by Lorin Grace
“Maybe they are for you. After all, you were the only one without a photo in Forbes last year, and the word most linked with you is reclusive.” This time Nick did laugh.
“On the bright side, I can walk down the street without a bodyguard, especially if I wear my contacts. I don’t think there is a single photo out there of me without a pair of thick glasses.”
“That’s what is different. I don’t think I have seen you without your glasses often.”
“One of the articles said that nerds needed to go for the contacts and improve their image.”
Nick squinted at him. “I don’t think Candace is one of those women who judges much by the cover.”
“I know, but 512 days.” Colin looked at his watch. “Make that 513. I need something to change.” The poor squished game frog had a better chance at crossing the road than he did.
“What does Candace do?”
“She is an amazing artist.”
“Probably can’t try the old hire-her-as-your-secretary routine, then.”
“I’ve thought of hiring her to do a mural in one of my buildings, but she would say it was a pity job. She hasn’t had too many commissions lately.” There was one building that did need a mural, but it was in South Bend, Indiana, closer to Art House than to him.
“I think I have an idea. A couple of years ago I purchased a two-story turn-of-the-century carousel. My thought was to fix it up and donate it to, well . . . that doesn’t matter, but I still have the carousel packed away in a warehouse. It needs a lot of work. If it had the right artist . . .”
“I have a new warehouse—nice and clean, state-of-the-art ventilation. It’s never been used and is just the place to undertake the major refurbishment of an antique.”
“Now if you only knew an artist. Maybe one with spiky pink hair. Then I would be happy to send the carousel out to Chicago and hire her.”
Colin grinned. That might just work. “Nick Do-Gooder Gooding, you are a genius!”
“Now, do you have any ideas about how to break the ice with her cousin?”
“Sorry, but if I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.” Colin yawned. “Do you mind pointing me in the direction of my room?”
The bedroom had enough plugs for all his devices, including USB plugs—not what he expected in an older building. Colin turned Nick’s idea over in his mind. He could offer to put Candace up in one of his apartment buildings, specifically his. Then they could easily spend more real time, not screen time, talking, and then . . . As Colin worked through potential scenarios, the emotional fatigue of keeping his feelings bottled up and from the events of the day kicked in. Even his computers and apps weren’t enough to keep him going. Day 513 ended like it had started, thinking of Candace. He had read that was how you knew you were in love—when you fall asleep and wake up thinking about one person.
four
Late Saturday morning, Candace was helping Zoe find some furniture to rent for Sean’s old apartment, which only had a broken-down couch and scarred kitchen table. Araceli had caught a plane back to Haiti. Preston and Daniel had both texted their wives and taken Abbie and Mandy to various places. After purchasing a new bed to be delivered this afternoon, Zoe only needed a couple more items.
Candace ran her hand over a bookcase in the next store. “I still can’t believe everyone is moving on so fast. I didn’t see Abbie ever getting married. I thought she was a safe roommate.”
“I’ll be back.” Zoe turned over a price tag.
“I bet you a semester’s rent Scott & Ricks hires you as soon as you get your diploma in December. You won’t be back.” Everyone was moving on, letting their lives ebb and flow, but Candace felt as if hers was stuck behind a giant dam and she had nowhere to go. But then again, the corner Dr. C had talked about required a choice.
Zoe’s face lit up. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Scott & Ricks is the kind of place every freshman hopes to work when they graduate. But this place is not Indiana. I am not naive enough to think living in the city will be easy. I am such a country mouse.”
“The old song says, if you can make it here you can make it anywhere.” Candace sat in a chair and wished she could buy it for her own place. “Oh, try this one.”
Zoe tried the upholstered recliner. “What are you going to do since you turned down the teaching job?”
“I have some commissions lined up, though not as many as I would like. But I have enough work for now.” It was a lie. She had a book cover and some Valentine’s day illustrations for a card company.
“Have you considered selling Art House?”
“Why? Where would I go? I have an amazing studio space and everything I need.” Everything but friends. When had the freshmen gotten so young? She had taught half the grad students and hadn’t really connected with them. If she kept getting roommates from the local college, it wouldn’t be long before she felt like some dorm mom.
“Including two empty bedrooms? Three, if you count mine.” Zoe raised her brow. “I think I’ll take this chair.”
“Mandy comes down regularly.”
“Do you think she will close up her little house now that they have a mansion under construction closer to Chicago? She already travels less because of Joy.” Zoe wrote down the ID number of the chair on an order form.
Candace didn’t answer. Married friends were great, but they were married, and no matter how much they said it didn’t change things, it did. No more 2:00 a.m. chats over ice cream and only half the secrets because husbands became best friends.
Zoe interrupted her thoughts. “You had your ten-year plan and bucket list. Check, check and double check. It’s time for a new plan. You know as well as the rest of us that Colin wants more than friendship.”
