One Wish (16 page)

“But you had a normal childhood,” she said.

“Well, I guess. I don’t appear to be scarred. I don’t have any medals, either. And I’ve never been to Russia or China.”

“It wasn’t what you think. It was work.”

“I know. I’d love to see your passports sometime. You’re going to think about this for a while and you’re going to realize you can deal with her now. She didn’t love you enough and she was selfish. She neglected you in ways that still hurt, but you’re whole and strong. You’re all right. You won’t be like that. Because of that experience, you’ll be a completely different kind of mother.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’m confident. But I want to suggest one thing. It’ll be hard because right now you’re bruised. I suggest you think about all the things you
had
. You’ve been putting a lot of focus on what you
didn’t
have. Your mother doesn’t love you the right way, but she loves you.” He reached across the console for her hand. “You have a chance to write the script here, Gracie. You write the life you want. In fact, I don’t really get it—you’re completely sane. How’d that happen with that prima donna of a mother?”

“Years of therapy,” she said. “It was sports therapy, but you can’t dump the phobias and anxieties and neuroses without some good old-fashioned counseling. And there was Mamie—sweet, loving Mamie. She worked for my mother and she coddled me.”

“That explains a lot,” he said.

“I don’t want to do all the things that I, on the receiving end, couldn’t bear.”

“I understand completely,” he said.

“I want an ordinary, happy life,” she said. “I am not lazy.”

“I like your life,” he said. “I like the life you envision.”

When they finally got back to town, Troy drove the van into the alley behind the shop. No need to park in the front of the store anymore—there was no danger from the mystery man of the note. His Jeep was back there anyway.

“Troy, I think I need some time alone,” she said. “I hope you understand. I feel pretty pathetic right now.”

He leaned toward her and gave her a small kiss. “Don’t work this too long, honey. Lots of people have superannoying mothers.”

“I know. But I need a little time. And there’s no need to worry that anyone is threatening me.”

“Let’s at least talk later,” he said. “I’ll call you.”

* * *

Troy didn’t have to think about it long. He went back to his apartment, cleaned up and changed clothes and drove back to Bandon. He entered the resort property on a guest pass at about six o’clock. There was no answer at Winnie’s cottage and he asked himself where she might be. He drove around a little bit, thinking. There were five restaurants on the property—a couple of clubhouse restaurants and then fine dining. He went to the one with the view of the ocean.

The maître d’ greeted him. “I’m here to meet Mrs. Dillon Banks,” Troy said smoothly as if this visit was planned.

“I wasn’t aware she was expecting a guest. This way, sir.”

She had a table near the window and she was alone. Her table was a bit secluded from the other diners. She wasn’t eating. She had her fingers wrapped around a drink and she looked pensively out the window.

“Mrs. Banks,” he said.

She looked up at him.

“May I join you for a few minutes?”

“I suppose this has something to do with my daughter. Yes, Mr. Headly. Have a seat. Have a drink.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling out the chair opposite her. The waiter was instantly beside him. “Bring me whatever Mrs. Banks is having.”

“So, is Izzy all right?”

“She’s a little rattled, but she’s resilient. You’ll have to forgive me, Mrs. Banks—it’s hard for me to think of her as Izzy. She’s Grace to me.”

“Grace. Yes,” she said, sipping her drink. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Headly?”

“I’m a high school teacher. And a part-time bartender at a local beach bar. Not exactly a high-profile profession, but I find teaching rewarding.”

“And your relationship with Izz...Grace? Is it serious?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m very serious about her, though we don’t have marriage plans. I’m not rushing into anything. That doesn’t mean I’m hesitant. It just means we deserve time. Tincture of time, my grandmother used to say.”

“Are you hoping for a big inheritance?” she asked forthrightly.

“Until very recently, I didn’t know anything about Grace’s family. Until this very moment, inheritance never crossed my mind.” He laughed uncomfortably. “By the looks of you, such an event is a very long way off.”

She didn’t make eye contact. She lifted her drink and took a sip. Her hand trembled and she used her other hand to help stabilize it.

His drink arrived quickly. He took a sip. He made a face. “What is this?”

