Defending Hearts (18 page)

Before they’d uncorked the first bottle, Gram had stuffed them with her macaroni salad to ensure they weren’t drinking on an empty stomach, and then gone upstairs with her knitting and a book. But Gretchen knew if there was an
exceptionally loud thump, a call for help, or she heard one of the big doors open and close, Gram would be down the stairs in a split second. She had hearing like a bat.

“He could have at least stayed until you harvested all those damn pumpkins,” Jen said. “Oh, that reminds me. I have a note on my desk reminding me to call you and beg for a bunch of free pumpkins. Like the little ugly ones nobody wants.”

Gretchen sipped her wine, pleasantly surprised when she realized it tasted better than it had when they first started drinking. She wasn’t much for wine, but the more she drank, the more she liked it. “Why do you want a bunch of ugly pumpkins? Is that the homecoming theme this year? Support the Eagles—get your ugly pumpkin here!”

They all giggled for a few minutes before Jen shook her head. “We need ugly pumpkin babies for health class.”

They both stared at her, trying to make sense of that, but Kelly spoke first. “We didn’t have ugly pumpkin babies. Maybe that’s why we don’t have men— Oh wait. I have one. Never mind.”

“I would call a cab to send you home, but Stewart Mills doesn’t have cabs,” Gretchen said. She knew her friend wasn’t being snarky and was simply having trouble remembering her current relationship status thanks to her intoxication, but Gretchen didn’t want to hear about Chase. “You’re not going to inject my pumpkins with STDs or anything, are you? They might just be pumpkins, but I raised them and I don’t want you to give them syphilis.”

Jen looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What kind of monster do you think I am that I’d give ugly pumpkin babies a sexually transmitted disease on purpose? I’m so offended right now.”

Gretchen sighed and refilled their glasses, giving Kelly decidedly less. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. Now, we can’t afford those fake robot babies and we’ve had many requests from parents to stop teaching the children how hard it is to be a parent by making them take care of eggs.”

“I dropped mine,” Kelly said, and Gretchen choked back a laugh when her friend’s eyes filled up with tears. “I named her Charlotte and made her a little flannel dress. Then I dropped her and my dad made a joke about scrambled eggs and I cried.”

“So anyway,” Jen continued. “Last year, one of the girls lost her infant egg. She tried to tell us the egg ran away because they were boring and didn’t have good Internet, but a substantial amount of time later, they discovered the egg baby had slipped between the seats of their minivan. When it broke, Mom threw up and she ended up paying two hundred dollars to have the minivan professionally cleaned. So we’re thinking we can have the kids paint faces on the pumpkins and care for them. They’re still fragile, but not
as
fragile.”

“Do they get extra credit because their babies are ugly?” Kelly asked. “That seems kind of mean.”

Jen slid Kelly’s wineglass a little farther from her hand. “I want ugly ones so they’ll be free, dumb-ass.”

“Mean
and
cheap,” Kelly muttered, flopping back against the couch.

“You can have some little pumpkin babies,” Gretchen promised. “It sounds like a fun project.”

“Right? The little faces will be so cute. It’s too bad Alex won’t be around to take pic—” Jen stopped talking and covered her mouth. “Sorry.”

Gretchen started to laugh, intending to wave a careless hand and assure her friend it was no big deal. But, without being sure how it happened, she ended up with her head in Jen’s lap, sobbing.

She was vaguely aware of Jen leaning over to set both of their wineglasses on the table and Kelly asking Cocoa where Gram kept the extra boxes of tissues, but mostly she just felt the pain wash over her until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

Jen stroked her hair, not trying to stop the tears with empty platitudes and stupid inspirational sayings she’d seen on the Internet. At some point, Kelly shoved a wad of tissues into her hand and then sat on the floor, resting her head on Gretchen’s side.

She wasn’t sure how long she cried, but eventually the tears slowed to a trickle and she mopped at her face with the tissues. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, if you can’t drain your sinuses on your friend’s favorite sweatpants, what’s the point of having friends?”

Gretchen managed a rough laugh, pushing herself back to a sitting position. “I love him. Alex. I love Alex.”

“It would be weird if you loved some other guy,” Kelly whispered.

“We are really bad at being drunk,” Jen said. “We’re supposed to be making you feel better. You don’t look like you feel better.”

