A New Hope

  “It’ll hold,” Iris said, tenderly placing the dress in the large hang-up bag.

  The week started out crazy and definitely didn’t ease up, but Ginger was so happy to have something new to talk to Matt about that she didn’t care. She explained all the excitement and complications of the week, how every hand was needed to make this happen quickly so Troy’s family could meet Grace’s family before health issues got in the way or, God forbid, Grace was as ripe as a melon!

  “You’re on speaker,” she told Matt. “No one’s here at the moment, but you’re on speaker because I’m sewing seed pearls around the neckline of this dress. The dress lives with Gwen during the day and then after dinner I bring it home so I can look it over, fit it to Grace and do a little handwork at night.”

  “You must be exhausted,” he said.

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. I just want this wedding to be wonderful for Grace. And if you could have seen my hand tremble as I was about to take the scissors to this one-of-a-kind gown... I tried not to let it show I was scared to death. But it’s going to be beautiful.”

  “You’re full of surprises.”

  “Tell me everything you did this week,” she said. “While I go blind on these itty-bitty pearls, tell me everything.”

  “I don’t want you to fall asleep while you’re supposed to be sewing.”

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “It’s June, the farm is stable. We aerate, irrigate, spray for bugs here and there. George has turned out the lambs, Paco is watching for potato worms and other pests. We make our own compost and it’s a double-edged sword—we don’t run the risk of transplanting pests from commercial products but sometimes we create a haven for our own pests because we stay away from the chemicals that will kill them. Our potatoes are well-known for being big, healthy and tasty. During summer, we mind the pears and potatoes, we have a small cherry orchard, some apple trees. We’re watching the crops. George has needed a hand with the lambs—a little docking and castrating.”

  “Um, docking?”

  “Cropping their tails. If they’re left long, they get messy back there, if you get my drift.”

  “Poopy is the drift, I take it.”

  He laughed heartily at that. “You don’t want poop on your sweater.”

  “Why do you castrate them? Where do you plan to get more babies?”

  “George has a couple of very happy rams.”

  “They take care of the whole flock?” she asked, stopping her sewing for a second. She had seen the flock. It seemed there were hundreds of them.

  “They’re very happy,” he clarified. “The lambs of these rams grow bigger and faster. George has a very successful business, his sheep are high quality and healthy. I’ll spend a couple of days this week helping him vaccinate, too.”

  “Wow. I wish I could watch all these things. Maybe not the castrating part. I think farming sounds fun.”

  “I think it’s fun. No offense, I have no interest in watching you sew seed pearls onto a wedding dress.”

  “No offense taken. Watching sewing is like watching paint dry.”

  “When is this wedding, exactly?” he asked.

  “Saturday at four. I just want her to be beautiful and happy, then my work is done.”

  “It’s a nice time at the farm. We just watch the weather, which has been predictable, and do our chores, which are manageable. When can you come back up here? I can think of things to show you. It’s only peak of summer and dead of winter I’m not running around like a maniac getting things done. I can show you the plans for the house.”

  “You already have plans?” she asked.

  “Not official. I have a rendering. I’m trying to keep it from being just another farmhouse.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Glass. Views. Modern kitchen and bathrooms. Sliding cupboard shelves...”

  She laughed.

  “There’s no reason it can’t be a beautiful house just because it’s on a farm, right?”

  “Tell me about it,” she said.

  Almost an hour later, after having made suggestions to the construction of Matt’s beautiful house, she was ready to put the wedding dress away, get in her pajamas, get an ice water for her bedside table.

  This had become a nightly event, talking each other almost to sleep, filling each other in on everything from their deep emotional issues to the mundane events of seed pearls and sheep docking.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her. “Surrounded by wedding plans and pregnant women?”

  “I am,” she said. “As Ray Anne says, we’re stuck with life so we have to live it. I’ve been okay since I came to Thunder Point.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “I better go then. Pears, potatoes and sheep get up early.”

