by Marcelo, Tif
Brandon shook his head. “No, he won’t mind. And anyway, I won’t tell.”
Garrett leaned in and slung him into a hug. “Thanks, man. We’re okay, right? I know I messed up, twice now. But you and I are partners for the long haul. I was just, I don’t know—”
“You were trying to do what’s best, and you’re right. We have business to tend to. You and I are copacetic. I love you, man.” He leaned in for a hug. “I’m just . . . trying to make sure this isn’t a repeat.”
“Whatever that means, I’m here.”
“I know.” Brandon, again, was on the verge of another round of tears. He didn’t have time for that right now. He had plans to make.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Day 21
Gatlinburg, Tennessee
Weather: clear, 88°F
“So, do you love it?” On Geneva’s computer screen, Rhiannon panned across the living room of Sinta. All four walls were painted white, with framed black-and-white pictures of Outer Banks foliage on the walls. The windows had been kept bare, but the love seat overflowed with fluffy, welcoming pillows.
“I love it.” Geneva’s answer encompassed only a smidge of what she really felt. Her heart was too big for her chest, so proud of this young woman, and so enamored by her work. “You’re really a talent.”
“And the best part? Look at this.” Rhiannon directed the phone through those bare front windows to where the sun was setting.
“Wow.” Geneva smiled at that, and at the memory that followed it. Of Brandon helping her kayak out of the sand. Of the two of them running toward the little blue house. Of waltzing. All memorialized on a website she had yet to be brave enough to log on to.
At least, this time, she hadn’t hurt quite as much. It was helped by her parents, who cooked her favorite foods, who’d allowed her to open up in her own way. It was also helped by Rhiannon and Sal and Beatrice, who checked in with her often. Finally, she was supported by Nita, who’d waved her magic wand and gotten Geneva to Chicago for her Foster’s Group interview, which she’d realized was not for her and ultimately declined.
“Well, I have to go,” Rhiannon said. “I’ve got homework. Talk to you later!”
She laughed. “Sounds good. See you soon!”
After Geneva hung up, she met her parents at the kitchen island. Her dad was sitting on a barstool, flipping through a magazine. Her mother stirred a pot at the stove, her back toward her. Luna was on her own stool—if she was spoiled by Geneva, Lisa was extra accommodating. The mouthwatering smell of sautéing tomatoes and garlic wafted in the air, and the quiet sadness that she had been keeping inside of her lifted a smidge.
Lisa’s hair was a mix of ash brown and silver, a clever combination of high- and lowlights and gray coverage. Her apron was tied into a neat bow.
She picked up the bowl she had preset next to the stove and scooped rice from the rice cooker and then a ladleful from the pot.
When she turned, her face lit. “Hungry?”
“I could smell the food all the way from the bedroom,” Geneva said.
Her father grinned. “Your mother’s cooking is a lover’s call.”
Lisa playfully slapped her husband’s shoulder. “Pilyo. Your daughter is right here.”
Geneva coughed.
“Oh, darling. Here’s some water.” She poured water from a Brita into a glass and set it in front of her.
Geneva’s cheeks burned as she gulped the refreshing water. If only her parents knew that it wasn’t their show of flirtation that made her choke up; it was because she’d used that term on Brandon too.
Lisa handed her three sets of utensils to set and placed three bowls of food on the plastic place mats at the kitchen island. Then she popped on a stool next to Geneva.
Geneva’s tummy growled. Pork mechado, Geneva’s favorite dish, over hot white rice that was sure to burn her tongue—the best kind of rice.
Her parents bowed their heads in quiet prayer, though Lisa didn’t prompt Geneva as she used to when she’d lived at home; however, Geneva picked up her utensils only when her parents did, out of respect.
“I love meals with our whole family,” her mother said, echoing her thoughts.
“I know. It’s especially nice when someone else makes the food,” Geneva admitted.
“Sometimes I make so much that I have to give the leftovers to the neighbors.”
“They don’t mind, believe me. They love your food.” Her father’s speech was delayed due to aphasia from his stroke, but his eyes were alight.
Geneva took a bite. Yep, her tongue burned, but she suffered through it.
“Breathe, baby.” Lisa laughed.
“It’s so good.” She topped it with a gulp of water, and it bought her some time. These dinners had been vehicles for sharing stories, but she hadn’t yet properly explained why she was home. While they never forced the conversation, it still hung over her. With only a day left before leaving for Helena’s B and B project, she said, “I’m sorry that I haven’t been home.”
“Mm.” Lisa put a hand on her wrist. “Iha, I’m just happy you’re here. No need to explain. No need for sorrys. My only hope is that it won’t be too long till your next visit.”
Geneva shook her head. “You’re letting me off the hook way too easily. I was . . . running away. My priorities—somehow I got them screwed up, and I used my ambition to cover up that I was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Sitting still. Not accomplishing.”
“You’re the most accomplished person I know,” her dad said. “Even if you didn’t accomplish one more thing, you are enough. You have always been enough.”
Geneva’s eyes watered. She thought of how she’d felt as she’d launched from college, with the pride of her parents behind her, and with the Traveler’s notebook in her luggage. She’d wanted to show them what she could do, that she could check those boxes.
