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 reconciliation 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.”
* * *
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 reconciliation 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.”