  She snuggled down into bed and wondered if this habit, the phone calls that reached into the night, was a rite of passage. She needed to get back to having girlfriends to share some of this information with. Since she married Mick, they had drifted away or she had drifted away from them. She’d ask Grace. Maybe Iris.

  In eighth grade she had a boyfriend named Bruce and she remembered talking to him for what seemed like hours. Sometimes they just found recorded songs to play to each other because they had nothing more to say. Sometimes they just listened to each other breathe. They weren’t nearly as exciting face-to-face.

  Matt was so protective. Are you okay? Surrounded by wedding plans and pregnant women? What a darling.

  Her cell chimed and she smiled. She clicked on. “Forget something?” she asked.

  “Yeah. I forgot to tell you how awesome it was that you came to my gig.”

  Mick! Holy crap!

  “You looked so awesome. More beautiful than ever. It made me remember how much you inspire me. I’m never better than when you’re in the house. Oh, babe.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I’m going to be in the area for a few weeks and I thought we should get together. You can come to a couple of shows. We have a lot of history, good history. Might be time to have another look at that. It’s good for me so it’s gotta be good for you. Right?”

  She started to laugh. She couldn’t help it—it was so Mick. If it was good for him it must be good for everyone else. Right?

  “I was there to meet a guy. We didn’t know you were the show or we would’ve picked another bar.”

  “What? A guy? Since when?”

  “Since a very long time ago. I don’t live in Portland anymore. And the last thing I’m ever going to do is get together with you to talk about our history. Lose my number!”

  “What? Where do you live?” he asked.

  “Houston!” she yelled, hitting the end icon. She turned the phone to vibrate and turned off the light.

  It vibrated at once. A text was coming in. Why hadn’t she changed her number? Because she hadn’t needed to! Mick never called.

  Baby, what’s wrong? Wasn’t that the right song for you? For us? I thought it was just right! I thought about At This Moment. What’s wrong?

  She couldn’t resist. She knew it was futile, that he’d never get it, that he was a self-absorbed cretin, but she just couldn’t resist.

  What’s wrong? Gosh, let’s see. You divorced me when I was pregnant with your child, you brought me flowers at the hospital and I didn’t hear from you again until you sent a card a month after his funeral! And it wasn’t even in your own handwriting! What could possibly be wrong, you stupid, arrogant asshole!

  Hey, I paid tribute to him in the next four concerts! I played Tears In Heaven!

  I must have had a mental break, she thought. Brain damage, that’s what it was. How in the world did I ever think this idiot was a real man?

  Go away. Never contact me again. My boyfriend will kill you. Then my brothers will chop you into little pieces.

  Whoa, baby, you got some hostility.

  It was hard to sleep after a phone call like that. Then when Ginger did finally nod off, she was restl
ess with anxiety dreams, the one that finally shook her awake being the worst. It was so vivid, so colorful. And shamefully real. Their house and the freestanding garage where Mick liked to jam with his friends were both full of people, spilling out into the yard. A lot of people gathered around to listen to him play, sing, talk about the business, gossip about artists he knew. Yeah, that’s when I met The Boss...he really liked a few of my songs...wouldn’t be surprised if he wanted to buy a few.

  It was getting a little loud. Mick was playing some rock, the speakers making the walls shake. She was getting nervous. They were supposed to keep the weed outside and the noise down. They were going to wake the baby! And the windows were open! These fumes—could hurt the baby! The noise wasn’t good for him! She went to Mick and appealed to him to clear the place out if he couldn’t manage them, the people who gathered around. But he didn’t acknowledge her. Her ears were ringing and she decided it would be best if she gathered up the baby and went to her mother’s house, but she couldn’t find the baby. She should call the police or run to the house next door—but the neighbors were also in her yard, enjoying the music.

  She was trying to get to her car but her legs wouldn’t carry her and her car wasn’t where it was supposed to be and she had no baby. She wanted to call for help but she just cried like a little fool. Mick was telling her to settle down, she wanted this. This is what you signed on for, he reminded her, frowning at her, going back to his guitar and singing. Then he was kissing someone, some woman she’d never seen before.

