"You can drive my car."
"You have a car?"
Kate had stopped driving a couple of years ago when she could not pass the eye exam to keep her license. She kept the car and just let Ryan drive it from time to time to make sure everything still worked. She knew it would make more sense to sell it but just couldn't part with it. She kept it stored at Ryan's house because he had a garage. She sends me over to his house with her spare key to collect it. I feel strange walking into Ryan's house alone, almost like I'm snooping. I have a valid reason for being there. Kate sent me to retrieve the car. It's just that once I'm there, I cannot help the compulsion to look around.
The front door opens into a sitting room similar to Kate's. The house in general seems the same only a mirror image, so the rooms are on different sides. Instead of a lanai, Ryan's rental has a garage. His style seems very minimalist, a beige sofa and TV in the front room, a bar-height dark wood table and chairs in the kitchen. I don't dare look in his bedroom. That would be crossing the line. I do look at the artwork he has on the walls, mainly black and white tropical photos. I wonder if they are pictures from his travels. The entrance to the garage is off the kitchen. As I pass the table, I notice a hoodie slung over the back of one of the chairs. I lift it to my nose. It smells like him. He wears a cologne I don't recognize but like. This smells like that mixed with a salty smell: the gulf or sweat, I wonder.
Once I’m in the garage, I stop to check out Kate's car. It's a silver Cadillac with a convertible top. I'm slightly intimidated driving it. Hopefully, this place isn’t too far, and Kate still knows how to get there. I hit the button to open the garage door, and as slowly as possible, back Kate's Caddy out onto the street, swinging it around to pick her up. There's a garage door opener attached to the visor that I click to shut the door behind me. Weeki Wachee is an hour north from her house. As we drive, I ask her more about my mother. The one thing that still bothers me about Kate's version is I just can't picture my mom hanging on to anger that long to never let Kate back into her life.
Kate doesn’t mince words. She accepts all the blame and feels like a part of her started pushing my mom away after Ronny died. After all of that time, once she understood my mother found someone to love her, my mother left and didn’t look back. Kate doesn’t blame her. She only wishes she could have understood better at the time the consequences of her actions. It still doesn't sit well with me, it just feels out of character for my mom to act that way. I have this image of her and have to accept the fact that maybe she is human and can hold a grudge. Kate seems bent on me not remembering my mother in anything less than a positive light.
"Grace, I'm not the same person I was those days. Living in that house, surrounded by all of those memories, was not healthy for me. I don't fault your mother for not forgiving me. I wasn't an easy person to be around. I was cold and angry and felt like I couldn't deal with the world around me."
I have a hard time connecting the image Kate portrays of herself with the person sitting next to me. I let it drop, not wanting to upset her. I have a good time seeing the mermaid show. The park is full of little girls and their parents or grandparents. I smile being able to lump myself into that category even though I'm much older.
~*~
Once we are back at Kate's house, she takes a nap while I return the car to Ryan's garage. Ryan is pulling into his driveway as I'm letting myself out of his house.
"We took Kate's car out," I explain, feeling my face get hot.
"Sorry, my place is a mess."
"What? It seemed clean, but I only saw the front room and the kitchen."
"No peeking at my boxers?"
"No, not that I would admit it if I had" I joke.
He rubs his chin and smiles "I will now assume you did."
"Don’t!"
"But it's more fun that way. So what do you ladies have planned for lunch?"
"Kate's resting right now. I was just going to make myself a sandwich. Want one?"
Ryan follows me back to Kate's house and keeps me company in the kitchen while I make our lunch. He rambles on about his day. I like the sound of his chatter. We take our plates out by the pool. I'm really going to miss the weather. I'll not be outside like this until well into spring back home. Ryan pours us some lemonade and asks me how I like Kate's car. I tell him it’s longer than any car I've ever driven so other than being nervous when I was parking I think it is a great car. Ryan loves that car, telling me how he would put the top down and drive Kate around town. It makes me wonder why Ryan seems content to spend his time with Kate instead of people closer to his own age.
