Grace's Fake Groom

by Francesca Lane

  “Of course, dear. Anything.”

  Grace put her glass in the sink and started down the hall. “Be back in a sec, okay?” she said over her shoulder.

  She returned with the key and dropped it onto the island. Wren gave her a quizzical smile.

  “I found that key yesterday quite by accident and can’t figure out what it opens.” With two fingers, Grace slid the key with her name on it toward Wren. “Any ideas?”

  Wren pursed her lips. “Hm. Sounds like a mystery.” She flashed a kind smile at Grace. “That’s your mother’s handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere.”

  “Me too.”

  “You know, I loved your parents. I was so surprised when they decided to settle here after all those years of moving around.”

  “Did you spend a lot of time with them after they moved in?”

  Wren blinked rapidly. “What have you heard?”

  Grace tilted her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Wren patted her curls, her gaze not focused anywhere in particular. “All I meant to say was that I saw them plenty—your mother as well as your father.” She stepped away from the counter.

  “Then you know Mom hadn’t been feeling too well, right?”

  Wren’s face paled.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her hands clasped in front of her now, her thumbs twiddling. She cleared her throat. “I should mention that your mother spent a lot of her time going through the attic, purging things. She gave away a lot to charity.”

  “Hm. We went up there after they passed away, but there’s not a lot left. I suppose I could climb up there again to see if the key fits anything.”

  “Yes, I think that would be a good place to start.”

  Wren grew quiet and Grace wondered if she tired easily, like her mother had in the past few years of her life. One of the pitfalls of having parents who started a family late in life—though she wouldn’t change anything.

  “I think I’ll go now, dear. I hope you enjoy the lemonade.”

  “I’m sure we will.” Grace pushed away from the counter. “Let me walk you to the door.”

  When Wren had gone, Grace sat at the old scarred table and took another sip of lemonade. She allowed the heavy-on-the-sugar drink to drizzle its way through her insides. Oddly, the aroma of lemon mixed with native lavender brought a swirl of memories.

  Such as the pen marks in the wood made by her brother and father, both who gripped their writing tools with the strength of Goliath. Even though the house had been rented out to strangers periodically, there were other signs of her family’s presence around that table too. A swipe here and there from a pink highlighter—Bella carried those around—fine scratches from dishes delivered, and dark splotches from years of elbows resting during raucous games of Crazy Eights, a cigar hanging from her father’s mouth.

  Grace snapped a look up at the tattered map hanging over the table. She stood and bent close to the map, noting towns and cities all over California and some in the Pacific Northwest that bore a red X. She bit her lip, thinking. Some marked places their family had lived, while others were new to her.

  When she was little, after their inland home had burned down, they came here. She was too young to remember all the details, but it was what Maggie had always said. Unfortunately, her father could never quite find enough work here, so they would travel to other places, growing shallow roots while he built a house or a room … once even a gazebo. They never did buy another house to live in full-time.

  She sank back into a chair, startled by all she had forgotten, but was beginning to remember now. After all this time. Grace let her gaze move around the room, and she became achingly aware of the quiet.

  She took another sip of her tepid lemonade, another sudden memory careening into view.

  Eleven

  Chase pulled into the driveway but hesitated to exit his vehicle. He sighed. She’d left the light on for him.

  Probably just being polite.

  Or maybe she was concerned about what Wren would think if she’d gone to bed and left the house dark before her new “husband” got home. He’d noticed the way the old woman seemed to be hovering, nearly always showing up when they were outside or popping in to say hello.

  He rubbed a weary hand across his brow and stepped out of the car. A rumble of surf greeted him, as did the ethereal presence of briny air.

  He was going to miss that.

  Quietly he opened the door and slipped inside. He found her on the floor; a halo of yellow light from a nearby lamp kept him from tripping over her. She was surrounded by books.

  He didn’t know whether to wake her or leave well enough alone. She rustled, addressing him in a groggy voice before he had a chance to decide.

  “You’re home.”

  Her words landed in his gut. “Sorry to wake you.”

  She yawned and pulled herself up to sit. She blinked at him.

  If only she had stayed asleep, he could have packed up his things and fled. He’d have left a note behind, of course.

  Instead he stood awkwardly, watching the sleep fall away from her, those large eyes of hers growing larger still. He wanted to look away.

  “So you’ve been reading,” he said.

  She glanced at the spray of old books spread out on the floor around her. “My mother saved these for me.”

  He squatted down and looked at the titles, most of them from the Nancy Drew series. “These were written before you were born.”

  She rubbed an eye. “I know. They were my mother’s and she used to let me read them in the summers when we’d come here.”

  “I thought Bella was the bookish one.”

  Her mouth twisted. “I was sitting here earlier, and I suddenly remembered the books and how happy my mother always said she was that she had brought them here.” She looked up at him, her eyes clearing. “If she’d have left them at our old house, they’d have been lost in the fire.”

  He paused. “Where did you find them?”

  “Oh, that’s what I meant to tell you. That key I’d found earlier? It opened one of the metal file cabinets in the attic. The books were in there.”