Her cousin knew more about Candace’s plans and condition than anyone. Why couldn’t Zoe understand that more than friendship just wasn’t possible? “No. I can’t. You and I may have different reasons for remaining single, but mine are just as valid.”
“A decade has shown your reasons may be wrong.” Zoe opened a dresser drawer.
“Just because I am here having this discussion with you doesn’t mean my reasons have changed. And what about yours? Not every man in the world is a selfish jerk. Perhaps your reasons need to change too.” Candace knew it was low to change the point of the conversation, but she wasn’t the only one who needed to move on. Zoe needed a push more than she did.
Zoe glared. “My reasons are never going to change.”
“Mine can’t.” A tear formed near the corner of Candace’s eye. No way was she going to cry here. That was reserved for the privacy of her own room.
“You don’t know that, things are already different.” Zoe crossed her arms just like she did when she was three.
Candace rushed out of the store before the tears could come and hailed the first cab she saw. Only after the driver asked her a destination did she realize she had no idea where she was going.
Colin hadn’t planned on leaving until Sunday, but after nailing down some plans with Nick, he decided to return to Chicago early. Having booked a first-class seat to the Windy City, Colin found himself on the two o’clock flight. He took advantage of the plane’s Wi-Fi to catch up on neglected emails. Candace’s IM popped up.
—What are you doing this evening? Still at Nick’s?
No, I caught a flight back to Chicago.
—I thought you were going with us tomorrow.
Something important came up.
One article advised that he should make himself less available if he wanted to move out of the friend zone. That hadn’t been his entire reason for leaving early, but it had played a part. There had been no definite plans for the evening, and he didn’t want to be a backup plan if Candace got bored.
—K. Have a good flight.
&nbs
p; Thanks, see you later.
Part of him wanted to chat more. But that would be making himself available. And she was with her cousin and friends, so it wasn’t like she needed him.
Candace never needed him. Not really. She had too many friends. Maybe if she lived in his building she would at least need him as a neighbor—borrow a cup of sugar or something. Did he even have sugar?
Colin had no idea what most of the cupboards in his penthouse held. His housekeeper, Janie, made meals and froze them so he could eat whenever he wanted. If he didn’t go through them fast enough, she would give him a piece of her mind, telling him that man couldn’t live off electricity and that he needed to get out of his brain more. Only when he claimed to have been on a date did she soften her approach. Janie had worked for his parents for years before taking the job with him. He speculated his mother was paying Janie a bonus to spy on him. Considering that working for him full-time probably amounted to less than fifteen hours a week, Janie probably made more per hour than the city’s top executives. She deserved it. He wouldn’t trust anyone else not to interfere with the projects that lay strewn throughout the place.
Candace probably wouldn’t want to borrow sugar anyway. More likely he should keep ice cream in the freezer. Or not. Then he could take her out.
He turned his attention back to his computer, studying the variables in the line of code. It was one problem he knew he could solve by the time they landed. Then his afternoon would be clear to prepare for project Merry-Go-Round.
five
At Grand Central Station, Candace only had to wait twenty minutes for the next train out to Blue Pines. She had planned to spend the evening with Zoe and have Abbie and Preston pick her up after the Broadway show they were attending. For a moment, she debated taking another cab to Zoe’s place, but they both needed the space. Unfortunately, Colin wasn’t around either, meaning she would probably spend the evening alone in a city she didn’t know.
The Saturday afternoon train was mostly empty, so she didn’t have to share a seat. The quiet gave her time to think. Other than the conductor’s voice, which was smooth in a chocolate-fondue sort of way, no one interrupted her. She tried to concentrate on the river and buildings framed by her window, but she couldn’t get past the essence of their fight. What if her younger cousin was right? Could marriage be an option, or had all of the flowers fogged her brain?
She was the only passenger to disembark at Blue Pines. Rather than go to the inn, Candace walked in the direction of the old church, now a community center, where yesterday’s wedding was held. Across the street was a city park complete with bandstand and small gazebo. No wonder Hearthfire had chosen to film one of their famous Christmas movies here. Candace wandered past the playground and watched parents push their children on the swings. A father waited at the bottom of a slide as his daughter sat on the top, refusing to go down. An older child in a matching shirt gave the reluctant child a shove. Giggles filled the air.
Candace turned away. She’d once had dreams of taking her own children to the park. She’d also had dreams of joining one of America’s premier ballet companies. But that had all changed with one little lump. Everything had changed.
A familiar figure sat alone in the little gazebo.
“Hello, Reverend Cavanagh,” she greeted Sean’s grandfather.
He waved her over to the bench beside him. “Candace, right? I love your blue hair. However, do young people change styles so fast?”
In answer, she lifted the wig a couple inches to reveal her bald head.
“Did you shave it?”
“No. I managed to acquire the rare condition of chemotherapy-induced alopecia. Unlike other cancer patients, when my therapy was done, my hair didn’t come back.”