She actually smiled. “A Manhattan. With bitters.”

“Delicious,” he said, putting it down.

She chuckled in spite of herself. “Well, let’s have it, shall we? Why are you here? What do you expect me to say?”

“I’ve never seen two women more adept at button pushing, and I have a sister and mother. They’ve had their share of standoffs. But what I saw a couple of hours ago was brutal. So, here’s my question. What’s it going to take, Mrs. Banks? Is it possible for you to have some kind of decent relationship with Grace?”

She thought for a moment. “I should be having this conversation with my daughter.”

“Of course you should, but you haven’t. Grace is unhappy and if I’m not mistaken, you’re unhappy. There must be a way.”

“Look, I don’t expect you to understand.”

“That there’s baggage? That you have a history of conflict? That finding a compromise is difficult? Try me. I’ve mediated some legendary arguments in my time. Right now, I have at least fifty teenage girls in my classes. Go ahead, lay it on me.”

She took another sip. “I’ve made mistakes with my daughter, but this time I can’t afford to make another mistake.”

“Sending her that note...”

“It was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I want my daughter to come home, Mr. Headly. It’s imperative that she come home. But I don’t want her to come out of pity.”

“For a visit?” he asked.

“For a very long visit. In a rash moment I thought if she felt unsafe on her own she would let me help her. I made a mistake.”

“She’s safe. And I don’t think she needs help. She was pretty clear—she doesn’t like the career choices you suggested. She’s really good at what she does. And she’s happy.”

“Mr. Headly—”

“Mrs. Banks,” he said, leaning toward her. “My name is Troy. For just a minute, let’s pretend we’re friends and that we trust each other. At the least, let’s assume we both have Grace’s happiness and safety as our shared priority.”

She took another bolstering drink. Her hand continued to shake a little. “Troy. I have money. Family money. Taking care of it is complicated. With money comes predators. With old money there is responsibility. When that money is Izz—Grace’s, I frankly don’t care if she spends it, gives it away, puts it to work or does what I’ve been doing—preserve it and grow it. But I don’t want her to be robbed or to lose it because of her inexperience. It’s time for Grace to trust me. To let me show her how to manage. She has absolutely no experience in the management of wealth.”

“She managed to buy a business and operate it at a profit,” he said.

“Please. Don’t be naive. Her father left her a trust. She used it to buy that flower shop.”

Troy sat back in his chair. “What has that got to do with skating or broadcasting or coaching?”

“I thought it would be best if she chose a career path with some longevity in a field she loved. But she’s adamant...”

“You’re not going to win that one,” he said. “I don’t know why you can’t open a dialogue about what it will one day take to manage your old money. She doesn’t have to coach or work for the media for that to happen. And, for God’s sake, this is not urgent.”

Winnie Banks pierced him with her cold blue stare. “Mr. Headly. Troy. I wanted Grace to come to me out of loyalty and love. I had planned to tell her once we were talking again—there isn’t much time. I’m ill, Mr. Headly. I have ALS. The symptoms are getting stronger every day.”

He was speechless. She was a young woman, early fifties, he guessed. She appeared strong, except for the tremor. She was beautiful and willful, but with ALS, the mind would be strong until the body finally gave out.

“You have to tell her,” he finally said.

“Of course,” she said. “At once. I’ve written a letter. I wrote it before we had our altercation today. I was going to have my driver take it to her tomorrow but if you’re willing, you can give it to her.”

A bellman came to their table pushing a wheelchair. “If you’re not ready, I can come back anytime you like,” he said.

“It’s fine, Bruce. I’m ready.” She transferred herself into the chair. “Will you? Take my daughter a letter?”

He nodded, numb from the news. “Mrs. Banks, I’m sorry.”

“The letter is in my room. Can you pick it up?”

A few minutes later, Winnie was resettled in her cottage. Virginia, who was a maid or assistant or keeper of some kind, was there to assist her, some fresh fruit and cheese put out on her small breakfast table. The letter was on the coffee table, addressed but not stamped. She put it in his hand.

“Are you sure this is ready?” he asked her.

