“I see,” he said. “You think you’re funny.”
“I do,” she said, grinning. “Do you have luggage?”
He held out his duffel. “Only this. Two days, maybe three, that is all I have for you.”
“Not for me, Mikhail. You came for Winnie, remember?”
“Right,” he said. “Lead the way.”
Grace directed him to the parking area and opened the back of the van. It was custom painted in pink, yellow, purple, blue with lime-green lettering in script. Pretty Petals. “Your luggage, sir.”
“What is this?” he said, handing over the duffel.
“The flower mobile,” she said. “Jump in front. We have a long drive.”
He did as he was told “We’ll make one stop, golubushka. The grocer, please,” he said.
“You won’t need food,” she said, buckling in.
“Is just for some fruit, if you don’t mind so much. You drive this thing?”
“Remember Mamie and Ross Jenkins? Ross taught me to drive. I love driving! Love the control. Tell me, Mikhail, have you been well? You look exactly the same.”
“They call it preserved,” he said. “I have been six months traveling and now we train in Chicago. There are three assistants and twelve US contenders, from which the US will take a few to the finals, maybe not mine. There is time, but this will be my last Winter Games, if any of my girls are selected. From the look of it, I say there is no a chance in hell. But there is time. And sheet of gods, they need it!” He turned in his seat and looked at her. “Tell me how is Winifred?”
“I spent the day with her yesterday. The first day I’ve spent with her in five years. She looks very beautiful, but she’s thinner and has aged. I think it’s the stress of knowing she’s battling ALS and is losing. The tremors and weakness are obvious and she said this is just within the past few months. She has no idea how much time she has. She’s taking a drug to slow the progression but she’s cynical—she doesn’t see how it matters. She said, ‘What good is three more months?’ All she wants to do is clean house, so to speak. Settle her affairs. Get the end of her life in order, but this would mean in order to her satisfaction. It’s not as though she can control it from the grave.” She bit her lips against the threat of tears.
“If anyone can do that, is Winifred,” he grumbled. “I am afraid she has contract with God.”
That brought a laugh from Grace. Spurts of laughter through tears had become common the past few days. “We never communicated, Mikhail. She instructed, criticized, praised, but we never talked about our feelings. I talked with my therapist or Mamie. Now I understand that Winnie wasn’t ready to retire when I was. It destroyed her.”
“There is the thing with athletes and their mothers.” He peered at her. “The mother is not doing skating. She can’t make decisions like that. She is there for cheering, no more. It is not about Winifred. Unless she wants to take on the ice, then it is not about her. Is about you.”
“I wish I’d understood,” Grace said.
“You understood,” he said. “You knew. You did the right thing. Is time to have life for yourself.” He looked around the van. “In flower mobile.”
Grace pulled into a grocery store lot not far from the resort in Bandon. It occurred to her that since Mikhail wanted some fruit, she could pick up a couple of things for later. Troy would probably come over after his evening at Cooper’s. They walked into the grocery store and Grace went immediately to the deli and bakery while Mikhail presumably went to the produce section. When she went looking for him he was holding a bottle of vodka and looking a little lost.
“Have you found your fruit?” she asked.
“Where is raisins?”
“Raisins? Let’s see,” she said, walking down an aisle and around a central counter. “Ah. Raisins.”
He selected a big box of plump golden raisins. “Wow. You like your raisins,” she said.
“Fruit of the gods,” he told her.
“Would you like some apples? Oranges? Bananas?”
“Good to go,” he said, heading for the checkout.
“Are raisins your favorite snack?” she asked.
“Put raisins in the vodka, let sit overnight, perfect.”
“Ah,” she said, laughing at his pronunciation. “And then you eat the raisins?”
“Nyet! Drink the vodka!”
She was a little shocked, even though she had remembered that Mikhail liked his wodka, especially after the trials or competitions were done. She laughed softly. “Right,” she said.
* * *
Virginia let them into the cottage and then discreetly left the room. Winnie was standing beside the sofa. There was a tray of hors d’oeuvres on a small table, a couple of wineglasses sitting out and an ice bucket.
Mikhail dropped his duffel and put his grocery bag on the short counter in the little galley kitchen before entering and going to Winnie. “Winifred, this is lie I am told, that you are sick.” He put his hands on her face and kissed her cheeks. In high society they stuck to air-kissing, but Mikhail always gave the real thing in loud smacks. “You are beautiful.”
“It’s all fading,” she said.
“Sit down, my dove. You are tired? Weak?”
“Things don’t work like they once did but I’m getting by fine. Can we get you something? Food? Drink?”
“Ice,” he said. “A glass and ice.” He brought his grocery bag to the chair adjacent to her and pulled out his bottle of vodka, putting it on the coffee table. Grace quickly fixed his glass for him.
“As refined as ever,” Winnie quipped.
Grace took one of the chairs near them. It had the feel of a reunion, the way these two poked at each other, but the affection between them was so obvious.
