Mrs. Nelson’s kitchen is farmhouse style with a border of cherry wallpaper around the circumference of the room. In fact, there are cherries everywhere. Cherry salt and pepper shakers, cherry dish towels, and even a cherry soap dispenser.
We all sit down around a wooden table. Mrs. Nelson takes credit for making the pie as she serves everyone’s slices.
“It’s so wonderful to have you both here,” Mrs. Nelson says. “Now, you may notice that I have a fondness for cherries—” She tells me how she’s distantly related to George Washington, bringing to mind the story of the cherry tree and the value of honesty. A big red arrow points to our mutual lie, the omission of the truth.
Grey leans into me, seated by my side. “More like an obsession. See that potholder?” He points. “I made that when I was nine. Earned a Boy Scout merit badge, too.” He winks at me as though the lie he told and what I thought we meant to each other after last night doesn’t burn between us.
What are we? Husband and wife? Coach and client? Friends? Tightness in my stomach vies with the fluttering in my chest. I want more with him, but after the bald-faced lie he told, I canhardly look at Grey. And yet, my body betrays me as our hands brush when we reach for our plates, sending something warm and sweet across my skin.
“Anyway, I could go on about my cherry collection all day.” Mrs. Nelson joins us with the last slice of pie. “But I had frozen blueberries that I picked from last season, so I figured I ought to make room for more since we’re now into the summer. I also made the whipped cream from scratch.”
“Booberries!” Sonny cheers, sitting on his Grandma’s lap. She dotes on him but doesn’t look my way as if she knows that something doesn’t add up about Grey’s story.
The women gathered make sounds of approval and appreciation.
“Enough about the pie, we weren’t expecting guests.” Mrs. Nelson turns to Ingrid. “Why didn’t you mention Grey was visiting? I’d have made his favorite, strawberry rhubarb. We all know the boy has an appetite.” She tosses me a friendly wink.
“It was as much a surprise to you as it was to me,” Ingrid responds in a flat tone.
“We arrived yesterday. Everly had never been to Isle Royale before, and we all know this is the best time of the year to visit,” Grey says.
Several women comment on how true that is, as if they already dread the idea of the coming winter even though it’s still many months away.
“I take it you’re not from around here,” Mrs. Nelson says.
“Actually, I grew up in Michigan. My best friend Heidi lives in Powell, and I stayed with her last winter, so you have my sympathy for just how cold it gets. But most recently, I lived in Virginia.”
“What’s Heidi’s last name? Maybe we know her,” Ingrid says.
“Heidi Weaver—Hastings now. Her grandparents lived in Powell and she inherited the family home. She and I grew upa few towns over. The house needed a little work, but it’s on a beautiful piece of property.” I leave out how, after the surgery, we’d take long walks in the woods. It was so peaceful—the perfect place to recover and retreat from Todd.
While the blueberry pie is delicious, I’ve only taken a few bites. Meanwhile, Grey inhaled his portion.
“So, did you two meet there or—?” Mrs. Nelson asks.
“No, we met in Concordia. Everly is my coach,” Grey says.
“That’s partly true,” I blurt.
The women laugh as though we’re playing coy about our romantic meet-cute. Unlike Mrs. Adams, they still think we’re married.
Mrs. Nelson says, “I get it. My better half is my coach, too. In fact, Roger feels the same way. He’s said, if it weren’t for me, he’d be failing on the field of life. Truth be told, I owe everything to him. But I suppose that’s one of the beautiful things about marriage. Both people give so much to each other.”
Ingrid sets her fork down. “They’re not married, Margaret.” Her eyes fix on her Grey as if giving him a chance to tell the truth.
“But the rings—” the older woman starts, wearing an expression of bafflement.
My stomach knots with anxiety and in the center is the dead weight of the lie. I bite my lip. “Actually, we are married.”
Everyone jerks their gazes in my direction.
Grey laughs like I’m being silly.
I shake my head. “I cannot rightfully lie to all these lovely women, your mother, or at all.”
His eyes narrow. “But we had our rules.”
“I thought—” I thought we ditched the MOC club and started the Marriage for Real Club.