Gretchen swiped at her nose again with the wad of tissues, and then dropped it on the table so she could pick up her wineglass. She probably shouldn’t have any more, but her mouth was dry. “I do feel better. I needed to cry. And you guys being here reminds me that my life isn’t over. I
don’t have Alex, but I still have everybody else I love. Plus, I’m going to help enrich the lives of the next generation of Stewart Mills with my little ugly pumpkin rejects. I’m making a difference in the world.”

They all drank to that, and then drank again. Kelly set her glass down and then flopped backward, which put her in Cocoa’s bed. The Lab immediately licked her face and scooted over to make room for her new best friend.

“You know Gram’s going to be so loud in the morning,” Jen said.

“Oh, yeah.” Gretchen nodded. “And she’s going to make something really gross and slimy for breakfast to teach us a lesson.”

“I hope she doesn’t make scrambled eggs,” Kelly said. “Poor Charlotte.”

When she started sniffling, Jen laughed and looked at the inch of wine still in her glass. “We really are the worst drunk people ever.”

“But you’re the best friends ever,” Gretchen said, and then she took another sip of the wine.

It was enough, she tried to tell herself. Her farm. Gram. Cocoa. Kelly and Jen. Eventually she’d stop thinking about Alex. She hoped.

I
t was two weeks before Gretchen made the decision to move back into her own room, and it was harder than she’d anticipated.

She and Gram had both agreed, with barely any discussion at all, that they didn’t want to rent the room to anybody else. Gretchen knew Gram missed Alex almost as much as she did, and neither of them could imagine a stranger—or even somebody they knew—taking his place in the house. And Cocoa was still whining for him, pacing back and forth in the hallway or the driveway, waiting for Alex to show up and give her a high five.

Rather than continue sharing a bathroom, Gretchen knew it made sense for her to take her room back and return to the way it had been for so many years. But the
first couple of times she crossed the threshold, memories of Alex had immediately driven her away.

But she’d been raised on common sense, not foolish emotion, so she sucked it up and took this rainy Saturday to move her stuff back where it belonged.

Gram had cleaned the room thoroughly. Gretchen knew she’d been in there several times, scrubbing and spraying. The bedding had been laundered and put in the linen closet, and the mattress cleaned. By the time Gretchen had her own favorite bedding back on the bed, put her clothes away and once again littered the bathroom with her toiletries, any lingering trace of Alex’s scent was gone.

She didn’t need to be able to smell his soap or shampoo to be overwhelmed by thoughts of him, though. No matter what, it would be many nights before she could sleep in this room and not remember being there with him.

But for now, she decided, she was going to make the most of the rest of the day. With the weather the way it was, she was mostly stuck indoors, so she’d organize the pantry for Gram. With autumn just around the corner, it was time to pull everything out of the big pantry. Gram could take stock of what they had and check expiration dates while Gretchen gave the oversized closet a thorough cleaning. Then they’d put back what they didn’t throw out, making sure it was packaged in a way that wouldn’t attract small, furry winter guests.

Gretchen was walking through the living room on her way to the pantry when she heard Alex’s name come out of the television speaker. The knitting needles in Gram’s hands stilled as they both turned to the screen.

The photograph filling the screen was breathtaking and
heartbreaking. A man in some kind of military or police uniform had a gun in one hand and was holding the arm of a little girl in the other. He was trying to drag her away from the body on the ground—a man he’d presumably just shot, based on the uniformed man’s stone-cold expression.

The little girl was crying, her face a snapshot of emotional agony, and Gretchen could see the whiteness of her knuckles where her little hands were clinging to the dead man’s shirt. She was actually lifting him slightly off the ground in her effort to resist being taken away.

The dead man was her father, according to the woman somberly reading the story for the camera. He’d broken out of the picket line when he spotted his daughter—whom he hadn’t seen for days and who had broken free of his wife’s hold—running toward him. Tensions were so high, he was shot before anybody fully understood what was happening.

Photographs started scrolling by that captured the violence following that tragic moment—each with Alex’s photo credit in small print in the bottom corner—and Gretchen found herself unable to look away.

She knew he had a gift. The photo framed and wrapped and ready to be given to Gram for Christmas was proof of that. As were all of the other photos he’d taken around the farm and Stewart Mills. But this was different. These photographs were
important
.