“It begins with an apology,” she said, reassuring him. “That’s something easier to do in a letter, I’ve found. Easier than while facing her anger.”

Fourteen

T
roy hadn’t liked the Manhattan that he’d had with Winnie but he could really use a drink. In fact, a drink in a dark bar sounded like just the thing. He didn’t feel like running into friends so that eliminated Cliff’s and Cooper’s. He parked in front of Waylan’s and went inside.

“How about a Crown. Neat,” he told Waylan. “And then another one.”

The letter to Grace was in the center console in the Jeep. There was only one dim light shining in Grace’s loft. She needed time alone but he was going to have to go to her. There was no way he could have that conversation with Winnie and not tell her; no way he could be in possession of that letter and not give it to her right away. But he thought it was reasonable that he have a couple of belts for both his nerves and need of courage.

So he sipped slowly, dreading what had to be done.

What a complicated mess. There was a lot of rage between Grace and Winnie, and now they were going to throw heartbreak into the mix. Heartbreak and impending death. And an inheritance? This was quickly getting bigger than he was. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t made that drive up to the resort to confront Winnie. It might be easier not knowing. But he had thought he could help; he had thought he could be the voice of reason. The way he saw it, Grace shouldn’t have such a hot button at the mere suggestion she think about a career in the figure skating industry. And Winnie should drop the subject after being told about fifty times it was out of the question.

Here were two stubborn, pigheaded women.

It was nine-thirty when Troy called her. Grace answered sleepily.

“I miss you. Are you calmer now?” he asked.

“I am. I stomped around and cried for a while, then I think I nodded off. I’m exhausted.”

“Let me come over and hold you. I don’t know how to sleep alone anymore,” he said.

“Okay, but you have to be quiet and sleepy. I don’t want to talk,” she said.

“I don’t blame you.”

He drove around to the alley access and parked behind the Pretty Petals van. He used his own key to get in and found the loft was dark. There was an empty wineglass on the coffee table. He took the envelope from his jacket pocket and left it on the small table in her galley kitchen, left his jacket over a chair and went to the bedroom. She stirred and sat up.

“Hi,” she said. “Can’t stay away from me, can you?”

“I sure can’t,” he said, taking off his shoes. His pants and shirt quickly followed and he slid into bed. She rolled right into his arms and kissed him.

“Wow. Whatever that is on your breath, it’s powerful.”

“I needed a stiff drink,” he admitted.

“Winnie can have that effect on people. Tell me the truth. Did she make you want to run for your life?”

“No.” He pulled her into his arms. “I can see the challenge, however. Close your eyes. You don’t want to talk, remember?”

“I’m wiped out,” she said with a yawn, snuggling against him. “You are such a good pillow. I don’t think I know how to sleep alone anymore, either.”

“Just rest, baby. I’m right here.”

Troy didn’t sleep all that well, but it felt good to know that Grace did. She snored, a sure sign she was deep into sleep. He woke at five-thirty, just like most mornings, and after lying quietly for a while, he got up. He brewed coffee and waited for her to wake up. It was almost an hour.

“Why are you up?” she asked, stretching. “You don’t have work today!”

“Grace, I have something to tell you,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I went back to the resort after I dropped you off yesterday. To see your mother.”

“You what? Why would you do that?”

“Get a cup of coffee, honey, and let me tell you.” She was back in just seconds, sitting beside him. “I went because I was really disturbed by the way you two went after each other. Not that it was unique—my mom and sister have had a couple of good rows. But they always patched things up, even if it took a few days or even a couple of weeks. It looked like this conflict with your mom has been going on for years.”

“True,” she said.

“I went back to see her, to ask her what it would take to have a civilized relationship with you. You don’t have to like each other, but you’re mother and daughter. But that conversation didn’t really happen. She knows she’s made mistakes, Gracie. Big ones. And she has issues.” He tapped the letter. “She wrote you a letter. She was going to have it delivered to you if that flower delivery she trumped up didn’t result in a conversation. She asked me to give it to you.”

She put down her coffee and snatched it. “Do you really think that was your place? Going to see my mother?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It looked like you were both in pain. And it also looked perfectly ridiculous. I couldn’t imagine why on earth you two had to have such a blowup over your future in the skating industry. It made no sense to me.” He watched her rip open the envelope. “I get it now.”