I have been so distracted I miss what he asks me. "Sorry?"
"Want to go out with me tonight?"
"I don’t know. What about Kate?"
"No worries. I cleared this with the boss lady last night."
"I guess."
"You don’t have to if you don’t want to."
"No. I didn’t mean—what I meant to say was you don’t have to."
"I know I don’t have to, Grace. I'm asking you because I'd like to."
"Well, in that case..."
It is settled. Ryan will pick me up at seven. He helps me clear the plates before he goes back to work. Kate comes out not long after, having finished her nap. I'm onto her.
"Did you fake a nap so Ryan and I would be alone?"
"Oh, Ryan stopped by? How is he?"
"You can't fool me." I smile. "He's great and taking me out tonight."
"Oh, I'm so happy you said yes."
"Mm hmm. Has your matchmaking made you work up an appetite? Can I make you a sandwich?"
"Oh, that'd be lovely, dear."
~*~
That night, I wear a cream-colored sundress with little eyelets at the hem. The dress comes down to my knees. My bruise is an odd shade of blue now. I take a green cardigan with me in case it cools off. I wear brown ballet-style flats and a small, green crossbody bag for my wallet. I borrow Kate's curling iron, adding some gentle waves that hit just past my shoulders. As I put on some mascara, I wonder if all the sun has lightened my hair, or maybe I’m just not used to seeing it styled. Not one for much makeup, I actually put on a little blush. Pointless, I think, since I always seem to feel red-faced around Ryan.
"Do you think Ryan thinks this is a date, Kate?"
"I don’t know, dear."
"Yes, you do."
She nods her head "Well, maybe."
"But I have a boyfriend."
"Then you really shouldn't be going on a date, dear."
"Kate!"
"I know Ryan will be here soon, but there was something I—"
"Knock, knock," Ryan calls out from the front room.
"Be right there," I call out. Then turning to Kate. "What were you saying?"
"It's not important. Come on, dear."
I follow Kate to the front room, stopping when I see Ryan. He’s wearing khaki trousers and brown dock shoes with an untucked light blue dress shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair looks damp like he is fresh out of a shower.
Ryan gives Kate and me each a kiss on the cheek in greeting, murmuring, "You look lovely," to me as his mouth brushes my cheek.
"You too. I mean, you look great," I mumble.
"You kids have fun." Kate pushes us towards the door.
Ryan has just started the car when I turn to him. "This isn't a date."
He looks at me before moving his glance to the rear view mirror and backing out of the driveway. "Pity."
I cannot think of a response to that, so I just fold my hands in my lap and look out the window. We drive in silence until Ryan nears someplace called Ybor City. He takes me to a Cuban restaurant on 7th Avenue. It is dim inside, and there are a lot of people waiting for a table, but Ryan has a reservation so we are seated right away. While we look at the menu, I confess I have never had Cuban food before.
"Can't go wrong with arroz con pollo," Ryan suggests.
I think the Spanish-sounding dish
sounds funny with Ryan's accent and ask him to say it again a couple of times before asking what it is. It sounds much more exotic than chicken and rice but something I'd like so when our server comes I order it. After dinner, we pop into a bar with a live band. I surprise Ryan by asking if he'd like to dance. The band plays cover songs of stuff I hear on the radio but with a beachy-sounding twist. Ryan is fun to dance with. He does not get too close but still takes my hands or rests his hands on my hips. I put my arms around his neck but the music stops for the band to take five.
Ryan leans his forehead on mine and breathes. "Why can't this be a date?"
I take a step back. What’s the point? Even if this could be a date, I’m leaving in two days. There’s no point getting all worked up over something that isn’t going to happen. In the long run, I'll have to forget about Ryan. It’s best to keep my distance. he gauges my reaction, and his face falls.
"Can I buy you a beer?"
He nods and follows me to the bar. The silence between us becomes uncomfortable.