  “Wow. What a find.”

  “Yes.” She wrinkled her brow and aimed a now-awake look directly at him. “How was lunch? Or considering the time, I guess I should be asking how was dinner?”

  He stood abruptly. “I got the case, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Grace, it’s late. If you really care to know my business, you might also be interested to learn that my new client, Marjorie, is seventy-six years old.”

  “The one you called beautiful?”

  “Yup.”

  “I see. What sort of case?”

  “We’re filing a lawsuit against a vendor who overcharged her for multiple years.” He didn’t add this, but even her suspicious attitude toward him couldn’t change the lift this new case had given him. He was back in the game.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips.

  He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t you dare give me that look. I never cheated my clients.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  He pressed his lips together for a moment. “Anyway,” he said, “I only came back to get my things. Grace, I’m leaving tonight.”

  She needled her bottom lip with her teeth.

  He began to move away from her and stopped. “Before I go, though, I have something important to tell you. I’ll give you some time to wake up more fully first.”

  “Tell me now.”

  He clenched his jaw, then relented. “Fine.” Chase took a seat in the old recliner and leaned forward, his elbows jabbing into his thighs. “It’s good news, really. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  She watched him. The expression on her face told him how much she doubted him.

  “I spoke with Judge Cape today.” He didn’t need to add what precipitated his call to the judge, namely, Kate’s ven
omous phone call. “Seems we’re not actually married.”

  She squinted at him as if she thought him stupid.

  He continued. “There was some kind of mixup regarding our actual location at the time of the ceremony, and because we were married in international waters, the marriage isn’t legal.”

  She said nothing.

  “Are you listening, Grace? You’re free.” He didn’t add, I’m free too.

  He expected to see elation on her face. She had mentioned more than once how much she hated lying to her siblings, and though she wouldn’t be able to clear up that fib quite yet—they’d have to keep playing the part for a year—at least she would eventually be able to invite them all to her … real wedding.

  She began stacking the old mystery novels on the floor beside her. “That’s amazing news,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Really.”

  He nodded. “Well, I came to tell you that, and to get my things.”

  Grace tilted her head up to look at him now. “Get your things?”

  “I’ve got to go back home, Grace. Have to face what Kate left for me.”

  She continued to stare at her stack of books, as if trying to decipher what he really meant. Finally, she lifted her gaze. “You mean you’re going to try to get your clients back?”

  “Some, maybe. It’s time.”

  She nodded. “Good luck.”

  Twenty minutes later, Chase stepped down the porch steps carrying the two bags he’d brought. He glanced back at the house. The sweet aroma of a cigar floated on a distinct breeze, and the light of the moon cast a blue glimmer across the beach. But otherwise, all was dark.

  It wasn’t like they had ever been married in the real sense of the word anyway. Yet why, now that Chase had gone back home, did her sheets suddenly feel so cold?

  A whistle of wind heightened the emotion that had kept Grace up much of the night. Unable to fall asleep, she pulled on a robe and headed for the kitchen. Wren’s overly sweet lemonade inside the fridge made her wince, and she opted instead for a bottle of water.

  Her laptop sat closed on the kitchen counter, so she opened it up and began scrolling through online job boards. Legal counsel for a wholesale corporation … Associate attorney for a collection agency … In-house counsel for an insurance company … all wanting three-to-five years of experience. What had become her practice of searching for work had lost some of its luster for some reason. She shut her computer.

  Across the room her dad’s old recliner sat forlornly in the dusty light. She padded over to it, but stopped when she reached the pile of books her mother had left her. What a gift. Her mother’s mind had been going, they’d all seen it, though none of them wanted to discuss it—or do anything about it.

  Still, her mother had found a way to leave behind a message, one that told Grace: I remember you.

  Grace picked up one of the books and took it to her father’s recliner. She pulled her legs up and curled into the chair, opening the book to chapter one.

  She read until her eyelids grew heavy and might have stayed curled up in that chair all night long if a harsh crack of wood had not awoken her as she dozed. She sat up.

  Another slam jolted her.

  She dashed across the room and peeked out to see the winds had grown fiercer, palm trees bending low enough to tie their own shoes. Zeke appeared at her side and licked her ankle. He added a whine of concern to the sound of howling winds and became skittish, but as she continued to survey activity outside, she kept him back with her feet.

  One of the old shutters slammed against the side of the house and her shoulders tensed. She’d have to add that to the to-do list she was creating.

  Zeke whined again. When she didn’t respond, he began scratching at the lower part of the door.

  She was about to tell him to shush when she noticed the patio umbrella flailing in the wind. Shoot! If she didn’t hurry, that old thing could fly off and pull the table with it.

  She flung open the door and jogged toward the umbrella, her bare feet picking up sand and, possibly, splinters. Zeke nipped at her feet.

  “Don’t you dare run off again!” she scolded.

  Grace closed and latched the umbrella, the wind like a whipping towel to her ears. One of the chairs on the patio had toppled over. She righted it, then stacked it on top of one of the others. She stacked two more, hoping that the weight of them together would keep them from certain destruction.

