"If I knew what was wrong with my car, don't you think I would have fixed it by now?" I ask through gritted teeth.
"Not unless you developed mechanical skills while you were away from home," he says. "What's wrong with it?"
I sigh. I'm not getting out of this conversation. Unless I want to get out of the car into the rain, open his door, and yank him out into the street, all assuming he doesn't just lock me out, I'm stuck in this very tight, very close space with him until he decides to get out.
"It had trouble starting," I say. "Then it made a bunch of noise, started lurching around, and now it's dead."
The tears are starting to sting in my eyes again, and I try to hold them back. The last thing I need right now is the humiliation of bursting into a fresh wave of hysterics with Grant sitting here.
"How long have you had this thing?" he asks.
I slide my eyes over to glare at him.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.
"I just want to know how old the car is.”
"Look, some of us can't dig around for our pocket change and use it to buy a new car off the lot every six months. There are those of us who don't have the option to constantly upgrade so we never have to face the inconvenience of a car that has more than a thousand miles on it suddenly breaking down."
"Get in my car. I'll bring you over to the island, and you can have Leon down at the garage bring his wrecker over and tow your car back."
"I don't need your help," I say coldly.
"Really?" Grant asks. I look over at him, and he looks around the car sarcastically. "Is there someone else around here willing to get you out of this? Because right now I think you have three options. Either you can keep sitting here having a temper-tantrum like a fucking toddler, you can take a nice soggy walk down to the dock and ride in the rain over to the island, or you can stop acting like this and let me bring you over."
"I have luggage," I say.
I'm not sure why. I don't know what I think that's going to accomplish, but it's the only thing I could think of to say in the moment.
"There is a backseat in my car," he says.
The words hit me in a way I know he doesn't intend them, and a way no grown adult woman should take them, and I busy myself dragging my bags forward into my lap, so I don't have to look at him. He's right. There isn't anyone else out here to help me, and I'm apparently not responsible enough to manage communication technology.
The rain has lessened just slightly when we climb out of my car, but we’re both completely soaked by the time we get my bags into his backseat, and get into the front. I quickly fold down the sun visor to take a glance at my face, and snap it closed just as fast. It's worse than I thought. The ride to the dock is tense and awkward. A pull inside me wants me to get closer to him, but every time I feel it, I move further away. Soon I find myself crushed up against the door, and hoping his car takes my mother's advice about locking so I don't tumble out onto the road.
It shouldn't be like this. There's no reason I should still feel like way about Grant. But I can't help the hurt and anger that still fill me every time I even think about him, much less look to my side and see him sitting there. He's fucking gorgeous. He doesn't even have the decency to not age well, or to look like life has been hard on him. He looks better than I could have ever imagined, his body filled out and powerful, his face angular and strong, and even though there is tension in his voice, it's the type of tension that comes from working hard for something that matters.
And I have a soaked tank top clinging to a body that has never made friends with a treadmill, makeup melting off of me like I'm in a knock-off film noir, and I'm limping home to lick my wounds after what I thought was going to be my perfect life imploded, and I wasn't able to drag myself out of it. Thank you, Phyllis, for pointing that out.
The ferry moves impossibly slow across the bay, and the rain stops either of us from getting out, but finally we get to the other side. Grant drives off the dock, and I'm back. There's no fanfare. There's no clap of thunder or dramatic moment of clarity. I just kind of slide back into being a part of Magnolia Falls. Somehow, that makes me feel worse.
Grant pulls up in front of Leon's Garage, and I take advantage of the green metal roof over the space directly in front of the door to climb out and fill my lungs with the smell of the rain and the bay. The garage is positioned perfectly to give a sweeping view of the water, and I watch as the drops send ripples across the surface. Carson's boat glides by slowly in the distance. It was all here waiting for me.
"Hey, there, Grant."
I hear Leon's voice, and I turn around to see the lumbering hulk of a man step out of the garage. He's rubbing his hands with a red shop rag the way he always does. I'm not sure what he thinks he's accomplishing by doing that, considering it looks like the same rag he's had since he took over the garage from his daddy when I was in high school, and there's more grease on it than in some of the cars that roll through here. Which, admittedly, isn't many. Most of Leon's business comes from boats and small machinery, but he's the only garage in town, so when there is the occasional vehicle-related catastrophe, he's the man to call. And now's his time to shine.
"Hi, Leon," Grant says, and I turn to watch the men shake hands almost aggressively.
"I didn't know you were back," Leon says.
"Just got in yesterday," Grant says.
"It's been a while. You going to be staying around for a bit?"
"Not this time. I'll probably be here a few days, then I've got to get back to the office."
"What brings you here?"
I rush around the front of Grant's sleek black car, and take a step in between them.
"Actually, it's what brings me here," I say.
Leon looks at me for a few seconds, not seeming to register who I am. Then his eyes widen.
"Emma?" he asks. "Emma Barlow?"
I nod.
"Yes. Hi, Leon. I actually –"
"I can't believe it's you. We haven't seen your face around here in Lord knows how long."