Groaning, I try to lighten the mood. "Believe me. You wouldn't want to be on a date with me. I'm awful, and noisy, and no fun. You really dodged a bullet."
He smiles at me and holds his glass up for cheers. "To dodging bullets."
"I'll drink to that," I smile, clinking my glass to his.
The rest of our evening is free of any awkward moments. We stroll along 7th Avenue, checking out the different shops, bars, and restaurants before turning back towards Ryan's car.
"Red punch buggy, no punch backs!"
"Ompf!" Ryan gapes at me "Did you just hit me?"
"Mm hmm."
"Why?"
"Have you ever played punch buggy?"
"’Fraid not."
"It's kinda hard in the dark." I cringe, thankful he can't see me as I feel my face redden.
"I'm listening." He chuckles.
"Oh hush. What I meant was it's harder to find punch buggies when it's dark out. That red one was a lucky call ‘cause it was right in front of us."
"So how do you play?"
"See a bug, call it, punch, say no punch backs. That's about it."
"I don’t want to play a game where I hit you."
"Well, you don’t have to punch hard."
"You did."
"You looked like you could take it."
"Oh, I see how it is."
I just giggle, which makes Ryan shake his head at me. He drops me off in front of Kate's house.
"You're not coming in?"
"It's late. I have to get up early tomorrow. I have another fishing group going out."
"Oh, right. Well, thank you. I had a really great time."
"So did I."
"Will you be back in time for dinner tomorrow?"
"Should be."
"Oh, um, great. Okay. Bye."
The house is dark, and Kate has already gone to sleep. I change and get ready for bed. It takes me some time to fall asleep. I cannot help but think about how Ryan had wanted it to be a date. I wanted it to be a date too. I'm regretting telling him no. I try to think about Jon, try to picture his face, anything to not dwell on Ryan.
~*~
The smell of coffee wakes me the next morning. I head toward the kitchen. Kate is pouring herself a cup when I walk in.
"Morning, dear. Did you have fun last night?"
"Morning, Kate. Yes. I had a great time."
I set her coffee on a tray with some muffins and sliced cheese and follow her outside. I am really going to miss this weather.
I focus on my coffee. I'm not very hungry.
"Grace, there was something I wanted to ask you."
I look up from my cup "Yes?"
"You see, I've just enjoyed your stay so much, and I just wanted to let you know that if you'd like to I'd like for you to stay with me."
"What?" She wants me?
"Move to Florida, dear. I can tell you aren’t happy in Ohio."
She has a point. I’m not.
"I can't." I argue even though part of me is rejoicing at the idea.
"Why not?" Her eyes soften.
"What about my job? Jon?"
"You wouldn’t need to pay rent so you could take your time finding something."
"And Jon?"
"Only you can answer that question, dear" she says quietly.
"I just don’t think I can."
"No matter what you decide, I just needed you to know that you're welcome to stay here as long as you like."
"That really means so much to me, and I will think about it. I just—I just don’t know what to say."
I begin worrying at a muffin, pulling it apart and making more mess than eating it. Has my grandmother really just asked me to move to Florida? It sounds like a dream, but she's probably just being polite. She can’t really mean it. But, if I stay, what will happen to Jon? There is no way he can afford the apartment without me. He could always get a studio. But what if he asks me to stay? Will he even ask me to stay? Kate reaches over and pats me on the hand.
"Is there anything you would like to do today, Grace?"
"I'm fine just hanging out around here."
"You had mentioned wanting to learn some of the meals I've cooked. Would you like to do that today?"
"That sounds great, but I have to warn you I'm a miserable cook."
"Oh hush, dear. I'm sure you're fine."
After eating, I clear the table and go to take a shower. I check my knee before getting in. It looks better than the night before. I dress in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved sweater. I will be leaving the next day, I'm really having a hard time dealing with that, and now Kate asked me to stay. Why does the idea of it feel like I would be running away? And then there is Ryan to think of. He seems interested in me, but is it only because he knows I'm going away? I gather my dirty clothes together and look for Kate to see if I can do a load of laundry.