  She leaned hard against the stacked chairs thinking about that. Together they would keep from certain destruction …

  In her mind, she saw Chase’s hand taking hers as together they hopped over that tributary that split the sand closer to the shore. It had seemed like a nothing moment at the time, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it sort of thing. But down deep, the gesture had melted the glacier inside of her.

  Wren had interrupted them, and though she had willingly left Chase’s side to talk with her old friend, “what-if” niggled at her. If they had continued walking together, their hands brushing one another, their eyes meeting … would they have connected on some deeper level?

  Was that what she wanted all along?

  A side table toppled and Grace leaped forward to grab it before it tumbled further and could do some damage. She stuck it upside down in a safe corner. As the wind permeated the fabric of her summer robe and continued to rattle the familiar old beach house, Grace realized she had things under control. Not one drop of sweat on her hands. The patio furniture had been saved, secured by quick thinking and maneuvering. If she had ever wondered whether she could handle life’s storms alone, she now knew for certain that she could.

  But is that all she wanted?

  By Sunday, Grace had made a honey-do list that would make Jake’s head explode. He had better show up to the Skype call this time!

  Still, she wasn’t sure what she’d be telling her family about Chase’s absence.

  From underneath the old kitchen table, Zeke pushed his nose into her calf. A few weeks ago, Grace’s puppy had barely been able to nip at her heels. But look at him now. Hopefully he wouldn’t grow as large as Clifford the Big Red Dog. How would she afford to feed him?

  He prodded her again with his nose, which tickled her with its cold wetness.

  “Fine,” she said with a grunt. She’d been working on a new project, following an inkling that had invaded her thoughts overnight. She bookmarked a website she’d been searching, then shut the cover of her laptop.

  “C’mon, pup.” She latched Zeke with the leash and led him outside, carrying flip-flops in her other hand.

  She dug her toes into the sand, reveling in its coolness below the surface. Few clouds were in the sky, likely scared off by the recent winds.

  Zeke trotted ahead of her, waves lapping their hellos onto the shore.

  “Hey, aren’t you Grace?”

  The man jogged toward her, his arms thickly sculpted, his dark hair brushing his neck. He wore scruff on his face and a bright, white smile.

  She had no clue who he was.

  “Don’t remember me, eh?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Remind me of your name?”

  He wiped a hand on his tank and stuck it out to her. “Noah. I knew your family when we were kids.”

  A light switched on inside her head. Of course. Noah Hunter—local surf champ and the love of Maggie’s life. That’s what her older sister had called him, at least for a time. After he broke Maggie’s heart his moniker changed to No-good Hunter.

  She huffed out a small laugh, remembering. Obviously, that was all in the past. She shook his hand. “Of course. Sorry about that.”

  “No worries. It’s been a long time.” He paused, sincerity in his eyes. “I was sorry to hear about your parents.”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Zeke trotted up from where he’d been splashing through waves and stood between them. After sniffing around them, he shook, violently, spraying them both with sea water.

  “Zeke!” Grace tried to
hop out of the way.

  Noah bent down and stroked Zeke’s fur. “Hey, buddy. Thanks a heap. Now I won’t need a shower.”

  “Sorry. Again.” She gave Zeke a scolding look. “At least it’s fairly warm.”

  Noah gave her a good-natured smile. “For now. The wind’s supposed to come up soon. Thought I’d get a run in before that happens.” An awkward silence beginning to form. He cleared his throat and flashed her another smile.

  Grace wrapped Zeke’s leash around her wrist and took a step past him, turning around just long enough to say, “I won’t keep you. Enjoy the rest of your run, Noah.”

  “Grace?”

  She turned back around.

  His eyes squinted in the rising sun. “How’s Maggie?”

  She thought a second. Should she tell him that her older sister probably never quite got over him? That though they were only teenagers, it was true love to her? That she married the wrong guy and had a baby and now she’s alone with a child? That she works sixty hours a week just to make enough money to live and provide?

  Instead, she offered him a wistful smile. “My sister’s doing great. She’s the mother of a beautiful daughter—my niece.”

  He nodded once. “That’s great. Say hello for me to her, will you?”

  Grace agreed that she would and restarted her walk down the beach. In front of them, sharp-beaked sandpipers skittered away at the sight of Zeke’s laser-like gaze. She followed along, aware of the shuddering sounds of the ocean on one side and the call of gulls overhead.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about her chance meeting with Noah. So many questions. Did he still live here or was he visiting? What did he do these days? Married? Kids?

  A breeze had kicked up. Nothing like the wind that had nearly toppled her patio furniture earlier in the week, thankfully. She quickened her pace. One thing she knew she wouldn’t do was mention to Maggie that she had run into Noah. True, her sister had only been teenager when she experienced her first heartbreak, but as Grace recalled, she’d taken it hard and did not need to be reminded.

  Nor did Grace care to give Maggie any reason not to fulfill her obligation regarding their parents’ wishes. If she knew Noah was around, she would likely stay as far away as possible. She’d have to warn Jake, since he would be taking over the house soon.