  Her stomach was in a knot and she was gasping for breath. Her head hurt. In the way dreams can be wild, she was pregnant, then she was searching for the baby and couldn’t find him.

  Her eyes flew open. She was trying to catch her breath, as if she’d been running. Her heart was pounding relentlessly and it took her a second to realize it was all a dream.

  Instinctively, she rolled over, looked at her phone, saw Matt’s number and hit the redial. His groggy voice answered instantly. “What?” he said. “What’s the matter!”

  “Oh, God,” she said, suddenly aware she was calling him in the middle of the night. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s nothing.”

  “It’s something,” he said. “What is it?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, willing herself to be calmer. She tried to slow her breathing. “I had a bad dream. I just reached for the phone. And woke you. Jeez—they’re going to lock me up. I’m crackers.” She ran a hand through her hair. “My God, I’m just plain nuts.”

  “It’s okay,” he said more calmly. “It’s okay. Just tell me what’s wrong and we’ll talk it through.”

  She looked at the clock. “Never mind. You have to wake up in two hours and I’m fine.”

  “I can sleep in. Till, like, four thirty.”

  She laughed in spite of herself, wiping her cheeks. “I bet you wish anyone but me had knocked you out at your sister’s wedding.”

  “That is a privilege I would grant only you,” he said. “What did you dream? Was it about the baby?”

  “Yes and no. It was about my early years with Mick, back when we moved in together. Our house was a party house. It was my house. I rented it. When he was around, every night was spent rehearsing. There were always people around—sometimes a few, sometimes a crowd—groupies, musicians, you know. Music, noise, smoke, drugs. I wasn’t into drugs, by the way. I tried some pot once, drank a little too much a few times, years before starting a family, but...”

  “I was in a fraternity,” he said. “You don’t have to explain.”

  “Sounds like a never-ending college party, right? I thought it would change when we got married, but it didn’t. Why did I think it would change? He never said it would. In my dream, I was concerned about the baby, about the noise and the smoke and the baby and he was telling me to chill. And then I couldn’t find the baby,” she finished in a weak whisper.

  “Matt, I never had the baby in that house with the parties. I left when I was barely pregnant. I told Mick I was going to stay with my parents until he could wrap his head around the fact that we were having a family and the lifestyle wasn’t healthy. I couldn’t be around all that second-hand smoke and I needed to sleep! That’s when he told me it wouldn’t work for him. He was sorry I didn’t get it, but that whole family and baby thing just wasn’t for him.”

  He was quiet for a second. “The stress,” he said. “I think all the stress is getting to you, Ginger. The wedding, the dress, the pregnant girlfriends...”

  “No, no, that’s not it. He called me. Right after we hung up, Mick called.”

  “What did he want?” Matt asked, sounding more alert now.

  She laughed a little. “He thought it was so great that I came to hear him sing. He thought we should get together. To talk about our good history.”

  “And you said...?”

  “I called him an arrogant asshole and hung up on him, then he texted me and said I had some hostility.”

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “You know, I’ve made some incredible blunders, but that defies imagination.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? He used to bring his guitar to holiday dinners with my parents and brothers and serenade them. He didn’t notice that they rolled their eyes and wandered away.”

  “Always a show, eh?” Matt asked.

  “How did I not know how ridiculous he was?”

  Matt laughed. “My ex used to tiptoe through the goat shit in her spike heels when she’d come to a family dinner with me. High heels, tight, short skirt, nails like red talons. Everyone in the family looked at her like she was a clown, dressed for the circus, but I didn’t even notice how inappropriate she was. Well, not for a year or so...”

  “What do you suppose happens to us?”

  “I don’t know what happened to you but I was pumping about a thousand pounds of fresh testosterone,” he said. “I figured it out, just not quick enough.”

