One Wish (17 page)

But an hour and a half later her mouth dropped open at the sight of her own reflection. Her hair was shaped along her jawline, a little shorter in the back, and it looked full and thick. The highlights made her look sun kissed and healthy. It was an easy style to maintain—a circular brush, a blow-dryer and some styling mousse. Not that she’d bother.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Ray Anne said, satisfied. “Now, wax her brows back into shape.”

From there they went to Macy’s to the makeup counters and Ray Anne went straight to MAC. It had not missed Ray’s attention that Ginger hadn’t packed cosmetics. Nor did she wear any. And every woman, Ray Anne said, can use a little help now and then. “My God, this stuff costs a fortune!” Ginger said. “I just buy my stuff at the grocery store!”

“Yes, I know, precious. I’ve been meaning to have a word with you about that. That stuff turns you orange. Now, we don’t need to buy the full monty at the expensive counters, but there are some things you can’t do without. Your moisturizer, base, powder, lip color and mascara. That cheap mascara clumps. You need the right colors for your skin and hair. We can get things like blusher, eye shadow and lip gloss at the grocery store.” Ray Anne sat her down in a chair and gave orders to the saleswoman in her black smock. “Do her up.”

It was transforming. Ginger didn’t exactly feel happier in her heart, but when she looked at herself she didn’t feel like a walking corpse. “Amazing,” she said to her own face in the mirror.

The image that came to mind was when she was getting ready for the baby’s funeral and her mother sat her on the closed toilet lid and put a little color in her cheeks and on her lips, saying, “This is nothing more than a little superficial frosting, but it makes you look a little less like you died with the baby.” And Ginger had cried so hard, she couldn’t sit still for her mother’s ministrations. She had wanted to die with her baby, it was that raw in her chest.

But this was somehow different. All Ray Anne wanted from her was a little attempt to reenter the world of the living. It was so easy to lie in bed, to never leave the house, when every time she looked at herself she saw a dead woman.

Ray Anne’s phone rang a few times while they were out and she briskly answered that she was spending a day with her “niece” but would look through her listings when she got home and follow up.

While they were at Macy’s, Ray Anne whisked Ginger through lingerie.

“Do you have a preference in bras and panties?” she asked. Ginger merely shook her head and Ray Anne sighed. “I don’t want you trying on clothes until you have the right underthings and those baggy granny panties aren’t going to lay right under a nice pair of pants.” She poked through some brands and types—bikini, high cut, boy shorts. She handed three pairs to Ginger. “Try these on while I have a look through the bras.”

Ginger did as she was told. She was a little startled by the difference in her body with silky, colorful panties that fit. By the time Ray Anne arrived in the fitting room with bra samples she was able to say something positive. “I like them all.”

“Well, that was easy.” Ray Anne handed Ginger four bras to try. Then she took all of the underwear with them to the women’s wear department next door. Ray Anne didn’t even bother selecting but went straight to the saleslady, who she apparently knew. She asked to see a few things in Ginger’s size.

“I’d take that to be about a four,” the saleslady said. “Is that right, dear?”

She had been a ten or twelve. Her hips had been wide, her booty a little on the big and round side and she’d always had this issue with her thighs. And that was before she’d been pregnant. She had no idea what size she was now. “Sure,” she said.

Ray Anne made her put on new underwear, giving the saleslady the price tags for purchase. Then she took Ginger’s old underwear away and Ginger had the feeling she was never going to see them again.

The saleswoman put Ginger in a pair of slim jeans with a plain white silky tee and, over that, a pink denim bomber jacket with silver buttons. She had to stand up on her toes to be tall enough for the hem of the jeans but the effect was, well, shocking.

“You look eighteen,” Ray Anne said.

In fact, she did.

Next, another pair of jeans, different brand, a black blouse, a white V-necked sweater. Not a heavy sweater—lightweight for spring and summer. Again, amazing. Then came black pants with a tunic-style long-sleeved top. Sleeves pushed up, it was so pretty. It was something a person could wear out to dinner, if a person ever went out to dinner again in her life. A few more slacks, a few more tops, a few more jackets or sweaters.

Then the saleslady held up a dress. “I wish you’d try this on,” she said. “I’ve been dying to see it on someone with your figure. It’s so streamlined.” It was dark purple with yellow piping across the shoulders to the edge of capped sleeves and down the side seams. There was a gold, slightly glittery pattern embossed on part of the front. It was diamond shaped and in an abstract design, from right below the mandarin collar to right below the waist. It was the most beautiful thing.

“Oh, I don’t need a dress. Plus,” she said, looking at the tag, “it’s much too expensive.”

“Put it on, Ginger,” Ray Anne commanded.

