“I’ve had it tucked into a Ziploc in my closet. I thought we could frame it. Maybe add in a few other mementos of your dad. What do you think?”
Gina set her hand on May’s back and rubbed it. This past week had been a roller coaster for them, but she finally—finally—felt closer to her daughter.
“I love it.” May chewed her lip. “Can I add something?”
“Of course. Go get it.”
She couldn’t wait to see what it was. May skipped out of the kitchen and was back with a small piece of paper. It was one of the notes from Drew.
“This is perfect.” She handed some pins to May. “Put it where you think it works best.”
May studied the frame and laid the paper in a few different spots before settling on slightly off center of the shirt—almost exactly where Drew’s heart would have been.
Gina reached over and plucked the red and white wianki off the wall. “Did I ever tell you about this?”
“No, you barely even let me touch it.”
“That’s because it’s very precious to me, and you were little. Your dad gave this to me on the day I knew I would marry him.”
“On the day he proposed?”
“Ha! No, this happened way before then. You’ll discover, eventually, that boys sometimes need more time to learn what we already know.” Gina winked at May and told her the story about how Drew won her heart forever.
“Are you always going to love him?”
“No question.” She answered quickly, but then took a few moments to think about what that would mean. “I will always, always love him. If he popped into this room right now or ten years from now or fifty years from now, I would love him. I know that will never go away. But I think, maybe one day, my heart might expand so I can love someone else, too.”
“Like Daniel.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’d have to go out with the guy first.” Gina nudged her shoulder. “But something like that, maybe, someday.”
Gina set the flower wreath on May’s head.
“When your father did that to me, he said that now I was Polish, too. Little did we know I was already halfway there.” She kissed May’s nose. “Now, should we put it in the frame?”
May nodded enthusiastically and took it off her head. She studied the frame, and set it over the piece of paper, so it created a frame within the frame. They secured it with pins and closed the glass lid, keeping the treasured memories visible and safe forever, but making room in their lives for new ones.
A week after Lorraine’s death, their small family gathered around Lorraine to say their final goodbyes before the rest of her friends and acquaintances and fellow club members arrived to pay their respects for Lorraine Sandowski Price. They had included her full name on the “In Memoriam.” Gina, Vicky, May, and Roza gathered around the pale wood casket, Lorraine properly attired in her favorite cream-with-black-trim Chanel dress, the one she wore for only the most special occasions. Gina supposed this qualified as a special occasion.
“She looks like . . .” Gina began to speak.
“If you say she looks like she’s sleeping, I will slap you,” Vicky said. She had returned last night, happier than Gina had seen her in years. And with a lot of luggage.
“I was going to say she looks happy for once.”
“She ought to be. Look at all these flowers. There must be three florist shops’ worth of blooms in here.”
Roza sniffed and pointed to an arrangement near the end.
“She would have been disgusted that the Millers sent carnations. Honestly, who does that?”
“I think Mom has finally rubbed off on you, Roza,” Gina said. Her eyes kept wandering back to her mom. It was hard not to look, knowing she’d never see her face again. But she could practically hear her mother say, “It’s rude to stare, Regina.”
Vicky’s phone honked from her pocket.
“Why do you even have your phone with you?”
Vicky ignored her and looked at her phone with a frown, then smiled.
“The papers are officially filed.”
“Papers?” Roza asked, walking over to stand by Gina and Vicky.
“Divorce papers,” Vicky said.
Roza made the sign of the cross then hugged Vicky. “My tenants just moved out, so the bottom flat is open. I’ll give you the first month free if you need it.”
“Tempting, but I don’t think we’d all fit. There’s a house down the block from Gina for sale. Then May can babysit after school. I put an offer in on it yesterday.”
Vicky took a deep breath, then turned off her phone. Gina studied the flowers, reading some of the cards. Most were from friends at the club. One was from the Patels. When Gina turned around, she saw Vicky slip a piece of paper into the coffin.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Gina pulled it out. It was a printout of the e-mail their mom had sent them regarding their poor Christmas gifts.
“You can’t put this in there.”
“Why not? I said I would.”
Gina smiled. A week ago, she would have pulled the paper from the coffin. Now, she went to her purse and pulled out her own addition—a jar of coconut oil. She slid it next to the printed e-mail. After all she’d learned, her mom would have appreciated that this humor was part of their grieving, that there wasn’t a right or a wrong way to handle their loss. Gina kissed her mom’s forehead one more time. With one last glance, she took her place in the receiving line, finally ready to let go.
The service was lovely. Lorraine would have been thrilled with the turnout, and even about the confused whispers as to why she was being buried at the Wood National Cemetery. For the burial, the mourners gathered around the closed casket poised above Joe’s grave as the priest said the final words.
The small, marble headstone was etched with his date of birth, date of death, and rank on the front side, with an inscription below that Lorraine must have authorized so many years ago.
LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER
In a few weeks, the back of the headstone would read out their mother’s name, date of birth, date of death, and an engraving:
WIFE OF SGT JOSEPH SANDOWSKI
MY LOVELY LORRAINE
Now they would have eternity together.