The truth was, the pressure had always been inside her, and it had been up to her how she would manage it. “Thanks, Dad.”
“We missed you a lot, anak,” her mother said. “But now that you’re here, the missing is gone.” She took a bite of food, a cue for Geneva to take another bite. Which was a good thing because she was half a second from full-on tears.
“I won’t wait too long this time, I promise.”
She nodded. “And iha?”
“Yes, Ma?”
Her mother’s gaze darted between her and her father.
Something was amiss. “What is it?”
“How long have you been here now?”
“I dunno. Five, six days? I had that day trip to Chicago, but yeah . . .”
“Actually it’s eleven days and twelve hours.”
Geneva’s spoon was halfway to her mouth. “Okay.”
“That’s long enough, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . don’t you have work? Besides that one trip?”
“I do. But I don’t have to be at my next job for another couple of days.”
“But after that job? How about your home?”
“I . . .” Geneva shook her head. “You . . . you always said that home was where you and Daddy were.”
Her father cleared his throat. “What your mother meant . . . well, we have been empty nesters for a while now. You have made a life, and at some point you have to return to it. Your life, and your home. We know you love us, but we also know you love being out there. And it’s okay.”
“Anak,” her mother said. “Your home doesn’t have to be for forever, but it should be associated with something solid and true to who you are. When I immigrated and we moved everywhere, your daddy and I always looked for that special something in a place that said, This is where I belong. This is where my heart is. For a long time it was Annapolis. Now it’s here. Now you have to find yours.”
“But in settling down, I might not get to accomplish everything I want to do,” Geneva said.
“Darling,
why does it have to be either or?”
“Because time runs out.” Geneva halted; she’d run upon her unspoken truth, something she had felt to her core. Something that made her exactly what she was.
Understanding flitted across both of her parents’ faces. Lisa put down her spoon and turned toward her, fully. “Don’t be afraid of this, anak. Of being sick, of getting old. Of dying. We have been privileged to live this long, to watch you grow to be a wonderful woman. Your daddy meant it for the both of us when he said that even if you didn’t accomplish one more thing, that we’d love you still. I know now that you’re thinking of legacy, and it’s noble. But a legacy doesn’t need to be big. It simply means leaving a bit of yourself in some way with the world, with someone. It’s making an undeniable mark that is yours alone. But you see, you already have done that. With me, with your father. With your friends.”
Lisa had laid all Geneva’s fears out at this kitchen island. With that, the pressure-release valve jostled free, and tears sprang from Geneva’s eyes.
Luna made a sound, a meow mixed with a yowl, snatching all their attention. Geneva barked out a laugh. “Whoa.”
Lisa clucked. “You’re right, Luna. How can I forget? If there’s any being who is a testament of your ability to love, commit, and make a home, Neva, it would be Luna. You shouldn’t underestimate that, anak. Animals are much more discriminating than people, and this one loves you all the way through.” She turned to the cat and ran a hand down her back. “Right, baby?”
Luna whipped her tail in pride.
Are you ready to stay? And unpack your entire life from that duffel bag of yours?
Geneva wiped her tears. All this time, she’d thought herself someone who didn’t bond or connect. She had considered herself transient and condemned herself to be transient, to achieve her goals all on her own, to remain unattached. When actually she was deeply connected to people.
Her mother stood and went to her stationery drawer and brought back a letter. After handing it to Geneva, Lisa stood next to her husband and draped an arm around his shoulders.
“Who’s this from?”
“Who else?”
Geneva looked at the Nags Head postmark, then to the left, to the Heart Resort return address. Above it was Brandon’s name.
“Neva,” Lisa said. “We can tell you time and again that you are enough, but you need to know for yourself. A way to do this is to surround yourself with people who love you just the way you are.”
Geneva unfolded the piece of paper. The header: Proposal for Illinois Way.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Day 40
Outer Banks, North Carolina
Weather: clear skies, 72°F
Eden:
She’s on her way
Geneva:
Thank you, Eden
You’re a lifesaver for keeping it a secret
And for sneaking me the keys
Eden:
Are you kidding?
I love this so much
I love a good heist
Also the resolution is the best part of Act 3
Geneva:
Resolution?
Act 3 of what?
Eden:
Never mind!
Good luck!
Geneva tucked the phone in her messenger bag and paced Beachy’s foyer, and she wrung her hands. She peeked out the front door each time she passed it, anticipating Beatrice’s arrival. Her speech was prepared, practiced during her flight, her drive from the airport, and her gathering of all the materials to hopefully aid in this conversation.
Minutes passed but Beatrice had not yet arrived. Geneva opened the front door—where could she be? Geneva had an extensive plan; she’d elicited the help of Eden, a woman who had shown she could keep a secret, to iron out the details. She only had this one day to spare, after Helena’s B and B project, before she headed up north.
That future trip depended on this one.
“Geneva?”
Geneva spun around, to Beatrice, who emerged from Beachy’s back entrance. She covered her mouth with a hand.
“Argh, I didn’t think you would come from the back.”
“There was no parking out front,” Beatrice said, through the hand still covering her mouth. “What . . . what is this?”