It was stunning. Ginger felt a little like a princess. Then she reminded herself that she couldn’t be a princess or feel that beautiful. She was in mourning.

“It’s irresistible,” Ray Anne said. “Now just don’t bring us any more clothes. Ginger, put on those jeans with the white tee and pink jacket. You’re wearing it to lunch and then home.”

“Ray, don’t throw out my jeans.”

“Of course not, darling. You might need them for the next time you paint a house. We’ll stop in the shoe department and then we’ll have a lovely lunch together.” She looked at her watch. “Good, the lunch crowd will have passed and not only will it be quiet, it’s late enough in the day that we can manage with something light for dinner much later.” She examined her phone. “Looks like I’m going to be on the phone and computer after we get back to Thunder Point. For a Realtor and property manager a day with a lot of phone calls is a good day.”

They were alone in the dressing room and in a whisper she hoped wouldn’t be overheard, Ginger spoke. “Ray Anne, I appreciate all this so much, I do. But you can’t rescue me from grief with a few new outfits and a haircut.”

Ray Anne gave her a pitying look. “No one knows that better than I do, Gingersnap. But the other thing I know is that you have two choices—you can grieve that useless ex-husband and your precious lost baby forever or you can do what you must to move on and make life bearable. Because, honey, we’re stuck with life.”

Ginger positioned her arms as though cradling a baby in her arms. “When I put my arms like this, I can still feel the weight of his tiny head right there, in the crook.”

“Sugar, that’s not ever going away. You’re not going to forget. You’re just going to carry on. It’s not easy. It’s all you can do.” She blinked. “Now I think we need some shoes and some guacamole. You get dressed. I’m going to deal with the receipts.”

Fifteen

W
hen Grace called Mikhail, he asked for the details of this dying. So she read the letter, though she stumbled from time to time.

My Dear Izzy,

First of all, I’m very sorry about my harsh words when you retired from skating. I didn’t mean it, you know I didn’t. Shock and disappointment got the best of me. And I apologize about the mysterious note. I knew it would frighten you. I actually hoped it would. I think I must have had a stroke of some kind, that something like that would make perfect sense to me. Then you would come to me and I would pull all the right strings—you would feel safe again with my protection.

A fool’s game. I apologize. I wanted you to come home but not because you pitied me.

I am sorry about the years of arguments about skating and, if not skating, coaching or consulting or reporting or judging. Every time we get through with one of those conversations, with one of those power struggles, I am filled with hate for myself and anger with you. It’s the worst feeling and I always pledge never to allow myself to do that again. And yet I have.

There is a reason. Not an excuse, but a reason. I learned a couple of years ago that I have ALS. For a while the symptoms were manageable and it was easy to imagine it would be years before it would matter. And I resolved to use those years to lure you back to your roots. It wasn’t so much that I wanted you to compete. It was that I wanted you to be secure. I have always known I wouldn’t be alive forever, but never panicked that my time was short.

You are the only heir to this old Dillon money. Your half brother is not a part of my family and your father settled with him generously before and after his death. There is no one else, Izzy. It’s only you. And to my embarrassment, I’ve never acquainted you with the complications and responsibilities associated with this legacy. I’ve been managing since my parents died, before you were even a teenager. The work is immense. The threat of cons and predators and incompetent advisors is constant. People will take advantage of you. Steal from you if you even blink. Even charities will use you. Frankly, I don’t care if you spend it all on something that makes you happy, but I worry that if I don’t do my job you could lose it or be swindled.

That’s why I want your undivided attention for a few months. It is complex and you’ll find there are decisions to be made.

This ALS is hard. The symptoms are coming faster now. I’m an athlete at the core and even when I stopped competing, my body never betrayed me before. I was always competent and confident and now I don’t dare cross the street alone. The jitters and weakness and trembling and unbelievable fatigue are getting the best of me. I don’t know how much time there is. We should get this thing between us settled once and for all.

It’s not important that one of us wins, Izzy. It’s very important that we forgive each other. Before it’s too late. Before we can’t go back.

Love,

Mother

When she was finished, still wiping away the occasional tear as she read, she heard Mikhail curse. She had noticed that Troy wandered into the kitchen for more coffee, lingering at the coffeepot with his back turned to her as if it was painful to listen.

Mikhail said something she didn’t understand. “Sheet of the gods. I will come. Where do I come?”

She laughed through her tears.
Shit of the gods?
When he was himself, when he wasn’t pushing her to do more, do better, he could make her laugh and love him. “Why come, Mikhail?” she asked. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I can see her one time. She made my life when she gave me you. I am now best coach. I was not best coach before you.” He grunted. “But is Winifred. Will be hard. Where do I come?”

