After a lot of fumbling, I manage to shed the wet clothes, including my underwear, and put on the sweatshirt and pants. As I turn around to grab my phone, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look like a drowned rat. Apalliddrowned rat.
I shove my feet into the first pair of shoes in the closet—neon-orange flip-flops. They don’t match the outfit. But I can’t think of a single reason I should care.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Grant turns around. If the mismatch of my outfit and shoes shocks him, he doesn’t show it.
He puts his hands on my shoulders. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I take the urn again, hugging it close.
He puts his hand at my back, like he used to when we were younger. He escorts me out the apartment and makes sure I lock it properly, and then we get in his car and drive off.
He fiddles with the controls, and my seat grows warm. The vents exhale hot air over me. The speakers in his car are quiet, and it’s just the sound of our breathing and the car engine. The streets are pretty empty, although they’re slick with the rain that keeps on falling.
“You’re going too fast,” I say listlessly.
“I’m not. Unlike the people in this town, I know how to drive in the rain.” He starts to lift a hand and move it toward me as though he wants to stroke my arm, but catches himself. “Trust me.”
I look at his hand resting between us. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with me, except get me warm and take me to his place. I don’t know what he thinks we should do about Grandpa. Did I tell Grant I couldn’t even get the plot next to Grandma’s grave because the price was so outrageous? I don’t know if holding on to the ashes is a good idea, but I don’t want to scatter them. Grandpa wouldn’t want to be anywhere except by Grandma’s side.
Grant pulls into the garage at his mansion. The rain makes the place look like a safe haven, where you can relax and catch your breath before you take your next step. I wish I knew whatmynext step was going to be. I wish I didn’t feel so strangely detached about everything.
Grant opens the door for me, and I step out of his car.
“This way,” he says, escorting me.
I look at him. His hair’s mussed and his clothes are damp from the rain. He was wet even before he came into my apartment. Is he cold too? His palms feel much warmer than mine, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t chilled.
The garage is connected to a foyer. He leads me past a vast kitchen and living room. I stop. “Where should I leave this?” I ask him, lifting the urn in my hands. I don’t know if he wants the ashes too far into his home. He might get weirded out about it.
“Anywhere you want,” he says.
There’s a coffee table in the living room that overlooks the lit garden. Grandpa would like the view. “How about on the table over there?”
“Of course.”
I trudge over and place the urn on the table, then stroke the top as if it were Grandpa’s hand. The garden has a lot of pretty flowers, so… Yeah, it’s a good spot to leave him for the moment.
Grant leads me up a winding staircase. Unlike the Malibu place, the staircases here are sturdy, with wooden railings and steps.
“Which one’s your room?” I ask, looking at multiple doors in the hall.
“There at the end.” He gestures. “I also have four guest bedrooms.”
Does he want me to be in one of the spare bedrooms tonight? That feels logical. He said he loves me, but he doesn’t know the real me. He only knows me from college and work. And I’m a complete mess right now.
But I really don’t want to be by myself, especially in a strange place, not when the rain’s dripping down the windows and my heart’s too heavy to dance. “Is it okay if I stay with you?”
His hand twitches against my back.
“I’m not talking about sex. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”
“You can have whatever you want,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.
His bedroom is spacious, with a huge bed and nightstands on each side. On the wall are a few artistic photographs—maybe his mother’s—and a vase of white lilies sits in the corner.
“Flowers?” They don’t fit my image of how his bedroom would look.