Kate is in the front room looking at old photos. I sit by her. She absentmindedly points people out, people I have never seen before: my great grandparents. There are also more pictures of my mother and my uncle Ronald. These photos are happier than the formal professional photo hanging in the hallway.
"Was Anne buried or cremated?"
I cringe at the thought of a mother having to ask that question about her own daughter. "Um, they were both cremated."
"Did you scatter their ashes?"
"Yes, in the Cuyahoga River back home."
"Is it a pretty river?"
"It used to be polluted but it's better now. It’s very curvy. Mom loved it."
"Maybe someday I'll come visit you to see it."
"I'd really like that, Kate."
When we are done looking at the album, I ask Kate if I can use her washer and dryer. She tells me I'm silly to even ask and shows me where they are and how to work them. I hurry back to my room to grab my clothes, figuring it is safe to wash them all together as long as I set it on cold. Kate is making a chef salad in the kitchen when I find her. After lunch, she sits on her wicker loveseat and knits while I go for a dip. I lounge in an armchair float and chat with Kate while she is busy with her knitting. She's making another shawl. This one is a mint shade and is more ribbed than diamond patterned.
"Have you always knitted?"
Kate looks down at the project in her hands. "I learned from my mother when I was very young. It's very calming. I like to have my hands busy, and it feels nice to make the shawls for someone going through a rough patch. Your mother knew how to knit. Did she ever teach you?"
I shake my head.
"Oh."
After my swim, I change back into my jeans and sweater for my cooking lesson. We're making meatloaf. I remember hearing that some people use corn flakes in meatloaf, not Kate. She uses stuffing. The recipe is simple. Forming the loaf is a bit messy, but I’m certain once we glaze it this is something I can probably make on my own. We go back onto the lanai once the meatloaf is in the oven.
"Would you ever like to learn how
to knit?"
"Maybe someday. Have you made anything other than shawls?"
"Here, come with me."
I follow Kate back into the house and to the second spare bedroom, this one smaller than the one I’m sleeping in. It’s painted a light sage green, leaning more grey than green. There's a pine-framed daybed and matching dresser. In one corner, a wooden rocking chair that has been painted white sits next to a brass side table. Instead of paintings, there are pieces of stained glass hanging on the walls: a hummingbird, an orchid, and a geometric pattern. There is one piece hanging in front of the window: a frog, casting green and yellow hued shadows on the floor and bed. Kate opens the closet and begins pulling hanger after hanger down of knitted goods. Sweaters, scarves, a dress, cardigans, and cowl neck scarves.
"Did you make all of these?" I lift one sweater up off the daybed to look at the pattern on it. There are four different colors mixed together to create a row of flowers at the waist and wrists.
"I've been knitting a long time, dear. Now, mainly making shawls for the church."
"These are gorgeous."
"Would you like any?"
"I couldn’t."
"No, please take whatever you'd like. I would like you to have something I made."
"Really?"
"Of course, dear." Kate lifts my hand in hers and gives it a squeeze.
I carefully look at each piece and settle on a blue sweater with white x marks at the waist and wrists, and after Kate's insistence, a purple and black cowl scarf as well.
"Thank you so much. I absolutely love them. I will think of you every time I wear either of them."
"Are you sure you can't stay?"
"Well, I wouldn’t be able to wear these here, would I?" I try to joke, but the thought of leaving is really upsetting me.
We hang everything back up and the go back to sit by the pool. Once Kate is settled with her knitting again, I excuse myself to check my laundry. I purposely take my time pulling each item out one by one and placing them into the dryer. As though delaying this will somehow slow the movement of my last full day here. Once the dryer is going, I go back outside and sit in comfortable silence with Kate. I’m not sitting right next to her but am close enough to her that every so often she leans forward and pats me on the knee. It’s nice, like a reminder that I am wanted.
Stages of Grace Page 10