They’d taken words that were simply background noise about a situation that people didn’t understand in a place they’d never heard of and made them stop and watch. Now, because of a picture that froze a tragedy in time, people knew this violence was happening in the world.

Maybe it helped, Gretchen thought as the news went on
to the next story and she continued to the kitchen. It was easier to understand why Alex had to go off and take pictures when those pictures kept a government from covering up the murder of hundreds of low-income workers who just wanted fair wages so they could feed their families.

It didn’t make her miss him any less, though. No amount of work could exhaust her so completely that she didn’t think of him the second her head hit the pillow. The constant ache wasn’t eased by physical labor or showers that used up all the hot water.

She’d known the pain of missing him would be sharp, but she also thought it would fade quickly as she geared up for pumpkin harvest time. She’d been wrong. Two weeks later, it was still hard to breathe when she thought about Alex. And she thought about him almost constantly.

At least a dozen times a day, she asked herself if she’d made the right choice. Maybe she should have asked him to come back. Now that he was gone, Gretchen fully understood that, while having him away was hard, knowing he wasn’t coming back at all was much worse than waiting for him to appear.

“What on earth are you doing in there?” Gram said from behind her.

“It’s raining, so I’m going to empty the pantry.”

“Maybe you should take a break, honey. We can watch a movie. A Bourne movie, if you want to.”

The worry for her was clear as day in Gram’s eyes, but Gretchen shook her head. If she sat still, she was going to think. And if she thought, it would be about Alex. “I want to get this done. It’s harder to fit into the to-do list now that the pumpkins take up the fall season.”

Gretchen started carrying items from the pantry to the kitchen table, stacking them neatly so they’d have enough room for everything. Gram got a garbage bag for anything that had expired, and started sorting. If it didn’t go in the garbage bag, it went onto the kitchen counter to be put away after the shelves had been washed down. If they were running low on something, Gram added it to a separate shopping list so they could watch for coupons and sales to stock back up.

It was mindless work, but at least it was something to do. Rather than let her mind wander to Alex, she tried to come up with her favorite of Gram’s recipes for each of the items she pulled off the pantry shelves. It was silly, but it worked. More or less.

“I think it might be time to sell the farm.”

Grams words didn’t make sense to Gretchen at first but then, as the simple sentence fell into place in her mind, the warmth seeped out of her until all she felt was cold shock.

She walked to the table and set down the five boxes of spaghetti noodles she’d gathered. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s time, honey. Honestly, it’s probably long past time, but I wasn’t strong enough to admit it.” Gram pulled out a chair and sat down, her hands fiddling with a box of black pepper. “I probably should have sold it right after your grandfather passed, but you were so . . . It gave you comfort walking in his footsteps and I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“It still does give me comfort.”

“You need to make your own path. This was his path, not yours.”

Gretchen was beginning to understand Gram was very
serious about this, and panic welled up in her chest. “I’ve worked so hard, Gram. I’ve given
everything
to this farm. How could you do this to me?”

“I know you’ve given everything for this farm. And for what? For the future generations of Walkers? There aren’t going to be any precisely
because
you’ve sacrificed everything.”

“I’m only thirty, Gram. I think it’s a little early to cast me as the childless spinster.”

“Your age has nothing to do with it. This farm—this piece of dirt with a stupid old house sitting on it—is the reason you let Alex go.”

“What was I supposed to do, Gram? Beg him to stay? He has a career. He travels and makes money and wins awards. You just saw the work he does. It’s amazing and important. Was I supposed to ask him to stay and pick pumpkins with me for the rest of his life?”

“You could have gone with him.”

Gretchen couldn’t even wrap her head around that. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, you could. If not for this farm and feeling like you have to take care of me, you could have gone with him.”

“And then what, Gram? He’s in some place in Central America I can’t even find on a map. I’d be sitting all by myself in an apartment in Rhode Island. How is that better than my life here?”

“Because he’d come home to you.”

“This is the only home I’ve ever known. This was the first place I felt safe. And loved. And . . . this is my
home
.”

“That wasn’t the farm, Gretchen. That was
us
. It was your grandfather and me who made you feel safe and made
you feel loved. We’re your home, not the land. You still have your grandfather in your heart, and you have me. The house I’m in doesn’t matter.”

“Forget what I’m doing with my life.” Gretchen decided to try logic since emotion wasn’t getting her anywhere. “How about practical things, like where are you going to live?”

