Greta shook her head. ‘No, it’s all true.’
She glanced around. A few women wore puzzled expressions, whereas others were nodding, even smiling faintly.
Millie’s expression was different. She wore a reflective air, almost nostalgic, like she might actually remember some of these things.
‘You asked for a glimpse behind the curtain of my real life,’ Greta said. ‘Well . . . here it is.’
‘I’d love to hear even more,’ Millie urged.
Greta eyed her, surprised. This was all just run-of-the-mill stuff. ‘I once gave a talk at a coffee shop about my past career, and it went terribly wrong.’
She shared the story of her disastrous evening in Brew- tique, recounting her tiny audience, the burnt brownies and the blaring smoke alarm.
A few more of the women laughed.
Desdemona, however, scowled. ‘I don’t see what’s so amusing. I can’t see any value in this other place you’re telling us about. It sounds uncomfortable. I don’t want to be cold, or ignored, or inconvenienced. I like it here.’
‘So do I,’ Greta admitted. ‘And that’s my dilemma. Do I stay in Mapleville, where I can get to know you all better, enjoy family life, and never have to worry about a thing? Or do I go home and accept things usually come with a struggle?’ Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Millie tilt her head, as if considering the same question.
Desdemona tossed her hair and launched into a description of her latest espresso Martini recipe.
Millie turned to Greta. ‘You seem different today,’ she said. ‘As if there’s something on your mind.’
Greta nodded. ‘I told the truth just now, about deciding whether to stay here, or not.’
Millie frowned. ‘But you’d still be able to visit us, wouldn’t you? The place feels brighter when you’re here. You’ve made us all . . . think.’ She crinkled her brow, as if the word surprised her.
Greta shook her head, her lips curving downward at the corners. The thought of never seeing Millie again was too painful to dwell on. ‘I’d never be able to return. But that’s not something I have to think about. Not just yet.’
Millie toyed with a button on her sleeve. ‘If you’d givenmethe same choice a while ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated to stay here,’ she said. ‘But now you’ve made me curious about what somewhere else might have to offer.’
Greta studied her. ‘Are you still having your fleeting thoughts . . . memories?’
Millie nodded. ‘I’m not exactly sure what they are. But I seem to be remembering things that I can’t explain—jewellery, a young man . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just been drinking too much coffee.’ She laughed, but uncertainty glimmered in her eyes.
Greta mulled over how much she could tell Millie—about Leonard, about her past life. Was it kinder to say nothing at all? ‘I didn’t mean for you to start questioning your life,’ she said.
‘No.’ Millie took hold of Greta’s arm. ‘Somehow, I think it’s a good thing.’
Outside, the town hall clock faintly struck eleven, and Millie and Greta both looked up.
‘I don’t remember it doing that before,’ Millie said.
A tingle ran down Greta’s forearms. ‘Me neither.’
They moved toward the window.
‘Hey, everyone,’ the woman in the black dress called out. ‘Look at that.’
The ladies all gathered around, peering out at the town square.
‘No, look up, instead,’ Millie said, pointing toward the sky. ‘There’s a grey cloud overhead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.’
Chapter 31
AS THE WOMENleft the town hall, they stared up at the small concrete-grey cloud, chatting about where it had come from and why it was that colour. It attracted lots of attention. Crossing the square toward the school to watch the talent show, they kept glancing up, exchanging theories.
For Greta, the cloud was something insignificant she’d seen countless times before. She ignored it, choosing to focus on Lottie’s talent show performance instead.
