One Lavender Ribbon (28 page)

“Are we staying for the fireworks?” Adrienne asked excitedly. She and Sara had returned with lemonade slushies, and now the four of them were making their way to the bandstand where the Air Force band was warming up.

Will claimed a drink. “If Pops and Sara feel like it.”

They sat down. Adrienne grinned and chewed the end of her straw.

“What’s on your mind?” Will asked, noticing how the cold of the slushie had made her lips red and a little swollen. Slushies
rocked
.

“Nothing.” She blinked innocently. “Just a little surprise for Pops later.”

Will eyed her suspiciously. The man on the bandstand began to speak, and Will’s attention left Adrienne and her icy-hot mouth. He drank the tart lemonade as the man talked about patriotism and America.

Minutes into his monologue, the announcer took out a list. “We have several guests here today who we would like to recognize now.” He talked about a young man who had just returned from Afghanistan, a high-ranking Air Force colonel, but it was the next name that drew Will’s attention.

“Today, we have a member of the acclaimed 101st Airborne that was active in World War II. William Bryant was a paratrooper involved in each major battle during the campaign in Europe, including Normandy and Bastogne. William Bryant, please stand.”

For a moment, Pops just sat still, like he was unsure whether it was his name he’d heard. But Sara on one side and Adrienne on the other were tugging at his arm for him to rise. Pops stood, and as he did, a roar in the crowd echoed around them.

Mouth agape, he glanced around as, all over the stadium, people were clapping and cheering. They began to stand with him. Pops slowly raised a hand to them in stunned appreciation. It was a full two minutes before the crowd began to sit back down, their roar fading slowly. Unable to speak, Pops sat as well.

And Will watched him. He’d seen the color drain from Pops’s cheeks as he was commanded to stand. He’d watched as Pops placed a hand over his heart, trying to swallow back the emotion at being singled out. This wasn’t Pops’s style. And he was an old man.

Will’s anger began a slow burn deep in his gut. He kept a close eye on him later as they walked to the car.

The night air swirled, carrying the scent of hot dogs and funnel cakes. Will pressed the button on his car keys, and the headlights flashed on, one row out. The gentlemen helped the ladies into the vehicle, and Will stored Adrienne’s purchases in the trunk. He moved to the driver’s-side door. Once out of the artificial light, and with Adrienne and Sara tucked safely inside the car, Pops slumped against the trunk.

Will rushed back to him. “What’s wrong?”

Pops sucked in a ragged breath. “I was doing fine until the bandstand.” Tender blue eyes studied the younger man. “I’m sorry, Will. I try to be so strong.”

Will forced down a lump in his throat.

Pops’s head dropped, fingers lacing together in embarrassment. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

It was useless. It was too late. Will could see how delicate his grandfather really was. “When he called my name, it was just too much for me to handle.” A choked sob followed, and Will took a firmer grip on his grandfather, shoring him up.

What was appropriate contact between two men quickly fell by the wayside as Will unlaced Pops fingers and held the older man in his arms. Another choked sob was accompanied by two more, as strong, able shoulders rose and fell under the weight of grief. Then, as quickly as the tears had come, they were gone.

Pops took a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. “Grown-up bawl baby,” he mumbled, pressing the cloth to his cheeks.

“No,” Will assured. “Bravest man I know.”

Though both women had witnessed the embrace, neither was quick to talk about it. When Pops began to cry, Sara reached over to Adrienne in the backseat and took her hand. The four of them drove back to Naples in silence.

Will helped Sara from the car while Adrienne searched for her house keys. Sara had given Pops a peck on the cheek and was already at the front door.

Sure both of the older people were out of earshot, Will turned on Adrienne. “Why did you do that?” he hissed.

Shocked, she abandoned her search, frowning until she realized he was talking about the bandstand. “I passed a table where they were asking about veterans. I told them about Pops. It was to honor him.”

Will threw an angry glance toward the car. “He nearly broke down. You need to start using some better judgment in your decisions. The day was hard enough on Pops. You seem to forget he’s over eighty years old.”

Adrienne glanced toward the car. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Well, please try to next time.” He walked back to the car while she slowly walked up to the house.

