“We’ll meet at my bungalow, at sunset.” Harry tipped his pageboy cap. “That should give everyone enough time to do their part. Do you all understand your assignments?”
The secret seven nodded in agreement.
“Then let’s go.” Don mimicked unrolling a piece of duct tape and ripping it off—to Nancy’s glare—as they all went their separate ways.
Maybe if Winnie could give her granddaughter her happily ever after, she’d forgive her. And then she could figure out Horace, somehow.
Chapter 40
“I’mdoingittonight.I just wanted you to know,” Lydia said over the phone to Asher as he pulled a length of duct tape from the roll and ripped it off. He placed it on one of the final boxes for giveaway, and then sat on the ground.
“Lydia …” He didn’t know what to say. He’d promised to help her find a way to tell everyone, but he didn’t know what he was doing. He’d planned on talking to Eliana about it, but now they weren’t talking at all. He hadn’t seen her since she’d stormed out of the house that morning, calling everything off between them, looking more closed-off than he’d ever seen her.
Since then, he’d had no less than ten patients send him the video of the two of them dancing together at the wedding, wanting to know all the details.
He was torn between watching the video on a loop that continually ripped his chest in two, or ignoring it completely and feeling like he was being buried alive.
Two really great options.
“I’m ready to do this,” Lydia continued, bringing him back to the conversation. “I don’t want to keep it secret anymore, Asher. I’m losing sleep over it.”
He understood that. He pulled his hair back from his face with dusty hands. Hadn’t he wanted to confess everything to Mr. Richardson just that morning?
Besides, how could he help anyone else clean up their own life when his was such a mess. Look at how well falling in love had gone for him. He was worse off than before he’d met Eliana—because now he knew what he was missing.
No, he didn’t actually believe that. He was glad Eliana had crash landed into his life with her blackmail and zest for going through boxes without asking and propensity to leave windows open that should be closed. He hadn’t realized his life had gotten so cloudy until Eliana came in with her sunshine. Even Louisa May Alcott, who had been staring at him all day like he was her favorite reality television show, had grown on him. At least he knew Eliana would return at some point to get her turtle. She’d never leave Louisa behind, and on some level, he felt good knowing that Eliana trusted him to take care of Louisa.
Plus, when she hadn’t answered any of his calls or texts, he’d had to carefully pack her things up as well. He’d drop them off at her grandparents’ house on his way out of The Palms, including Louisa. It surprised him to feel a pang at the thought.
“When are you going to tell everyone?” He wanted to be there so she’d have at least one friend when this went public. He tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he picked up the box and set it by the front door.
“There’s a Palms Association meeting tonight at the clubhouse at seven-thirty. I’ll do it then,” she said with confidence, but her sigh at the end was a dead giveaway that she was nervous.
In front of everyone? Nearly all of The Palms residents went to those meetings to make their concerns about the community known. He’d attended last month and heard complaints about the hot tub’s too-warm temperature, a request for the library to update their catalog with more spicy romances, and—most notably because of the uproar it caused—a heated argument over whether Bruno’s chicken gravy had too much pepper in it or not, which resulted in Bruno refusing to make chicken gravy for six long months.
There were legitimate concerns and Palms’ business issues covered in these meetings, but that’s not why people went. They went for the drama. “You’d probably like it, Louisa,” he told the turtle once he hung up with Lydia. “My life is boring compared to those meetings.”
After Eliana had fled Asher like Joseph running from Potiphar’s wife, Asher had rented a truck and finished packing the rest of the house. He left Louisa on the table, but took the last box to the truck and placed it in the bed. Then he went back inside the house to look around one last time.
It was strange, being here without all the things that had made up his grandpa’s life. The house looked bigger, but empty like a discarded conch shell. He opened all the blinds for the first time since his grandpa died and let the light in.
Walking away from this house felt like leaving his grandpa behind. He knew his grandpa wasn’t in this house; he was in Asher’s memories, in most of the decisions he made, in his soul. But being in the bungalow had anchored Asher to his grandpa’s life and memory. And with this bungalow gone, Asher felt adrift without a map.
He had no idea what his future held, but maybe that was okay.
It was time to let go. To stop wishing for life to stand still. To stop paddling sideways on his board, avoiding every wave.
Hard times were sure to come, because that was life, but his grandpa had taught him how to get back on his board after wave-after-wave knocked him down. To continue getting up every day and living life and to be the kind of person who never stopped trying.
Asher walked through every room to double-check that nothing had been left behind. But mostly to say goodbye. Emotion swelled in the back of his throat as he went from the master bedroom, where he used to sit on a chair next to Grandpa’s bed when he was really sick and read to him. To the guest bedroom, where Asher slept when he’d come to visit. Down the hall to the front room, where Asher had talked about his life, and he and his grandpa had laughed and forgotten about every hard thing when Asher came home on breaks and holidays. But it was also where they’d cried, on anniversaries and birthdays and in those moments when memories sideswiped them right off the road and into an emotional ditch.
Finally he went into the kitchen, where he had a single cookie waiting on a napkin for him. Oatmeal raisin, his grandpa’s favorite, something they’d joked endlessly about—arguing over whether it was the best cookie ever (his grandpa) or the worst cookie ever conceived (Asher). He took one bite of it and made a face.
“Still the worst cookie ever.” Asher held it out like he was toasting his grandpa. “Love you. Miss you. Thank you for everything.”
He went to take another bite, when there was a knock at the door. His stomach lurched. Eliana?
Whatever his future held, he wanted her in it.