“I’ve been looking at the senior housing in the city. It might be nice to have restaurants and stores nearby, within walking distance.”

“Okay, where am
I
supposed to live?”

“You need to make a new home with the man you love. Maybe that’s in Providence, or maybe you find a house in between. Maybe still in New Hampshire, but closer to the airport.”

She didn’t want to talk about Alex. Not now and probably not anytime soon. “You can’t have Cocoa in senior housing.”

The dog had stretched out near the fridge to watch them, and she lifted her head when she heard her name. Maybe feeling the tension in the room, she whined slightly and thumped her tail on the floor.

It worked. Gram’s mouth softened and her eyes shimmered with tears. Gretchen didn’t like seeing it, but Gram had to come around.

“Maybe she could go with you,” Gram said quietly. “And visit me.”

“An apartment in the city isn’t going to make her happy. And it’s not going to make
me
happy.”

Gram set the pepper on the table and squeezed her hands together. “I feel like I’m holding you back. Me and this stupid old house and a bunch of dirt.”

Gretchen walked over to stand behind her. Bending, she wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Never—not for one single second—have I ever felt like that.”

“I won’t sell the farm without your blessing, Gretchen. I love you far too much to do that to you.” Gram reached up and squeezed her hand. “But I want you to think about what it is you want in life. Not what your grandfather wanted. Not what you think I want. I want you to really think about what
you
want.”

“Gram, I know you mean well, but even if you sell the farm now and I have nowhere else to be, Alex and I are done. He’s not coming back, and I’m not going to leave everything I love here to go be alone in the city.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Gram heaved a big sigh. “I guess he wasn’t the right man for you, after all.”

“No, he was,” Gretchen said, without really meaning to say it out loud. “Almost. There was just no way for us both to be happy. But I have you and Cocoa, and he’s off doing what he loves. It’s enough.”

—

I
t isn’t enough anymore.

With a layover in Houston, Alex had found a restaurant and made himself comfortable. An hour later, he wasn’t quite as comfortable, and the flash of self-awareness about not being satisfied with his life anymore wasn’t the most welcome thought he’d ever had.

He shifted on the hard chair, running the thumb of his free hand under the waistband of his pants where it was cutting into him. Then he sighed and set down his fork.

One of the things he’d learned about himself, back during the long and tough road to being physically fit, was that he ate his emotions. And he’d sure been eating the hell out of them since leaving Stewart Mills. Salt. Sugar. Fats. It didn’t matter what it was. If something was good for his taste buds but bad for his waistline, he’d eaten it in the last two weeks.

He knew what he was doing and what he had to do to stop the backward slide. Identify the feelings that were causing him to comfort himself through food. Write them down. Then either work through the feelings or brainstorm ways to go through the process of dealing with the underlying causes of those emotions. The key was in finding some kind of resolution that would enable him to feel in control, even if it wasn’t a problem with an immediate fix. Professionals had helped him find the tools to handle problems without junk food.

But Alex didn’t need a pen and paper for this one.

His career was important to him. It always would be. But it couldn’t be
everything
anymore. Not now that he’d taken long walks, holding the hand of a woman he loved and watching a dog play in the grass.

What he wanted right this minute, now that the assignment was over, was to head back to Stewart Mills. Cocoa would meet him in the driveway and he’d give the dog a high five before wrapping his arms around Gretchen and kissing her until they were both dizzy.

But he couldn’t do that, so he’d stuffed his face with a loaded cheeseburger and fries before chasing it with a slab of cheesecake. And alcohol. As if Scotch could wash the pain away.

Nothing washed the pain away. Not booze and not empty
calories. Not even the occasional punishing workouts he’d forced himself to do when the guilt got to him. The hurt was bone-deep and there was no external cure for it.

Maybe part of his emotional vulnerability stemmed from the events he’d left behind. He’d seen some gut-wrenching things through his camera lens and he never left any assignment unchanged in some way. It was especially hard when children were involved. He didn’t need to look through his professional archives to picture the face of every child he’d photographed. They stayed with him forever.

But that wasn’t the whole of it, though, and he knew it. He’d known it before Stewart Mills disappeared from his rearview mirror. He left a part of himself in New Hampshire, and the last two weeks had proven to him it was a part he couldn’t reconcile to living without.