Page 21 of My Wife
I pat the steering wheel. “Also a nice truck that won’t break down if you look at it funny. Thanks for getting us here. One more leg of this trip. Onward to Grandma Dolly’s,” I say with gusto.
I sip the coffee on the short drive through town. It’s sweet and creamy, just the way I like it.
Despite the circumstances that prompted my flight from Los Angeles and the fact that I’m running on empty, I prefer to drive on the sunny side of the street—to look for the upside in every situation.
For instance, I appreciate how Cobbiton tries for cheerful in the winter rather than sticking out the drab during these long, cloudy winter months.
Lights glow warmly from within the Once Upon a Romance bookstore. The Lunchbox sandwich shop and deli have colorful banners hanging from the eaves of the building. Spaglietti’s hasn’t yet taken down their Christmas decorations, which I appreciate because the Coogans don’t celebrate in favor of Skinkmas. Even the Buy & Bargain thrift store has a wreath with red winter berries on the front door. Outside the new toy store is an array of tree stumps, of varying heights, surrounded by snow. Atop each one sits a woodland stuffed animal toy like they’re having a party.
I bet the little boy would love that. His dad could stand to have some fun. Or smile. Or have cake. He probably doesn’t let himself eat sweets. I’d like to see him try to resist my Bundts. Ha! One bite and he’d be grinning from ear to ear.
As I near Silver Queen Street, I pass the Old Mill building that was converted to shops, artisan spaces, and offices. Lanterns and evergreen swag line the pathway that leads to the main entrance strung with pinecone bunting and golden bows. The lime-washed white pops like a snowy castle against the black wrought iron trim, fixtures, and natural wood accents.
Yes, it’s good to be back … for now. It won’t be for long because I have plans. Big ones! And the likes of Sorsha, Rexlan, and Pamberlie aren’t going to stop me.
No sooner am I parked does Grandma Dolly rush out the door, arms wide, and fingers flying.
It takes everything in me not to collapse into her embrace—even though she’s pleasantly plump, I’d risk knocking us both over, given my attire.
She squeezes me tight and then grips my upper arms, holding me at a distance and looking me over. It’s the same quizzical expression I’ve been receiving at every stop between here and Los Angeles.
I sign that it’s a long story.
It’s only been a year since I was last home, but the modest cottage is as cozy as I remember with a warm fire crackling in the wood stove. Grandma Dolly’s reading chair is as lived in as ever and more framed photos cover the wall. A big bookshelf lines another and is stuffed with novels that tell stories of travels without leaving home and trinkets containing memories made in faraway places. From the adjacent kitchen, the aroma of cinnamon and vanilla tells me Grandma Dolly is ready for the day with freshly baked cookies.
A worn wooden dining table, surrounded by mismatched chairs, stands ready for gatherings and laughter shared over treats and yummy meals alike.
I take a seat and she pours us each a coffee. Settling in, she asks me to explain what I’m doing here in a wedding gown. There is no denying the maternal concern pinching her features … or the rocky crags of guilt in my gut.
I take a moment to admire her sparkly strands, her kind eyes, and the way I’ll always feel at home with her before delving into the dismal reality that I’m a jilted bride.
After I tell her the sordid tale, she sweeps me into another hug. My shoulders relax and my eyes fill, but I cast the tears away. Not even this woman who has carried my world on her back has seen me cry.
She signs, “You’re wearing your ‘Everything is fine’ face.”
I shrug.
“This is a huge deal. It’s a shock.”
“I’m coping. Had a lot of time to think on the drive here.”
“I wish you’d have called. I’d have bought you a plane ticket.”
I drop back into the seat and hold my head in my hands for a long moment. She pats my arm.
Then I sign, “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I got swept into Rexlan’s world. The first red flag should’ve been that his mother was limiting the guest list … or prioritizing the lizards before that.” I could go on.
Grandma Dolly doesn’t hide the hurt on her face.
“I’m so sorry.” I want to deny the shame I feel about going along with Sorsha’s plans because I felt wanted, but I let it hit me in the gut. “None of my friends were invited either. Sorsha was so convincing. Since I had a small guest list, she said it would be unbalanced. Easier to just go ahead with the three hundred people she wanted to invite.”
Grandma Dolly tips her shoulder and signs, “I suppose since she was paying for it …”
Sorsha’s words that I’ll be paying for this echo in my mind.
“That’s no excuse. I got sucked into their world and—” Sparing her the backstory involving the lizard cult because I don’t want her to be more concerned than she is, I rattle on about how nice they were, thoughtful and attentive.
How could I have been so naïve?
