Page 47 of Every Chance After

Grady, I understand.

It’s like that time I dropped a jar of pickles, and green pickle juice splashed all over Mrs. Johanson’s summer white capris. She was on her way to karaoke with her girlfriends. I felt horrible. I tried to clean them for her. On my hands and knees, I tried to Tide-pen the green out. Finally, I offered her my pants so she wouldn’t be late. We’re roughly the same size. She treated me graciously, said a little pickle juice never killed anyone, and went on her merry way. But that didn’t stop me from feeling bad about it. I offered to pay for her dry cleaning the next time I saw her. She didn’t accept, and, to this day, I feel I didn’t do enough.

That’s how Grady feels on a much deeper and meaningful scale. He pickle-juiced my day, and feels horrible about it. I believe he’d do anything I need to make it better—he’ll even be nice about it. That’s how I’d be if the situation were reversed.

But what can make it better?

Ashe could. He’s the one I don’t get. My almost-husband now feels more like a stranger than ever, as if not meeting him at the church meant we expired like sour milk. Never to be the same again.

We aren’t the same. We’ve never beenthe same.

The drugs work their numbing magic. They do nothing to numb my sadness, though.Don’t think about it now. Good thoughts, Marnie.No frowns, no fears, no tears.

I text Grady back, smirking as I use his format.

Grady.

Okay.

Marina.

Good.

He answers a moment later.

Ice packs are in the freezer. There’s a heating pad on the kitchen table if you need it. I forgot to tell you.

I thumbs up his message, grateful. Ten agonizing minutes later, I have the icepack resting on my giant jellyfish-sized bruise and the heating pad against my sore shoulders.

I stare at Ashe’s words, again disappointed that he’s let me down.

Still, I answer him.

She doesn’t know I’m home yet. I want to recover here with the cats. I’ll call her in the morning. I’m tired, too.

The ellipsis bubbles.

I’ll explain to Mom. Get some rest.

“Well, that’s something.”

Like my words are an invitation, Triscuit jumps into the space beside me, and the other cats follow, taking their usual spots—an orange, black, and Calico bundle.

My phone pings again.

Pills kicking in yet?

Yes. Relax, Grady.

Good night, Marina.

I fall asleep duringAntiques Roadshow UKand dream about pine trees, concrete, and Grady’s solid chest, his heartbeat rumbling under my ear.

CHAPTERTWELVE

Grady

Marina looks genuinely surprisedto see me at her door at 7:30 the next morning. Itisearly, but I wanted to check in before the clinic opens at 8:00.

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