  “Is that why you divorced? Because you finally figured it out?”

  He thought for a second. “No, Ginger. Because she wasn’t just fancy and self-absorbed on the outside. I’d have been happy to carry her through the muck and offal of the farm. But then I found out she was like that on the inside.”

  “I never would have guessed how much we have in common.”

  “You have no idea. Now put your little head down. See if you can get some sleep...”

  “I’ll say good-night,” she said.

  “You don’t have to say good-night. Leave the line open. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  “We can’t do that,” she said. “Our phones will run out of juice and then we won’t be able to call anyone.”

  “You think you’ll be okay?”

  “I’m fine. Kind of embarrassed. That was impulsive. I’m not usually that impetuous, calling a man I hardly know in the middle of the night.”

  “Hardly know? I can’t think of a woman I know better,” he said. “We know each other very well. If we sign off will you promise if you need to talk, you’ll just call back? No matter what time it is?”

  “Sure,” she said. “But I’ll try not to.”

  “Sometimes talking helps,” he said. “God, never tell anyone in my family I said that, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said with a laugh.

  * * *

  Matt held the phone against his chest. Look out, he told himself. Danger, danger. He wanted to be there with her. If he was there, she could roll over, and he’d comfort her. He wanted to get his arms around her, hold her, whisper to her that what she was feeling seemed reasonable. And that she was no longer alone. He’d take that job in a heartbeat.

  Nine

  The fatigue of ALS might’ve slowed Winnie down but it didn’t keep her from staging her own wedding festivities. She rested in the morning after breakfast and a bath, generously tended to by her new full-time nurse, Lin Su. Then she was good for a little company and lunch and with an afternoon rest, she had at least a few hours o
f socializing and dinner. Winnie’s schedule of meals and rests had to be carefully monitored and protected to ensure she wasn’t weak or fatigued because she had planned activities!

  “As if I’m surprised,” Grace said.

  Grace had every reason to expect the Headly family to be wonderful. After all, Troy was. What she wasn’t prepared for was to find them more wonderful than she could have imagined. Troy’s mother, Donna, was thoughtful, funny and clearly a strong head of the family. Burt Headly was a big, good-natured cuddle-bear, always smiling, always hugging, perpetually laughing, grandchildren climbing on him all the time. When Troy and twenty-one-year-old Sam stood beside their father, the resemblance in looks and temperament was so obvious people would put them in the same family without knowing them. Troy’s sister, Jess, was very like her mother in both looks and that quiet authority. Her husband, Rick, the firefighter from Morro Bay, fit into the family perfectly—strong, good-natured, patient. And the three children, ages two, four and six, had piles of energy but Troy, Rick and Burt ran them up and down the beach until they were sandy, gamey and worn-out. When they came to what was Winnie’s house, the Headly adults kept a hand on each child, careful that they wouldn’t mess up the place or tire Winnie.

  Donna and Jess were the most interested in Grace’s skating career. “I would give anything to see you skate,” Jess said.

  “And I’d be happy to do that for you, but Troy might have a fit,” she said, smoothing a hand over her tummy. “It’s not as though I’d take a hard fall and hurt the baby, but he’s gotten very protective.”

  “I have the matter taken care of,” Winnie said. “I had my assistant from San Francisco send us the DVDs.”

  “Mother, you didn’t,” Grace said. “We can’t ask the whole family to watch home movies!”

  “But we’d love to,” Donna said. “And after the baby comes, once you’re on your feet and have had a chance to practice a little, we want the real thing.”

  “The girls are going to be so excited!” Jess said.

  After a family dinner that Donna and Grace joined forces to cook, the women and kids sat around the great room with the DVDs playing on the big flat-screen, exclaiming over each jump, spiral, arabesque, axel and double axel. After just a few minutes, the men were on the deck with drinks, except for Mikhail, who was giving commentary on the skating. Pretty soon the little girls and Jess’s four-year-old son were twirling around the living room, making them all laugh.