Page 281 of Mountain Grump
“Yes, well, I’d like to… purchase the dress back. Please.”
The woman tilts her head. “How do I know you’re telling the truth and not some creep?”
Valid question.
“I… have a photo.” Her skepticism goes nowhere, but when I ask if I can show her, she nods.
I go to my photo albums on my phone and open the one titledWedding.
My throat tightens as the array of photos shows up as tiny thumbnails on my screen. But I keep my emotions in check as I select one of Tilda and me standing side by side.
“This is us.” My words aren’t exactly steady, but I hand my phone over to the woman.
She looks at it, then goes over to the box and flips the top back open.
The yellow fabric matches the dress in the photo.
She hands the phone back to me but doesn’t pull the dress out. “What did you do? Must’ve been bad for her to come here, donating her wedding dress.”
“I…” I swallow, and I can feel myself losing my battle for composure. “I kept something from her.”
“Another woman?”
“No.” That nausea returns as I shake my head. “Never. It… it’s a long story. But I’m going to fix it. And when I do, she’ll want that dress back.”
The woman watches me for a moment. “Here’s what we’ll do. You’re going to go over there.” She points across the street. “And get me a caramel latte and something for yourself. Then you’re going to come back, and you’re going to tell me this story. When you’re done, if I think you’ll be able tofix it, I’ll give you the dress. In exchange for a two-hundred-dollar donation.”
Ninety minutes later, I drive home, slightly more confident than I was before, with Tilda’s wedding dress on my passenger seat.
Chapter 163
Tilda
Quackers waddlesbeside me as I walk down the driveway.
Yesterday, on my way home from the donation center, I didn’t have it in me to stop at the mailbox.
I didn’t have it in me to do anything.
Didn’t even turn the TV on. I just lay on the couch. In the silence. Wishing life didn’t have to be like this.
Wishing I didn’t want to call Ethan.
Wishing it didn’t hurt so much that he hadn’t called.
I kick at a rock and watch it bounce down the driveway.
Quackers flaps her wings, flying ahead a few feet, chasing it.
“You show that rock who’s boss.”
She lets out one of her loud quacks, and something that sounds like a laugh cracks out of my chest.
She quacks again, and I toss her a pea from the baggie in my pocket.
“You’re happy, right? Living life on your own. Doing whatever you want?”
Quackers snaps her beak, and I toss her another pea.
