A New Hope. Робин Карр

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ * *

      The house on the hill above the beach was empty of helpers now. Smoke was rising from Cooper’s grill on his deck two doors down. There were people walking along the beach and as the sun set, lights from the town were starting to pop up like fireflies. Grace sat on one of the newly acquired chairs next to the newly acquired outdoor table, facing the ocean. Troy trudged up the outside deck stairs, wiping his hands on a rag.

      “That’s that. Downstairs bathroom is scrubbed and outside deck swept. I haven’t put the sheets on the bed down there, but it wouldn’t take five minutes if you want to stay here tonight. Makes more sense to go to your loft, though, where all your stuff is. We can get moved in this week, unless you changed your mind...”

      She looked at him with moist eyes. “They did this for us,” she said softly. “They cleaned, installed, unpacked, hung pictures. The window guy is putting in the shutters tomorrow. It’s ready, Troy. Our friends got it ready.”

      He sat down in the chair next to her. “Because they don’t want us to say ‘I do’ minutes before I have to rush you to the hospital. You really want to move here right away? You don’t want to let your mother settle in first?”

      “Once we have furniture in the game room it’ll be just like our own apartment. You can store your toys in the garage. After we let your parents use your apartment for their visit, we can bring your couch over for downstairs. Then you can give up the apartment and we can live here.”

      “Listen, we’ve talked about this a little bit, but this is serious business. Even though that downstairs is like a private residence, we’ll be living with your mother, your old Russian coach—because we both know he’s never leaving—and there will hopefully be nursing help. I can’t have my pregnant wife making them all comfortable, directing traffic or waiting on an invalid day and night. We’re going to have to agree on how we’re going to handle this situation. Gracie, it’s not going to be easy. It usually takes a staff of five to manage her.”

      “I know. I think we’ll be okay. School’s out soon. Maybe we can tell your family on the phone, move into this house, let your family use the apartment and the loft for a visit and just get married while they’re here. On the beach?”

      He pulled her close. “I married you in my head weeks ago. We should give my son a proper name.”

      “It’s a girl, Troy.”

      “It’s a boy, Gracie. I know it.”

      “It’s a girl. Bet?”

      “When can we find out?”

      “I don’t know. Twenty weeks? We have things to do, Troy. Next we have to make a baby room.”

      “We’ve just done so much. Can we have a day off?”

      “I’m going to call my mother tomorrow and tell her the house is ready. I think she can be up here by the end of the week.”

      “I’ll call my mom and dad tomorrow, too,” he said. “Are you going to insist your name be Gracie Dillon Banks Headly?”

      “I’m going with Headly,” she said. “The most adorable history teacher at Thunder Point High.”

      “Not adorable, Grace. Hot. The girls think I’m hot.”

Five

      “When I was a little girl I made very little houses,” Ginger told Matt. They sat at a small table in a dimly lit Mexican restaurant. She nursed a glass of wine and he had a beer and there were chips and salsa on the table. She had a plate of enchiladas and he had a mammoth burrito. “I made miniature houses and people out of everything—Q-tips, cotton balls, pipe cleaners, shoe boxes, paper cups and paper clips. I used twigs and flowers and leaves and gum wrappers. Eventually, when I had the supplies, I used cardboard, paper and glue. In winter when I was outside I used snow and made castles. When I was about seven my parents gave me a great big dollhouse for Christmas—the obvious gift, right? And I wanted nothing to do with it. It just sat in a corner of my bedroom because I liked the sloppy little houses I built.”

      “All little girls play house,” he said. “My sisters played house. Peyton was always the mother. And she was a very strict mother.”

      “What’s your earliest memory?” she asked him.

      “Hmm. I’m not sure if it’s an early memory or some family story that’s been repeated so often I think I remember it. It might be when Mikie showed up. My parents had two cribs and a bassinet in their bedroom. We were all lined up to meet him. Ellie was two, Sal was one and Mikie was in the bassinet by the bed. My mother said, ‘This is your new brother, Michael, and from now on your father is sleeping in the barn.’ I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. Eight kids in a little over ten years.”

      She laughed happily at that.

      “You have little leprechauns in your eyes.”

      “My mother’s side of the family, I guess. We’re the only green-eyed members of the family. And I’ve met most of the Lacoumettes—no leprechauns there, I think.”

      “That’s for sure,” he said. He put down his fork. “What happened to your marriage?”

      “The marriage?” she asked, like that was an odd question. “Matt, I told you, I fell for a musician. A singer with a guitar. He played other instruments, too, but mostly guitar and piano. What I didn’t tell you, I was a groupie. He was in and out of Portland and for three years I followed his gigs. He called when he was in town or even near town, like Seattle or Vancouver or Astoria, and would ask me to come. It was nothing for me to drive three hours just to be with him. On and off, off and on. He’s ten years older and even though he’s had a few breaks here and there, he doesn’t really have a pot to piss in. He wasn’t interested in marriage or family or settling down, though he did move in with me because I had a freestanding garage he could use as a studio. So one night when he said, ‘Hey, babe, maybe we should just get married,’ I jumped on it. Brilliant, yes? I was all over it because hey, I was over twenty-five by that time and all I’d ever really wanted was to be a wife and mother. So I married a self-centered, absent, maybe even adulterous musician who rarely remembered to even call me. My mother thought I’d lost my mind. My brothers hated him. My father still wants to kill him. I married him as fast as I could before he changed his mind. We were married for seven days when he got a job in San Francisco of uncertain duration and he not only took it, he said I wouldn’t enjoy myself, given his terrible hours, and besides, I had to work. He said he’d probably be back in a few weeks. Turned out it was sooner, but he left again a week later, that time for a month. When I tried to talk to him about it he said, ‘Hey, I told you I’d be a lousy husband. I’m just not into it. My music is really important to me and I’m so close. Baby, I’m so close. And you love my music.’ Also, he usually needed money. And I stupidly gave him what I could.”

      Matt’s mouth hung open. He was speechless. If there was one thing about the Lacoumette men, they would die before they’d live off a woman. “You’re making this up.”

      She gave him a rather patient smile. “I could not make it up. I fell for a singer because he had what I thought was a beautiful voice and I believed that once he saw how happy I could make him, he would never want to leave me again. Oh—he would write music and play music, but our love for each other would come СКАЧАТЬ