, she rises, her body still heavy with sleep, and finds Noah in the kitchen. Her arms circle his waist, and she breathes in the sharp smell of his skin, clean and masculine.
“Morning, beautiful. Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
“I made you decaf. Are you hungry?”
“Sure.” She knows they have to break the news this morning. From there, they will set a court date, do paperwork, pack, and help Mason move. God. She hasn’t even thought of the process of moving, the emotional hell that will cause for him.
She helps with breakfast, heaping soft eggs cooked in butter onto three separate plates, and pours a fresh cup of decaf for herself. For one moment, she forgets that Lee is not here, and she grips the counter, almost spinning with realization.
They eat in silence, stabbing fork tines into their steamy eggs. She washes them down with her second cup of coffee and hears Mason’s door open right at eight. She catches Noah’s eye across the table, and they nod at each other.
Mason enters the dining room and rubs his eyes. For a moment, she sees the flicker of hope that she is his mother, but just as quickly it’s abandoned when he realizes she’s not Lee.
“Where’s my mother? Why is my mother not here? Where is she?”
Grace attempts to smile. “Hey, buddy. Why don’t you come have some breakfast? Noah and I need to talk to you about your mom.”
Mason fingers a small hole in his pajama bottoms. He sniffs and crosses his arms. “Those eggs smell like fish. You can’t cook them in the cast iron pan or else they taste like fish. Mom cooks fish in that pan.”
Grace makes a mental note for future reference. “That’s a great tip. I’ll remember that.” She moves the chair next to her and pats the wooden bottom. “Here. Sit. We need to talk.”
Noah urges him to sit too, and finally, he does. He refolds his arms over his Sesame Street T-shirt and looks between them. “Okay, out with it. Where’s my mother?”
Grace opens her mouth to explain, but she doesn’t know how to convey the truth in a way that is not so gut-wrenching. She contemplates all the ways she can say it: Your mother had an accident. Your mother went hiking. Your mother fell. No matter how she frames it, the moment she says it will change his life forever.
“Mason, I’m going to tell you where your mother is.” Noah clears his throat and glances at Grace, and she nods in approval. “While she was on her trip, your mother went on a hike late at night. She couldn’t see very well and she fell.”
“Is she in the hospital?” Mason’s fingers begin to peck against the table.
Noah falters and Grace butts in. “No, Mason, she’s not in the hospital. Your mom fell from the very top of the mountain. I’m so sorry to say that she died.”
The blunt delivery slices through Grace—even though she knows Mason needs to hear a definitive statement to understand—but it’s as if she is hearing it for the first time. Mason’s breath quickens, his lungs punchy beneath his pajamas.
“I’m so sorry. It was a terrible accident.”
Mason’s face turns splotchy, first his right ear, then his temple, then the violent splash of color like a contagious rash across his neck. His eyes widen and brim with unshed tears. “My mother fell off a mountain?” Mason looks at her, the pain written all over his face. “And died?” His voice drops to a whisper when he says the word died, and not for the first time, Grace recognizes the vulnerable child beneath all that logic.
“Oh, sweet boy,” she murmurs. She extends her hand to cover his but stops short at the edge of his nails.
“Grace … she’s not really dead, is she? She’s not dead.” Tears wet his cheeks as he furiously shakes his head. “No, no, no. She’s not dead. Not dead.”
Noah leans closer. “We’re so sorry, Mason.”
Again, he looks between them, desperate to make sense. “Grace, please. You were there! You were with her! How did she fall? She promised she’d be back. She promised.”
“I know. I know she did.” Grace covers her mouth with he
r hand and tries to calm herself. She has to be strong for him, for them.
“But, but, but, but.” He repeats the word, crying as he says it, and Grace wraps a firm arm around his shoulder and holds him tight. “But she said she would be back. She promised. She promised she’d be back in seventy-two hours. She promised me!”
“I know. I know she did.” Grace holds him tighter. “And if she hadn’t gotten into an accident, she would have kept her promise. You know that.”
He rolls into her chest and cries. She holds him, her own tears slipping across her cheeks and jaw. Noah watches them, the anguish apparent. She squeezes Mason tighter and waits for him to pull away.
Finally, he extricates himself and hiccups. “Is this my fault?”
“Why on earth would you ask that?” Grace says. She smooths his matted hair away from his forehead.
“Because I said something about living with you before she left.” His eyes float between them, bewildered. “I made a comment about wanting to live with you. But I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want her to die.”
“Oh, Mason, of course not. This is not your fault. It was an accident.” Noah’s words are gentle, but the meaning is firm.
“He’s right. This is not your fault. Do you hear me? Mason, look at me. This is not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault.” Grace ignores the stab of guilt: the argument, the drinking, the unplanned hike, the fall.
He assesses the dining room, the living room behind him, the kitchen off to the right. “But where will I live? I live here with my mother.”
“I know you do,” Grace says. “And we will need to talk about that.”
Noah interjects. “You will live with Grace and Luca.”
Grace shoots him a stern look. Now isn’t the time to bring up details. She wants to let him sit with the truth and whatever that brings: pain, grief, loss, the love he has for his mother. He needs to process.
“So what I asked for is coming true then.” He hiccups. “I made this happen!” He pushes back from the table and runs to his room.
Grace covers her face with her hands. “God.” She knows the pain he is going through, how he must want to take the truth and destroy it.