“Well, I live in one-and-a-half rooms, but Winnie is in a nice house at a resort in Bandon, close by. She has bedrooms.”

“She will not have me,” he said. “She is diva. Where is this Brandon?”

“It’s Bandon. Oregon.”

“Oregon? Did we skate in this Oregon?”

Grace smiled. Mikhail was a Russian immigrant; his US geography wasn’t great. They used to study the map before every competition. He was much better with Europe and Asia than the US. “We did not. It’s about an eight-hour drive north of San Francisco. She brought her car and driver. Before you buy a ticket, let me be sure Winnie goes for this idea.”

“Just make me a place to stay. Some dirty hotel will do. I just need empty room. Bed would be nice.”

“How can you get away so suddenly?”

“Did you say someone is dying? Ah, is good time. Best matches are coming in fall. Right now I can be spared. For a little while, not forever. I have only terrible athletes now. Maybe they get nervous and work harder if I ignore them, eh? I can throw a little pout so they think I quit, yes? Then we see what we see! Don’t tell Winifred. She hates me.”

“She loves you,” Grace said.

“That is love? She has the hardest love in my experience.”

“Yeah. I know.” She sighed. “I think you can fly into Eugene. That could be closest. But really, you don’t have to—”

“In Russia, is important to pay gratitude. Otherwise, there might not be a place for me when my time comes.”

When she disconnected, Troy came back to sit beside her on the couch. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m going to have to see her. Will you come with me?”

“I’ll take you,” he said. “But I’m not going to sit with you while you talk to your mother. I think she feels this is personal family business.”

“What am I going to do? I’m not going to San Francisco to live with her!”

“You can do whatever you have to do, Gracie. No matter what you decide to do, the sad reality is that it’s not forever. Be sure that in the end you don’t have any regrets. That’s all.”

* * *

Grace hung a sign on the flower shop door. Closed for the Day. Open Tomorrow 9:00 a.m.
She put her work cell number at the bottom for phone orders.

Troy was determined not to be involved, at least not at this point. He dropped her at the cottage Winnie occupied and he left. He said he wouldn’t be far away and she could call him. He’d come back when she needed him.

Winnie was comfortably settled on a chaise longue in her bedroom, a soft throw around her shoulders and a pillow under her knees. She had a book in her lap, but it was closed. Virginia let Grace into the room.

“You look very comfortable,” Grace said, kissing her mother’s cheek.

She lifted the book. “The one thing I thought I’d do with all this godforsaken leisure time was read, but do you suppose I can concentrate?”

Grace laughed and sat on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. “Skating wasn’t the only gift you gave me, you know. I love to read and I suppose a lot of that is because of you. On all those long trips we took, you always had a book going. You packed books. You read during practice and in the car on long rides.”

“And now I can’t seem to focus.”

“You will once we get a few details organized. I wanted to bring you flowers but since I brought you five hundred dollars’ worth yesterday, it seemed ridiculous.”

“I kept the smashed arrangement and sent the other three to hospitals and nursing homes,” she said, having the grace to blush slightly. “They’re beautiful, Izz—is it really Grace now?”

“It is. And thank you.” She took a breath, shaking her head. “Oh, Mother. The drama. You could have just told me the moment you knew. Instead of fighting we could have planned how we’d manage the time. I didn’t quit skating because of you. I competed as long as I did because of you. And I don’t hate skating—I love it. But I was done with so many aspects of the trials. They were right—Izzy Banks couldn’t take the pressure.”

Winnie sighed. “They say the mind is not affected by ALS. They’re wrong. I’ve made some foolish decisions in the past couple of years. I’ve snapped at you in anger and lived to regret it. But that’s not all. I’ve flown as far as Switzerland for a miracle cure when my specialist assured me all along the research hasn’t caught up with the power of this disease.”

“Well, I guess you’re lucky you had that option to fly to Switzerland. Does your specialist do anything for you?”

“I’ve been taking a drug to slow the progression, but it’s not going to cure me and there comes a time... Grace, you’ll need genetic testing. You should be prepared.”

Grace nodded. “What is Virginia’s role? Nurse?”

“She’s an assistant. She’s been with me for three years and now she does far more for me than she bargained for. I hired her as a secretary but she exceeded my expectations. She’s a genius with the computer.”

Grace tilted her head and smiled. “Is that so?”

“She’s amazing. And she knows she’ll be looking for work before long.”

Grace knew that anyone who worked closely with Winnie or inside the house went through complete background checks and came with high recommendations. Winnie was a genius at hiring the best people. Just look at what Mikhail was able to accomplish for her. “When you say
before long
...”