"I know. It's been a while. I was just –"
"You know, there were people who kept saying she's gone. She's run off, and she's not coming back." He shakes his head. "Not me. I always said, no. Not Emma. Emma's a Magnolia girl. She always will be. She'll be back. Just let her get all that out of her system, and she'll come on back here. And here you are. Just like I said." He hesitates for half a second. "I'm sorry to hear about your divorce, by the way."
I glare at him, my jaw twitching.
"Thank you, Leon," I say, forcing my voice to stay as even as I can.
"Leon, Emma's car is having some trouble. It's by the side of the road up a few miles from the dock. Could you send your wrecker out there to get it?"
"I can handle this myself," I say to Grant.
He looks between Leon and me, then gestures for me to go ahead.
"By all means," he says.
I turn to Leon and realize I have literally nothing to say to him. Grant just told him everything.
"It's the green one," I finally say.
Leon gives a single nod.
"Alright. Thank you."
"I'm going to give Emma a ride home," Grant tells Leon. "When you get the car...the green one...back here, just give it a look-over and see if you can figure out what's going on with it."
I step toward Leon as he starts for his wrecker.
"I don't need you to do that," I say.
That car is a relic, and it has been pieced back together with hope, spit, and duct tape more times than I can even count. Even if he can find something salvageable about it, I can't imagine how expensive it would be to fix. I can't afford to start my fresh life with a major car repair bill. I'm already going to be living with my mother for the foreseeable future. I might as well use Daddy's car, too.
"You don't?" Leon asks.
I shake my head.
"If you could just bring it to my mother's house," I say. "I'd appreciate it."
"No," Grant says. "Bring it here and see if you can find what's wrong with it."
I glare at him, then look back at Leon.
"My mother's house, please, Leon."
"She needs to know what's wrong with it. Bring it back here."
Leon holds up both hands like he's surrendering to the argument.
"Why don't I just split the difference, and drop it off in the middle of town?"
I tilt my head back enough that I can look directly into his eyes.
"Leon, it's my car. Please bring it to my mother's house. Drop it off in the back. Thank you."
I turn on my heel before he can protest, and get back into Grant's car. A few seconds later, Grant climbs in beside me
"You need to find out what's wrong with your car," he says.
"I don't need you to tell me what I need, thank you," I say. "Besides, I don't need a car while I'm here. You must have forgotten what it's like to live on the island."
"From the sounds of things," he says, cranking the engine over and pulling away from the garage, "I'm not the one who's been avoiding the island."
His words are still hanging over my head when we slide up in front of my childhood home a few minutes later. My mother's face is pressed like a window cling to the glass of the storm door, but she quickly closes the front door when she sees me looking at her.
"Subtle," I mutter.
"Can I help you with your bags, or are you going to fight me about that, too? Because I'm kind of on a tight schedule here, and I don't really have time to get into another argument with you, so if you're going to resist, I'm just going to go ahead and let you go."
I shoot him a nasty look and get out of the car. When I knew I was going to be moving back to Magnolia Falls, I purged my life of nearly all of my Earthly possessions. Now, all my belongings, save for a few scattered pieces of furniture in a storage unit near the house I once shared with Wyatt, fit into the assortment of bags and suitcases stuffed into the backseat of Grant's car. It's pretty pathetic when you consider it as everything I own, but it's still more than I can haul into the house by myself. I grab onto as many as I possibly can, and start carrying them up to the front porch. I decide to bring them all up to the house assembly line style, leaving each load I carry up in a heap on the porch rather than bringing them all the way inside. The small overhang will keep them dry while I go back to the car for more.
Grant passes me with a few bags in his arms as I head back for my second load, and I decide not to argue with him. I don't enjoy the idea of asking him for help, but I've had my fill of standing out in the rain, and I'm not going to be stupid enough to ask the man to put my luggage down on the wet sidewalk and sit in his nice cushy car while I transfer my entire life back into the house where I grew up. It only takes me one more trip to have everything piled on the porch, and when Grant keeps one bag in his hand and reaches for the doorknob with the other.
"I'll take it from here. Thanks."
He takes a step back, but doesn't turn away yet. I remember the last time we stood in this exact position. His eyes meet mine, and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing. I wonder if he can still feel the intense pull between us, or see my heart crush in front of him when he wished me luck at school, and walked out of my life. I shouldn't have broken the commitment to myself that day. I should have eaten my ice cream, and gone home.
Grant nods, but I can't discern the emotion in his expression. He walks backwards for a few steps, then turns to head to his car. Right before he gets there, he turns back to look at me.
"Welcome back to Magnolia Falls, Emma."
I don't respond, but open the front door just enough to slip backwards into the house, dragging one bag with me. I close the door and turn to press my back to it, drawing in a breath to calm my shaking. When I feel confident Grant has had enough time to drive away, I open the door again and start the process of pulling everything from the porch into the living room. Eventually it will all migrate into my bedroom, but for now, I'll just consider it being inside the house as a victory.