After the burial, most of the mourners walked solemnly away, having already said their condolences during the wake. Gina and Vicky stood near the headstone while Roza and May rounded up the cousins to get in the car.
Maxine Fuller appeared in front of them wearing black from head to toe. She even wore a black wool cloche and dark sunglasses—not that she had any tears to hide.
“Girls, I am so very sorry about your mother.” She gave them each an air kiss on the cheek. “She was such a dear friend.”
Vicky elbowed Gina in the ribs, only semisubtlely.
“Thank you. I’m so sorry, but your name seems to be escaping me,” Vicky said. She was always better at the sneaky insults.
“I’m Maxine Fuller, dear. I must say, I—and many of the ladies—were surprised to find Lorraine was being buried here. Who is Joseph Sandowski? I’ve never heard that name at the club.”
“He’s our dad,” Gina said. This woman wouldn’t leave them alone until she had the dirt she was looking for. Gina had had enough of being polite. Maxine already had her mouth open for another question, but Gina kept talking. “Mrs. Fuller, Vic and I would like a few private moments with our mother.”
She pulled Vicky around so they were both facing the casket, leaving Maxine no choice but to rudely intrude again or slump off. She took the hint, and they heard her feet crunching through the snow.
“Wow. That was almost rude. I know Drew would be proud,” Vicky said.
She was right. He would be. And something told Gina he would have liked this crazy adventure she and Vicky had taken, with all of its secrets and drama. She hoped that if there was a heaven, Drew and Joe were up there talking about their girls and swapping stories.
“What are you smiling at?”
“My new happy thought.”
“You and your happy thoughts.” Vicky rolled her eyes. “Our lives could have been so different if only Mom had told us the truth a long time ago.”
“There have been some pretty awful spots, but I like where our lives are headed.”
Gina hugged her sister tight, and Vicky wrapped her arms around Gina’s waist. They stood in the icy snow, their mother’s daughters.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The sun shone where the food trucks lined up along the west side of the park, allowing customers to take advantage of the trees for shade. Several families already had blankets spread out as they plotted their next move at Tosa’s first annual Food Truck Feast. A few better-prepared families had even brought tables and chairs. A live band played on a constructed stage, covering songs from eighties hair bands—or at least that’s what May’s mom had called them.
Inside Grilled G’s, her mom did all the cooking, easily keeping up with the steady stream of orders. She took the orders and delivered them, along with a new addition, the Lorraine Bars—vegan brownies made with coconut oil and toasted coconut. May had created the recipe to honor her grandma, and today was their debut. She felt a little smug each time a customer ordered one, actually. When Connor and his family stopped by, he ordered two. Dork.
“Hi May, hi Gina.” Their down-the-street neighbor Patty stood in the window, her chubby-faced baby gnawing on the edge of her baby carrier, making a huge wet spot. Gina nodded in greeting, holding up a spatula.
“Hi, Patty. How are you doing?”
She gave her order to May, then answered Gina’s question.
“Good. I’ve finished the sign-up sheet for the Memorial Day block party.”
“I can’t believe that’s in a few weeks. Where did the winter go?”
“I know. I can barely carry this drool monster anymore. I’ve already got you signed up for brownies, May. You make the best, so you’re trapped by your own excellence.”
May handed her the order with a smile, wondering if the Lorraine Bars would be a big enough crowd pleaser for the block party or if she should do something with peanut butter.
“Can’t wait,” Gina said. “If it’s okay, I’ll swing by tomorrow and sign up.”
“Perfect.”
May used the brief lull in customers to wipe down the surfaces, starting on the shelf next to the counter where she normally took orders. The one spot that wasn’t used for food truck supplies, this shelf held special items—each with a story. May’s favorite were the two wooden elephants, only a few inches tall. They’d arrived a few months ago. The warm honey-colored wood had rough knife marks, clearly still works in progress. Their curved trunks could loop together, and May was convinced they each wore a small smile. The day they had arrived, her mom and Aunt Vicky opened the box slowly, carefully digging into the abundant packing peanuts to find the wooden animals until they each held one cupped in their hands like a delicate treasure.
Next to the pachyderms were framed photos, one of Grandpa Joe and Grandma, and another of Grandpa Floyd with an old dollar bill folded around the edge. She swiped at the dust and set those back, careful not to knock over the nearby picture of her dad.
May looked out to see if any new customers were coming just as Charlotte approached, her scraggly pale red hair tied back in a scarf. Now that she wasn’t buried under layers of winter clothes, her wiry frame scuttled from food truck to food truck, still carrying a worn plastic bag.
“Three grilled cheeses, Mom. Charlotte’s on her way.”
May picked up her mom’s phone and sent a text to Monica.
Incoming: Charlotte.
By the time she set the phone back down, Charlotte peeked into the window.
“Hi, Charlotte. How are you?” May smiled at her. “Mom’s already got your sandwich going.”
Charlotte slid her money across, and Gina set the paper boat with the slightly burned sandwich on the counter.
“Here you go, Charlotte.” She stepped back into the warm sunshine and ate her sandwich, then headed back toward the window.
May handed down the sandwiches before she could say another word.
“So sorry for the trouble. And here are our new Lorraine Bars as an extra apology.” She set two of the brownies alongside the sandwiches.