“How long will I live? I have no idea. Six months? A year? If I live a year, it won’t be a good year. I’ve already had more time than eighty percent of ALS patients. But Virginia knows her way around files and names and accounts. She can help you with that—she’s managed all of my correspondence for a couple of years now. And she will be replaced with a nurse sometime soon.”

“In San Francisco?” Grace asked.

“It’s where I’ve lived since you were twelve years old,” she said.

“Isn’t that big house getting a little overwhelming?”

“What do you mean?” Winnie asked.

“It’s just that—doesn’t it take quite an army to keep that place going?”

“Indeed,” Winnie said with a curl of the lip.

“Mother...Mama...I called Mikhail and he’s coming. He wants to see you.”

She stiffened in shock. “Why?”

“Well, aside from the fact that he’s fond of you? He also believes he owes his reputation to you. It was because you hired him that he had such success. Now, here’s what I need to know—how long are you staying here? In Bandon?”

“I can have this cottage for another week, but I was going to go home as soon as possible. Hopefully, you will be coming with me.”

Grace shook her head. “I have commitments. For this week, I have lots of orders. After that there’s a wedding out of town—one that I’ve been looking forward to. If I had an emergency, there are several florists who would be happy to take my orders. In fact, for the out-of-town wedding, Mamie and Ross could do the job—they trained me.”

“I’m aware,” Winnie said, and not happily.

“I want to tell you about my business, Mama,” she said. “Let me make us some tea.”

Grace started with an idea right after reading her mother’s letter and that idea grew as she thought about it. She understood that many people would think running a small flower shop could be a little boutique business, a small-scale and simple operation. And that was true, it could be. But it could be more, depending on who operated the business. Iris had told her that when her mother operated that little shop, they could barely squeak by financially—Rose had done little more than create floral arrangements for the locals who were familiar with her.

Grace had grown the shop significantly, hiring a marketing firm to assist in PR with computer marketing, coupons, specials, advertising in bridal catalogs and in bridal stores, not to mention a website. She’d implemented a creative and complicated computer program to minimize the time spent on demonstrating what was available along with pricing. She was an expert in buying the finest and most cost effective flora and her designs were definitely among the most beautiful. Why else would brides come from towns surrounding Thunder Point rather than going to their own neighborhood florists?

All of her accounting was computerized and she had not run through the trust her father had left. After buying the store and renovating the loft to live in, she had some modest investments that were managed by a wealth-management firm. She hoped the work she was doing would keep her quite nicely for the rest of her life, but it was possible she could actually expand if the notion suited her lifestyle.

“And what about this boyfriend?” Winnie asked.

“Troy? He’s the most wonderful man, but I thought we’d talk about my business, Mama. It’s really important to me that you know I’m not dabbling to pass the time. I love it, I’m serious about it, I’m good at it. I’m one of the best, Mama. I realize it’s not the career you would choose for me, but it’s not a waste of time. And depending on how I run it, it can be very successful. Will you come to see it? This week?”

“Of course, Grace,” she said. “I’d like to see your store. Now tell me about this man. Does he know you’re very wealthy?”

Grace sighed. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day. “Until yesterday neither of us knew I even had the potential to be wealthy. Apparently Troy found out first. I read your letter this morning.”

“You must have known that I—”

“Number one, you and I have barely spoken in five years and when we did, it didn’t go well and, number two, I have always thought of you as...” Her voice trailed off and, unexpectedly, tears gathered in her eyes.

“Thought of me as what, Grace?” Winnie asked.

“I’m twenty-eight. You’re fifty-one. I thought you’d live forever. To at least ninety-five.”

“I thought I’d live through at least two face-lifts,” Winnie said sourly. “I haven’t even had my first yet!”

Grace let go a huff of laughter, but she had to wipe her eyes.

“I was planning to be the best preserved ninety-year-old in the city,” Winnie said. “Just tell me about your young man, Grace.”

Grace took a deep breath, wiped her eyes and carried on. “The woman I bought the shop from became my best friend—Iris. She’s a high school counselor and she’s married to the sheriff’s deputy in charge of the substation in our little town. I met Troy through Iris—he’s a high school history teacher. He makes light of it, as if it’s just something he does to fill the days and finance his adventures—he loves everything from river rafting to skiing to rock climbing. I think he’s into every sport but figure skating and surfing. But when Iris talks about Troy’s teaching she describes him as the most dedicated teacher she knows. He doesn’t just teach them history, he keeps an eye on them, paying close attention to any issues that need intervention. He watches for signs of abuse, bullying, drug and alcohol use, any problems teenagers might have. Iris says Troy would make an outstanding guidance counselor—his instincts are right on. There are students whose lives are changed because of Troy’s skills as an educator.”