Finally, I get the last bag into the house and lock the door. The sound of the lock clicking into place is so final. I can hear my mother in the kitchen in the back of the house, and I follow the sound. She's standing at the stove, both hands moving frantically as she stirs pots. Her career has shifted since Carina and I both left the house, and her own health has made it so she can't keep up with the needs of her patients anymore. Now she works out of the house just a few hours each week, spends a few more hours in a boutique in the village, and the rest of the time she bustles around the house by herself, tucking away money from Daddy's pension for the rainy day I know she will never admit has already long-since come and gone.
Not working every minute has given her much more time on her hands, and she doesn't seem to know what to do with it. Carina remarried a few years ago, and her new husband whisked her and her daughter away to Savannah. It won't last. Carina belongs, and will always belong, in Magnolia Falls. It's just a matter of time before she either drags her husband back here to live on the island, or his resistance will wear her down until she snaps, and she'll scoop up my curly-haired niece and come back home. Until that happens, though, Mom doesn't even have a grandchild around to keep her occupied. This means she has to fill her time, and keep her hands busy, with something. This explains the abundance of crocheted blankets throughout the house, three currently residing in the bags sitting in the living room, and nearly non-stop cooking.
"Smells good," I say as I step in the room and breathe in the smell of warm peppered gravy on the stove, and fresh biscuits still in the oven.
"Emma!" she gushes, putting her spoons to the side, and turning to me.
She wipes her hands on her apron, and gathers me up in a tight hug. It feels like exactly what I need. I might not be exactly where I wanted to be in life at this age, but her hug still gives me the same comfort it did when I was a little girl and fell off my bike. I just wish it was going to be as easy as wiping off a skinned knee to make me feel whole again this time.
"Hi, Mom," I say into her shoulder.
"It's so good to have you home."
I step back from the hug nodding, and she goes back to the stove to save her creations from burning. She glances back over her shoulder at me.
"Have you heard Grant Laurence is back in town?"
Warm and fuzzy moment over.
"I saw you watching me from the storm door, Mom," I say with a sigh.
"Why were you with him?" she asks, not even bothering to sound sheepish now that she knows the jig is up.
"It's not what you think," I say. I actually don't know what she might think. We haven't talked about Grant in years. "I just had some car trouble coming toward the dock, and he happened to come by and find me."
"Car trouble?" she asks, sounding concerned. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. It's just an old car, and I think it finally had its fill of existence. Leon should be bringing it up here pretty soon."
"Did he tell you why he was back?" Mom asks, back to curiosity now that she's reassured I'm safe.
"Leon?" I ask with mock innocence.
"You know I'm not talking about Leon," she says.
"No," I tell her. "And I didn't ask. Besides, it's not like he's back back. He's only going to be around for a few days."
She looks at me with a glint in her eye, and I ignore it by reaching into the cabinet to get a mug and filling it with coffee.
"Oh, really?" she asks.
"Yes. He told Leon," I say.
"Well, you know he bought…"
She stops abruptly, and focuses intently on the skillet of gravy in front of her.
"He bought what?" I ask.
She looks up at me.
"Hmm?"
Not happening.
"You said 'he bought'. What were you talking about? He bought what?"
"A business," she says quickly. "After he finished graduate school."
"He boug
ht a business?"
"A company. He started a company."
I stare at her for a few seconds, waiting to make sense of what she's saying, but it seems she's sticking with it, so I nod and take a sip of my coffee.
"Good for him."
I sit in one of the chairs at the small kitchen table and rest my elbows to its black and white speckled surface.
"Don't look so worried, honey," Mom says, coming up behind me and giving me another hug around my shoulders. "Things are going to be great. You'll see."
"I know. I'm just getting used to the idea of being back."
As I watch her pick up her old pink rose-covered oven mitt, and reach into the oven for the tray of biscuits, I decide I'm just going to ignore that I saw Grant Laurence at all. He's going to leave again soon, and I won't have to deal with it. Instead, I'll just focus on settling in, and finding out where life is going to take me. Mom slides a plate of biscuits smothered in thick gravy onto the table in front of me, and hands me a fork.
"I know it's not exactly your dream for yourself," she says as she sits on the chair beside me. "But keep an open mind about coming back. It doesn't have to be forever. It doesn't even have to be for long. But it might be. Either way, there's never anything wrong with coming home."
Chapter Five
Grant
My heart is still pounding as I drive away from the house, and I hope Emma isn't standing at the window watching me drive away. The last thing I need is for her to see me turn the corner on to the next street over rather than head out of the neighborhood the way I'd come. I don't need her to know the house I bought is one street away from her mother's home, the home where she will apparently be staying for a while. I can't believe how beautiful she is. Even through the smeared makeup and rain-soaked hair, I could see it. She's always been pretty, but growing up from an eighteen-year-old just on the brink of adulthood to a full-fledged woman has done incredible things for her. Some of the softness is gone from her face, leaving the hint of cheekbones, and a smooth jaw that sweeps down into her graceful neck. Her hair looks longer now, though from where it was tied up in a ponytail, it was hard to tell. Seeing her again brought back the same tightness in my belly and burn in my chest that I felt the day I walked away from her.
Marriage Mistake Page 9