“Is perfect,” he said. “What do we give you?”
“I’m fine, Mikhail. After you’ve had a drink, we can order some dinner. Grace,” she said. “Will you have dinner? A glass of wine?”
“Nothing for me. I have a drive ahead.”
“And your young man?” Winnie asked.
Mikhail peered at her.
“He’s working tonight, his part-time job. I’ll see him later.”
“Grace is in love with a schoolteacher,” Winnie said.
“You could not find her a prince or dictator?” Mikhail asked with a smirk.
“I choose my own men,” Grace said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home now so you can visit. I have to open the shop in the morning, Mother. I have a new employee coming early to train. If you’re feeling well, maybe you’ll come and look at my little town?”
“Let’s see what the morning brings, Grace.” Then she shook her head. “This new name. It just doesn’t fit you.”
“You’ll get used to it.” She gave her mother a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
* * *
Left alone, Mikhail fetched the tray of snacks and placed it on the coffee table, within reach. He sampled a small toast square with tapenade and hummed his approval. He sipped his drink. “What is your plan, Winnie?” he asked.
“Plan?”
“Do not do this coy with me, it is Mikhail you talk to. You have plan. Like always.”
“I want to take Izzy to San Francisco. Home. But she doesn’t want to go.”
“Then why? Leave the child to have her life. She will visit.”
“There’s an estate to settle. A complicated estate. Furnishings, jewelry, art, investments. I can’t wave my wand and have it done. It’s hers. She has decisions to make. I don’t know what she wants to do with all of it. I can’t just leave it behind.”
“Ah, you will take it with you?” He chuckled and sipped his vodka. “If anyone can, is you.”
“I just want to make sure it’
s all properly dealt with. All the possessions.”
“She looks better than I’ve ever seen her,” Mikhail said. “I think it is because the weight of all the world is not on her back. All the burdens of the world—gone. The need to win for her mother, for her team, her country, is done now. Behind her. And she thrives. That is your legacy, Winnie—Izzy. She is your estate. Think on this.”
“I have a responsibility...”
“She has had hard life, working to bring home gold when she is only a child. You gave birth to champion, Winnie, and she spent her life to give you what you could not get for yourself. You want her to miss you when you are gone? Set her free. She doesn’t work for us any longer.”
“That’s cruel.”
“Is truth.”
* * *
When Grace was back in Thunder Point, she texted Troy to tell him she was home with food and wine. If there wasn’t so much going on, she’d be out at the beach, keeping him company while he served. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine, got out her laptop and checked messages. Ray Anne had sent her a dozen listings to look at and she breezed through them with disappointment. There was one with a Pacific view that was spacious and beautiful, but the kitchen was dated and the bedrooms were all upstairs. Just like the San Francisco house.
Did her mother really want to die in that house? That small mansion? The thought made her shudder. Was that a conversation that had to take place? Two days after she learned about Winnie’s degenerative disease? She was up to the task of saying, I think you should live near me, where we can be close to each other. But the subtext of that discussion would be, Come to Oregon where I can be available when the end is near. That’s what this was really about, wasn’t it?
From all she read, she wasn’t sure what was involved in taking care of someone with ALS. They could hire nurses. Hospice seemed to be the end-stage necessity. But were specialists required? Because Winnie would have to have the best, she’d demand it. It seemed many ALS patients needed feeding tubes. IVs. Respirators.
She’d have to see Scott Grant, talk to him. Maybe he could tell her what she’d need and whether it was all available here.
She started to cry. It came at the most unexpected moments and she told herself it was because she was so tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well and the pressure was back, that pressure to do the right thing, to please. And this time she had to get it right because her mother was terminal. As soon as she managed to get her crying jag under control, she went back to her internet research.
Finally a text came in from Troy. Nice night on the beach. Won’t get there till around ten.
Then she started to cry again, for no reason and every reason.
* * *
Ginger got up earlier than she had in months. She showered, blew out her hair, applied a little light makeup and put on one of her new outfits. Just to be safe, she put a pair of her old jeans and a T-shirt in a little bag—Grace had said it was dirty work. She’d ask Grace if she should change before doing anything that might wreck her new clothes.
When she looked in the mirror she admitted to herself that Ray Anne had been right—she needed to be presentable. It didn’t make that ache in her heart disappear, but it made her feel slightly less pathetic. Her father had given her some money, just walking-around money he called it, but if she earned a little something she might run over to Target in the next town and buy herself some less expensive jeans and shirts that fit, that she could afford to go to work in.
Ray Anne was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with her laptop open, glasses perched on the end of her nose, clicking through listings. “Well, don’t you look pretty,” she said.
“I feel kind of guilty,” she said. “My mom has been asking me for months to try to do something about my appearance and I blew her off. But I’m here two days and you have me cleaned up and in new clothes.”
“I’m very bossy that way,” Ray Anne said. “Plus, we have a lot of shopping history, you and me. Are you excited about your new job?”