She started reading. She frowned angrily and made a grunt of disapproval. But then she read to the bottom of the page and looked at him with a shocked expression. She put down that page and read further. Her eyes glistened and her lips moved as she read. She lifted her gaze from the page to look at Troy. “Is this true?”

“Does she lie? Because she was taken from the restaurant where I found her back to her cottage in a wheelchair.”

Grace shook her head. “She’s bossy and controlling and uppity. She doesn’t lie. That I know of. Well, except for that note, but when confronted, she admitted it.”

“Read it,” he said, nodding to the pages.

She read on, getting to the third page. She gave a huff of laughter but had to wipe her eyes at the same time. “This is so Winnie. She thinks I’m completely incompetent. If I don’t go to San Francisco and live with her for at least six months and learn everything there is to know about her finances I will bungle it and be completely wiped out in six months after she’s gone.” She looked at Troy. A couple of tears ran down her cheeks. She gave her head a little forlorn shake. “She really cares about me. In a completely insulting way. If she’s so worried, why doesn’t she just leave it all to a cat or something?”

“She loves you. She’s just used to telling people what to do. It would get on my nerves, too.”

“She’s a pain in the ass,” Grace said with a hiccup of emotion.

“But she wants to make it right with you. Before...you know.”

Grace put down the letter. Without explaining what she was doing, she grabbed her personal cell and dialed a number. As he watched, she was pursing her lips. They’d become red around the edges and her nose grew pink and wet. She wiped at her face. Then she spoke into the phone. “Mikhail. Winnie finally found a way to break me. She’s dying.”

* * *

Ray Anne had given it a lot of thought. She couldn’t make Ginger less sad; she couldn’t help her get beyond her grief and there was no way to replace the life that had been taken from her. But it had been nine months since the baby died and she could get her moving.

When Ginger got up in the morning, she stumbled into the kitchen in her shapeless T-shirt and Capri-length leggings, her hair all lank and flat and ratty. She’d barely gotten down three swallows of her first cup of coffee when Ray Anne challenged her. “Well, buttercup, I’m taking you on an outing. We’re going to Eugene for the day. We’re going to shop and have a nice lunch and go to the beauty shop.”

“Thanks, Ray, but I’d rather just stay here, if you don’t mind.”

“But I do mind, honey, because we’ve gotta do something. What you’ve been doing isn’t working. You need a fresher-upper.” She smoothed her hand over Ginger’s hair and resisted the urge to say
Ack
. “A cut, some color, some new clothes. I’m going to get in the shower while you have your coffee. Make yourself some cereal or toast or both. You’ll need your strength.”

“Ray, really...I’m just not interested.”

“Believe me, it’s necessary.”

“Look, I don’t have money to spend on clothes that don’t matter, that I won’t wear.”

“I’m taking care of that for now, but we have to do something about your money situation, too. Once you’re fixed up a little bit, we’re going to find you a job.”

“I’m not sure I can...”

“I want you to try. It doesn’t have to be a fancy job. We can go out to the beach and see if Cooper and Sarah need help in the bar. Spring is here, summer is on the way and the beach gets real busy. Maybe Cliff needs a waitress or one of the businesses in town needs clerical help. But you can’t look like a vagrant if you mean to work with the public. Ginger, you have to do something with your time. You can’t sit around and think all the time. It’s not helping.”

“But I’m not staying here!”

“As far as I can tell, you have no idea what you’re going to do or where you’re going to do it. So we should just act like you need to get your life moving forward and part of that is work. Even if you leave in a few weeks.”

“Look, I’ll just call my mom, have her pack up a couple of boxes of clothes I left there and—”

“Ginger, honey, I’m sure those clothes you left behind don’t fit you any better than the ones you brought. Now, you keep an open mind and come along with me. I promise I won’t force anything on you that you don’t like. I’m not going to make you dress like me,” she added, then laughed.

“I don’t want you to do this,” Ginger said. “I’m not your problem. I just want to be left alone.”