Charlotte looked up and gave her a tiny smile, tucking the brownies and sandwiches into her bag.
“I think she likes you more than me. I’ve never gotten a smile from her,” Gina said. She was scraping the griddle, getting a head start on cleaning.
“Obviously. I gave her dessert.”
May looked out the window again, to the picnic blanket she’d been keeping an eye on for the last half hour. On it sat her boyfriend—still the cutest boy in school—and her best friend, Connor and Olivia. She was going to meet up with them after her lunch shift. Breaking into her line of sight was a bearded man heading toward Grilled G’s.
“Hey Mom, look who’s coming.”
Her mom peeked out.
“Eeep! He’s early,” her mom said. She picked up a notebook, then looked out the window again. After running her fingers down the spine, she handed it to May. “Can you start the list for tomorrow?”
May nodded and opened the notebook to a fresh page. She’d been in charge of the lists more often lately, and seriously believed it was a good sign that her mom wasn’t living her life one to-do item at a time anymore.
Her mom smoothed the stray strands of hair around her face with her ring-free left hand. “How do I look?”
“Great,” May said. Her mom acting nervous reminded her of the way she and Connor used to be. After her grandma’s funeral, they finished watching Buffy with 100 percent less kissing. Not that May didn’t want to—she just wasn’t ready yet. Well, they still kissed a little bit, just with all their clothes. Her mom found all sorts of reasons to come down into the basement while they were watching TV.
“Now ask how you smell,” May said. “ ’Cause you smell like a grilled cheese.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. The man is my best customer.” She looked at May. “You okay to finish cleaning up?”
“I’ve got this.”
“You sure? Vicky will drive it home later, but make sure to lock all the doors.”
“Go, Mom!”
Gina leaned out the window and waved. “Daniel!”
In khakis and a button-down shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, he carried a six-pack of something in one hand and waved with the other. His head was hatless, revealing sandy-brown hair already highlighted from the spring sun.
Her mom took off her apron and went out to meet him.
“Hi, you look great, G,” Daniel said. He looked at her like he couldn’t believe his good luck. Gross, but nice.
Gina blushed.
“Thanks, you too.”
“I brought some cider I picked up when I was in Door County last week.” The bottles clinked when he held them up for her to see, each with a bold color on the label.
Her mom didn’t say anything, just smiled.
“Say something,” May whispered.
Her mom turned. “I can hear you. I’d like to see you on a first date with your daughter watching.”
Daniel finally realized they had a witness and waved at her.
“Hi, May.”
“Then maybe you should go where I’m not,” May said to her mom. May handed her two Lorraine Bars and shooed them away.
Daniel pointed to an open picnic table in the shade. They sat next to each other in the dappled light, eating bars and drinking cider. She hadn’t seen her mom smile like that since Dad.
May finished cleaning the truck and locked the doors, giving it a little pat before heading toward Connor and Olivia, more brownies in her hand for each of them.
Her mom had turned to face Daniel, leaning in and nodding as he spoke, throwing her head back in laughter at something he said. Sh
e looked really, truly happy. It was a little weird seeing her like this—okay, more than a little weird—but she deserved it. Her mom wasn’t just her mom, anyway, she had a past and a future. She had dreams and disappointments and regrets. It was complicated.
When May jumped over a puddle to meet up with her friends, she remembered her dad, as they sat in the mud, saying that everyone should get messy—even her mom.
May looked up in time to see Daniel reach over to wipe something off her mom’s face—probably brownie crumbs—and smile.
No matter how messy things got, they had people who loved them, who watched out for them, who would help them clean those messes up.
They would all be okay.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When you get in this business, it’s easy to be intimidated and overwhelmed—writers are artists first, after all. Thankfully, I have Rachel Ekstrom, my fabulous and formidable agent. Part adviser, negotiator, therapist, cheerleader, and friend, I’m so proud to have her by my side.
I could write an entire book about how grateful I am for Kate Dresser, my talented and brilliant editor and friend. After four books together, it’s possible our brains have melded and I couldn’t be happier about it. I send her haphazard, incomplete drafts and, miraculously, she sees the potential through the muck, offering the exact right feedback that finds the heart in what I’m trying to accomplish. Thank you to my rock-star publicists, Theresa Dooley at Gallery and Kristin Dwyer of Leo PR.
I love being part of the Gallery family! Thank you to Jennifer Bergstrom, Molly Gregory, Gina Borgia, Monica Oluwek, Chelsea Cohen, Liz Psaltis, Diana Velasquez, Mackenzie Hickey, Sade Oyalowo, Jaime Putorti, and my fantastic copy editor, Shelly Perron.
Dziękuję to Baror International for their foreign rights work.
I borrow freely from conversations I have with my friends (sorry, not sorry); thank you to Peggy Armstrong and the rest of the Town Bank gals, Mary and Jason Ells for sharing a spectacular story with me that was the first inspiration for this book, Bob and Val Wisniewski for their Polish-Milwaukee expertise and letting me steal their last name for Roza. A huge thank-you to Caitlin Croegaert for helping me with the stroke and speech portions of the book. Any errors are my own.
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