The reverend nodded. “I am glad to see you make the most of your condition. I have often wondered what I would have looked like with different hair. As a child, it was bright red. Now nice people call it silver. I once wondered if I would have been luckier with the girls if my hair wasn’t so fiery.”
“Tessa said you had been married fifty years. I think you got pretty lucky, even with red hair.”
“My wife was a wonderful woman, and I was lucky to have her. What about you? Have you found that lucky one yet?”
Candace bit her lip. Something about the old minister invited her to bare her soul. Maybe it would help to talk. It wasn’t like she was likely to see him again, and didn’t he have to keep everything confidential? “I’ve never looked because I can’t get married.”
“Why not?”
Candace pulled the battered 4 x 6 notebook from her purse. “Because I am supposed to be dead. The first time I was in the hospital, I heard the doctor talking out in the hall. He said he only gave me ten years. So I made a ten-year plan and a bucket list.” She handed the reverend the notebook. “I’ve done almost everything I set out to do. I spent a night in the Cinderella Castle and even got to wear one of the costumes. I’ve been kissed at the top of the Empire State Building, although I have no clue what his name was—one of my mistakes. I graduated and made a difference in my school by making it popular not to drink. And I modified some of my list as I discovered that some things were not as important as others. Like eating chocolate ice cream over going vegan. There is nothing left to do.”
Reverend Cavanagh held up the last page. “Except this?”
She didn’t need to look at the page he held. The sketch of a headstone, one of her first, was poorly executed. “Except that. Believe me, I have no intention of making that happen. I just thought after all these years that it would happen, but it hasn’t. I should have died last year, and now I don’t know what to do.”
“The same as the rest of us. You keep living. Doctors make guesses. Sometimes they are wrong. Maybe that doctor wasn’t even talking about you. You said you overheard the doctor, so there is a chance, isn’t there?” He handed her notebook back.
Candace put it in her purse. “I guess he could have been talking about someone or something else. But—”
“It may not surprise you, but I believe in prayer and miracles. Do you pray?” There was a twinkle in his eye that made it almost impossible not to believe in God.
“Yes, I believe in prayer. I know it got me through my treatment. Sometimes the answers are not what we want. Near the end of her life, my mother asked us to stop praying she would live.” Praying Mom would die had been the most challenging prayer she’d ever uttered. The fact that it had been answered only hours later gave her as much peace as it did anger.
“You lost your mother?”
“She died of cancer. We went through some of our treatments together, though hers was more advanced than mine.” Candace pretended to study the tall pine trees in the center of the park as the threat of tears passed.
The reverend gave her several minutes before he spoke again. “What do your doctors say about your condition now?”
“Given that I have been cancer free for nine years, they say I am likely to die of old age.”
“Then I would consider that a miracle.”
“But what if I die in ten years? It isn’t fair to leave a husband and children.” If she could even conceive.
“My son was a firefighter. Loved the job, his wife, and Sean. He had no idea when he went to work on September 11 that he would never come home again. But I don’t think he spent time worrying about the what-ifs. He saved many lives that day and in the dozen or so years before. Even knowing that his job was riskier than most didn’t stop him from enjoying life and his son. None of us has a guarantee.”
Candace pondered that. Was she looking for a guarantee?
Reverend Cavanagh waited until her eyes met his. “Have you prayed about what to do?”
She shook her head.
“Maybe you should.” The reverend’s phone pinged. “Th
at’s my daughter-in-law wondering where I am. I’ll add you to my prayers.” He got up, smiled at Candace, and headed in the direction of the old church.
As the shadows in the park lengthened, Candace meandered back to the inn, contemplating Reverend Cavanagh’s words. Could she make another ten-year plan? The thought both scared and excited her. A new bucket list? This time, instead of putting down that she wanted to kiss ten guys, she would choose only one, and she would have to love him. What did that even feel like? After blocking it out as an option for so long, Candace realized she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was an illusion, like a Hearthfire movie.
Colin had the driver go straight to the warehouse from O’Hare. He’d built it last year mostly to test some ideas about solar energy and automation. The lighting would need to be improved, and perhaps a couple of rooms divided off. Restoration work probably involved sanding and chemicals to clean and refurbish the old wood. Candace would need a clean area to paint in that didn’t have sawdust or smell of chemicals. She preferred natural light, but that wasn’t feasible in this building. Artificial would have to do. Colin jotted down a few notes and emailed his contractor, knowing the man wouldn’t be able to start until after Labor Day.
Colin took a couple pictures of the space and texted them to Nick. He didn’t expect an answer right away and was surprised when one came.
—Space looks good. May need a few divisions for different types of work. Let me know when you can get a contractor in.
I will.
—Good luck with operation Merry-Go-Round.
The rest of the weekend was quieter than usual. The only real surprise was the contractor getting back to him Monday morning and indicating that changing the configuration of the warehouse would take less than ten days once the plans were drawn up and approved. Colin sent the notes over to the architect who had helped plan the building. Despite Monday being a holiday, plans and permits were approved and secured by noon on Tuesday.
