Page 43 of Something Old

It never failed to amaze Grant how even when you were miserable, time kept ticking along. It felt wrong for life to continue uninterrupted while your own heart stuttered and halted but continue on it did. Though he wished he could fight it, kicking and screaming, August rolled into September. Holly’s upcoming mind-torturing visit and the inevitable big reveal about whatever she wanted loomed nearer and nearer. That wasn’t what kept him up at night, though. It was Madeline.

Things had not been the same between Madeline and him since he’d accused her of lying about her husband being dead—now, he couldn’t fathom how he’d ever thought that!—then implied she was crazy for talking to her deceased loved ones.

And yet, when she’d said she’d “see him later,” she’d meant it. She arranged for Grant to bring over more furniture pieces to the shop since the ones she’d had were sold. And she continued to help regularly at his dad’s but arrived at 7:00 p.m—after dinner—and left at 9:00 p.m. sharp. More often than not, she also opted to work in the yard if he was in the house and vice versa.

Given how generous she still was with her time and help, he’d be tempted to pretend they hadn’t had a falling out. How little she spoke to him during these “visits” made that pretense laughable, however. Or cryable. One of the two.

As much as he missed their closeness, though, what he hated most—and couldn’t get over—was how he’d hurt her.

The last Friday before Holly’s visit, he finally could bear it no longer. He tracked Madeline down to where she was throwing metal into a salvage bin as fast and furiously as a prisoner told parole was based on their work ethic. Not a perfect analogy, but close.

He didn’t start the conversation with his usual, pathetically tired attempt at apologizing. Instead, he touched her shoulder to get her attention and spoke the simple—and profoundly complicated—truth. “I miss you.”

She squatted to lift an old alternator from where it lay at her feet and hefted it into the bin. Then she pulled off her leather work gloves, shoved them into her pockets, and crossed her arms. “I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I miss the friend I thought you were too.” She slid her work gloves back on and resumed working. Grant let her.

*

The Second Chance Shop was locked up tight, and every window was dark, except for the front display, which, as ever, was lit with strategically placed spotlights showing off some of the shop’s wares. As it was nearing midnight, it was exactly what Grant had hoped for—total desertion. He pushed the loaded dolly up the wheelchair ramp, happy butterflies warring with anxious worms of doubt—both caused by the same reason: anticipation of Madeline’s response to his surprise.

Grant had wanted to wait to give Madeline the secret project he’d been working on until they were on better terms, but that didn’t seem like it was going to happen any time soon. Then he entertained the hope that the gift would break the newly-formed ice between them—or, at the very least, thaw the detached chilliness that emanated from her whenever she looked his way. Now, standing in the shadows, positioning his present by the door with a note, he wasn’t even feeling optimistic about that small a feat. But he couldn’t put it off any longer. From the minute he’d thought it up, this slump-breaking bit of design and construction had never been for himself. And the gift had always been about making her smile, not about how it might or might not benefit him.

He rolled the now-empty dolly out of the way and stood back to survey his work one last time. Even in the dim shadows, the silly thing made him grin and shake his head. He turned, about to make tracks, when a sound behind him made the hair on the back of his neck rise. The unlatching of a lock. He cringed, blinking, as simultaneously a blinding white floodlight beat down on him. Someone—Madeline, of course—was inside the shop.

Shoot! He should’ve known. He never should’ve trusted that the lights being off or the late hour meant she wasn’t inside, doing whatever it was she did while other people socialized or slept.

Even though the floodlight should’ve prepared him, Grant still jumped when Madeline appeared in a rectangle of yellow light, framed by the now-open door.

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say, I could ask you the same question—but they’d lost the easy teasing way they’d had with each other. Or rather, he’d lost it for both of them. He responded with a wordless gesture toward his offering.

Madeline, in nothing but a gauzy dress—she must be flashing again, Grant thought—stepped out onto the porch, then let out a surprised, “Oh!”

She glanced up at him, then her eyes—full of wonder—fell back to his creation. “This is incredible. Is it . . . for me?”

“Who else?” Grant said. “Well, you and that cat of yours, of course.”

She stooped to study it more closely but really didn’t have to stoop that far, more like bend her head. The thing came almost to her chest. She pulled it out from the wall and looked inside it. Then she laughed out loud. “I hope he’ll use it. It’s . . . awesome.”

It hadn’t occurred to Grant that the fool animal might not use it, but it should have. How many beds, after all, had he bought for Grover and placed all over his dad’s house and property, only to have the old mutt prefer a set of rusty springs every chance he got?

Still, whether the thing would have a practical function was the least of his concerns right now. It could forever exist as a huge, clunky ornament for all he cared. Madeline liked it. Liked it a lot. He could tell.

She turned to him, her eyes shining the way they always used to when she looked at him. “It’s crazily perfect. An exact replica!”

Grant nodded modestly. He’d measured carefully, after all. His present was to scale.

“And I was literally just wondering if Boots would like a cat tree or something. I’ve never really seen him climb anything but—”

“That’s why I put in the two sleeping platforms. He can still climb, but he can do what he loves best. Sleep.”

They smiled at each other, and for a second, it felt like old times—like when they’d first realized how much they connected. Grant was so grateful, his heart hammered in his chest.

Then Madeline’s facial expression changed, and she worried her hands together. “Did you make this as some sort of, well, you know . . .”