“I know, baby,” she said softly. “I know you just want to sink in a hole and die. Want to know how I know? Because I’ve sort of been where you are. Not as bad, but still... I don’t usually talk about this, but when I was real young, way younger than you, I had a baby that didn’t live. She was stillborn, so I didn’t get to know her, didn’t get used to her. Because I was so young my folks sent me to Portland to stay with your daddy and his family until she was born. I wasn’t married, still in high school, no reason everyone had to know, right? Way back then, we worried a lot more about reputations. And I wasn’t real sure who the daddy was, so... Well, there’ve been times in my life when I made some hasty choices.”

Ginger just stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open.

“I held her for a long time before I let her go and the nurses didn’t rush me. I wasn’t even going to keep her—I figured she could do a lot better than me! I didn’t have much going for myself back in the day. Oh, that was so long ago. But for the longest time after that I just wanted to die, myself. Then my mom and dad both died a few years later and I was so alone. And then I really did want to sink in a hole and die. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t know what to do. So you know what I do when there’s a tragedy? When my life is falling apart? I try really hard to do the best I can. I wake up in the morning, put my feet on the floor, walk. I put on clean clothes every day. I fix myself to look like I’m getting through life even if everything inside me says I won’t make it another day. I mostly pretend, have a good hour here and there, then I collapse and cry because I just can’t do it, then I put my feet on the floor again and take another step.”

Ginger didn’t say anything, but a tear ran down her cheek.

“When you came along, I kind of felt like an auntie. You were a gift to me. We had so much fun playing, dressing up, watching movies, going on little trips together, having sleepovers. We can do this.”

Ginger shook her head, another tear sliding down her cheek.

“Now, you don’t have to tell me what I already know—getting a haircut and a pair of jeans that actually fit—that won’t help much. It’s just a shallow remedy. My friend Lou says I invented shallow.” Ray Anne smiled. “I think she’s secretly jealous I can still walk in those spike heels.”

“Ray...”

Ray Anne held up a hand. “I know, I get a little melodramatic. A little pushy, too. I can’t fix what you feel, Gingersnap. I know I can’t. But I can get you a good haircut, put you in a decent pair of jeans and get you some underwear that’s not shameful just in case you ever have to be taken to an emergency room. And don’t you worry about the money because if I can look at my pretty Ginger again, it’s worth my life savings. And if it makes you feel one inch better, it’s the right thing to do. Now eat something for breakfast—you’re wasting away. I’ll be ready to go in forty-five minutes. And it’s going to be a busy day.”

* * *

If Ginger went along with this refresher idea, she thought it was merely because Ray Anne, who she had loved so much since she was just a little girl, had revealed herself and her own losses. Ginger couldn’t imagine being a pregnant teenager and giving birth to a dead baby. Of course, she also couldn’t imagine giving one away—that notion was impossible to comprehend. But then she was thirty now, and had waited so long to get married and have her baby. And the right husband had clearly been a delusion.

So, to make an effort and to be kind, Ginger went with Ray Anne. Their first stop was the beauty salon. While Ray Anne had a manicure, Ginger sat in the beautician’s chair. The woman, Char, took the rubber tie out of her hair and combed it out. “So, what are we doing today?” she asked.

Ginger stared at herself. Her hair, which had always been one of her assets, looked like it had gotten thin. It was straight, lank, the color of dirty water, and lying against her too-thin face. She thought she resembled an Afghan hound. “I don’t care,” she said.

“I care,” Ray Anne said, jumping up from the manicurist’s table. “She needs some highlights, a couple of shades. Maybe throw in some lowlights. Bring out the bright in that strawberry blonde. And for the love of God, let’s get some kind of shape in there! Layer it. And when you’re ready to blow it out, don’t save money on the mousse. Women in our family need a little body in our locks.”

Char met eyes with Ginger in the mirror. She raised one brow. “That okay with you?”

“Sure,” she said, listless.

Ginger couldn’t deny that it felt good to have someone’s hands in her hair, massaging her scalp. It had probably been a year since she’d had a color and cut. But she paid no attention whatsoever; she was doing this for Ray Anne. If it made Ray feel that she was doing something to help, fine.