“It’s your design consult.” Geneva bit the side of her cheek as a wave of nervousness washed over her. She turned to what Beatrice was looking at: windows with several different curtains hanging from their rods, six swatches of paint colors on the white walls, three samples of flooring on the ground, three paper samples for an accent wall. “I figured that we could start with these, narrow down or go a different direction if you wished. I scoured your Pinterest board and—”
Geneva was bowled over by Beatrice’s bear hug. She wrapped her arms around Geneva’s upper body and squeezed. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
She grunted against her friend’s tight hold. “I told you I’d design Beachy, didn’t I?”
Beatrice let go; she had tears in her eyes.
Geneva’s heart broke. Crying was not what she’d expected. “Oh no. You don’t like it. I shouldn’t have—”
“No! I love it. I love it all. It’s going to be so hard to pick. But . . . seriously, Gen. What does this mean?”
Geneva took Beatrice’s hand in hers. “I thought about Beachy, and you, a lot.”
“I thought about you too. Every day.”
Geneva couldn’t smile hard enough. “When I went to Helena’s B and B, I realized that life changed for me, tremendously. Personally, professionally. And I want more and different in my career. I want to build something with someone who I respect and look up to and who I consider my sister. I would be honored, if you were still willing, for me to come on board, to take Beachy to the next level.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Beatrice hugged her once more. “Absolutely. Yes.” Then her expression changed, as if she’d come upon a realization.
They both knew that Beatrice didn’t come solo, but with an entire family, including Brandon.
“There’s a second part of this, Bea.” Geneva took a breath, to brace herself. “I love Brandon, still, and he wrote—”
“I know, and you don’t have to say another word,” Beatrice interrupted with a smile. “Just go. Go get him, and the both of you come home.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Day 42
Annapolis, Maryland
Weather: sunny, 55°F
Brandon paced the front walkway of the Illinois Way flip. He glanced at his watch for the twelfth time in the last twenty minutes, and he peered out onto the circular driveway that led to the house.
No dice.
“Don’t worry, man,” Garrett bellowed from the second-floor window, or what would be the second-floor window. As of right then, there was no real second floor, because the flip had uncovered some structural issues they couldn’t ignore.
“What if she doesn’t come?” Brandon spun around and yelled up, “I mean, look at all this.” Lifting his arms, he gestured to the would-be house.
“This, you mean, the potential greatness of a vacation home?”
“No—this mess! Who wants a mess? I mean, I’m overwhelmed myself.”
“Are you serious right now?” Garrett disappeared from the window, and seconds later, he emerged from the doorway. “This is beautiful. This is a remaking. This is a renewal. There’s nothing more pure than that.”
Brandon lowered his face. “I can’t do this. She must have laughed at that proposal letter. What was I even thinking? She’s not coming. Maybe it’s too late.”
Strong hands landed on his shoulders, grounding him. “Bran. Hush.”
“You’re right. I need to take a breath.” He looked up at his friend, the epitome of optimism. Garrett had been his rock as he’d negotiated Mulberry Road’s sale, when he’d reached out to Geneva. He was smiling, and it rounded up the last of Brandon’s motivation. “And if she doesn’t come, I’m going to try
again. Maybe I can go to her, or will that be stalkerish?”
“No, it’s not about taking a breath. Just shh,” his friend said, then turned him around.
To Geneva.
For a beat, Brandon was stunned. Then he choked out a response. “How did you . . .” He glanced back; Garrett waved a goodbye.
“I walked up. I parked down the road.” She gestured down the driveway. “I couldn’t . . . I needed to get out some energy before we talked. Because I was shocked at getting your letter.” She shifted on her feet.
“How . . . how was your last job?” His mind was reeling, and by making this small talk, he could figure out if he was seeing an apparition.
“I decided to forgo the job at the hotel chain. It was too . . . I dunno . . . basic.” She shrugged. “After my last job at this awesome resort, everything pales in comparison. I went on to Helena’s B and B, finished that up; then I whipped on to my next project for a check-in, and now, well, I’m here.”
“Wow, that’s a lot,” was all he could say. He dug into his memory for his prepared speech—he’d been planning this moment for weeks—but she gently pressed a finger against his lips.
“Please,” she said, eyes glassy. “Me first, Bran. I know I left twice now, and you have every reason to think me flighty and unreliable, but I need to tell you something: You don’t have bad judgment. You are kind and forgiving and empathetic. What I had to figure out had less to do with whether or not we would work but more with what I wanted for myself. For me to be the person I aspire to be. So, I went home and spent some time with my parents, and you were right. It was better late than never, because they reminded me that the best thing about their lives was their relationships with good people.”
“That’s great, Geneva.” His voice croaked.
“I’d been so focused on making old new, fixing things to modernize them. Working at Heart Resort taught me that the imperfect can be beautiful, and cherished, and remembered. I want to be around people who feel this same way. I want to be around people who know me and love me for who I am, and I want to spend my life with people I love. With you. Bran, I want to unload this duffel. I might have spent years running toward opportunity, but leaving something—you—has been the worst. I don’t want to go anywhere else without you.”