“Nervous,” she said. “What if I just don’t have the...energy?”
“Then you’ll tell Grace you need a break. Get a soda or cup of coffee. Eat a little something. I think you’re going to like it. It’s such pretty work—making up beautiful bouquets.”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“You helped people pick out their household accessories, linens, dishes, table accoutrements. You have good taste. And if it doesn’t prove to be right for you, you’ll get a different kind of job. I don’t think Grace is going to expect you to take on weddings. She’ll probably hand you a broom.”
“Probably,” Ginger agreed. “I think I’ll get going.”
“Ginger!” Ray Anne snapped. “Choke down a cup of coffee and a piece of toast! Don’t go to your first day without any fuel!”
“Right,” she said, going to the coffeepot. “Are you finding anything for Grace? I mean, for her mother?”
“It’s pretty tough. I have absolutely no idea what the woman’s expectations are. I mean the mother’s—would she be grateful just to be near Grace or is she very particular? There are a couple of little duplexes with good views for rent. They’re small. I sent pictures to Grace yesterday and last night she emailed back that she was looking for something larger and more custom. Something more like the resort facilities but with a full kitchen and deck and view and one level, at least three thousand square feet. And don’t worry about the price, she says. When people say that, they mean anything from two hundred thousand or seven-hundred-a-month rent. They don’t know how pricey their wishes and dreams can get.”
“Are you going to ask those things?”
“Sure. Finding the right house usually takes many conversations, never all at once. Asking again and again, dribbling it out, so it isn’t so overwhelming. And I find the answers change over time. Unfortunately, Grace is in a hurry. But lucky for her, I’m good.” Then she smiled. “How did you sleep?”
“Very well, as a matter of fact. This house is so quiet. And small—it feels cozy. Plus, I think I’m still recovering from shopping with you.”
“I don’t have time to screw around,” Ray Anne said. “We’ll see how you survive the day and if you get through it all right, I’ll plan a dinner with my girlfriends for the end of the week. They’re dying to get a look at you.”
“Oh, Ray, I’m no fun,” she complained.
“You don’t have to be fun, but I bet you accidentally have a good time.” She snapped her computer shut. “I better get on it. I have properties to preview.”
* * *
Grace was in the workroom of the shop, working on her designs for centerpieces on order. If she got them done this morning Justin could deliver them all this afternoon. She had three orders for church flowers—two in Bandon and one in Coquille—that she really couldn’t do before Saturday morning.
The shop wasn’t open yet. She was wearing her yoga pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt—the mornings on the ocean were pretty nippy in April. Troy was still upstairs in her bed. Leaving him there hadn’t been easy—he’d been facedown, arms stretched over his head, beautiful round booty sticking out of the sheets. She knew if she kissed his shoulder or stroked his handsome butt he would roll over and—
There was a knock at the back door. It was Iris, peeking in the window.
“What are you doing here?” Grace asked, opening the door.
“Grace, why didn’t you call me? I can help you!”
“Call you?”
“Seth and I went for a walk on the beach last night and stopped by the bar for a beer. Troy told us about your mother—that she’s here in Oregon and she’s sick. I mean, very sick. As in trying-to-settle-her-affairs sick.”
“ALS,” Grace said somberly. “I see her after five years and apparently our reconciliati
on has an expiration date on it.”
“Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. But look, try not to worry. I just have to find a way to make sure our last year together is... My relationship with my mother wasn’t like the one you had with your mother. It was... God,” she said. Then she started to cry again. “I’m sorry. I am out of control. My mother and I had a very difficult relationship, but we loved each other. I thought being estranged was for the best, our time together was so frustrating. But I didn’t want this. I thought she’d live to be a hundred and ten. In fact,” she said, brushing away a tear. “I thought she’d be a giant pain till a very old age. She’s really much too controlling to succumb to this.”
Iris stroked her upper arm. “Listen, I can help you. I’m off this week. I’m back to school next week, but I can work after school. And I’m off all weekend, of course. I can help with big jobs. I can clean up and take orders. Whatever you need.”
“Can you help train a new employee? I gave Ray Anne’s niece a job and she’ll be here at eight.”
Iris puffed up. “Yes. I can!”
“I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“Let me help you get on your feet.”
“My mother wants me to go to San Francisco. She wants to get her house in order.”
Iris made a sad face. “She probably has no one else to ask.”
“Oh, she has an army of people to ask. But she wants me involved. Iris, my mother is wealthy. She has expensive things and complicated finances and I think she believes I’m not up to the job of taking care of her things.”
Iris was shaking her head, but she had a kind smile on her face. “It’s peace of mind, Grace. Ten years before my mother died she started asking me questions like, ‘Before I take this old sewing cabinet to the thrift shop, is it something you might want someday?’ and ‘Iris, I have all these old Christmas cards—years of them. Do you want to save them so you know the names of all our acquaintances?’ I was surprised that it even mattered to her because it didn’t matter to me. But it was important to her. And she was the opposite of wealthy.”