Back in the vehicle, Pops stared at him. “You and Adrienne have a tiff?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said, backing out and wishing the leather smell of his car could erase the floral scent of her that still hung in the air. Once on the main road, he turned the radio on.

Soft music filled the car, relieving the silence. With a finger, Pops traced the stitching of the leather seat. “Listen, Will, I want to apologize.”

Will’s eyes left the road. “For what?” Bonita Springs disappeared around them, bathed only in the artificial light of the streetlamps and brightened storefronts.

Pops kept his gaze strictly focused on the seat. “For earlier. I should explain.”

“No, Pops,” Will said tenderly. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I want to.” The resolve in Pops’s tone stopped any argument.

One quick glance, and Will knew he needed to say this.

“Coming home from the war is like your birthday and Christmas all rolled up in one.” Lips framed with wrinkles pressed together. “At least that’s what I thought. I’d heard stories about entire towns shutting down and having a parade to welcome a soldier home.”

Will smiled at him.

Pops brushed his hands on his pants. “Call it romanticizing, but I just expected . . . ” They turned onto a side road. With no moonlight outside, their conversation was illuminated only by the unnatural glow of the dashboard. “Look, when I got home, there was no one there to greet me. No one.”

Will’s heart sank into his stomach, and he was glad the dash light was faint. He’d hate for Pops to see the horror on his face.

Pops swallowed. “Tonight I feel like I got the homecoming I missed back then.” He looked over at his grandson. “That may sound silly to you, but it’s how I feel.”

Will couldn’t breathe. His lungs were denying his body oxygen. He wondered if he would ever learn to keep his mouth shut. “That’s why you reacted to it?”

Pops smiled. “You mean my crying fit at the back of the car?”

“I would hardly call it a crying fit.”

Pops patted the seat. “Whatever you would call it. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day. Thank you, Will. For making all this happen.”

Will couldn’t take the credit for the bandstand. He could, however, take the blame for once again accusing Adrienne when he should be thanking her. He ran a hand through his hair, stiffening at the thought of having to apologize. Again.

Pops noticed his demeanor. “Don’t worry. If you messed things up with Adrienne, I’m sure she’ll give you a chance to fix it.”

Will smiled over at him and said wryly, “How do you know I’m the one that messed up?”

“You’re the man. We’re always the ones that mess up.”

“Honeybees have stingers, you know?” Will said.

“That’s why honey is so sweet.”

“It’s worth the sting. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I guess you’ll find out.”

Will sighed. Yes, he was hopelessly caught in her orbit. “Guess I will, Pops.”

The two women had stayed quiet for the first few minutes inside the house. Adrienne flitted from room to room, turning on lights. Sara seemed unusually distracted. “Everything all right?” she asked the older woman.

“What? Oh, yes.” Sara followed her into the lavender room.

“Do you think Pops is okay?” Adrienne asked, shaking a thick down pillow into a plum pillow case.

Sara nodded from across the bed. “I’m sure.” After fluffing the pillow on her side, she nestled it at the head of the antique sleigh bed purchased for the room.

Adrienne stifled a yawn. It had been a long day. “You’ve fallen in love with him all over again, haven’t you?”

Sara took the pillow back up and hugged it to herself. “No,” she said.

“I don’t believe you, Sara.” Adrienne tucked stray wisps of hair behind her ear and regarded the older woman.

Sara used her palm to smooth the cotton bedspread. “The truth is, I never fell out of love with him.”

Adrienne sat at the edge of the bed and drew one foot up under her knee. “What do you see for the two of you?”

Sara blinked, a crimson stain darkening her face. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Adrienne threw her hands into the air. “He feels the same.”

Sara dropped slowly onto the bed. “I don’t know that you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She tipped her shoulder. “The way he looks at you, how he holds your hand.”

Sara scooted so she could look at Adrienne fully. “When I hear his voice, my heart beats faster. This warm, thick liquid moves through my veins when he touches me. But—”

“But what?”

Sara pushed hair from her face. “He doesn’t look at me like he used to look at Gracie.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Sara’s gaze drifted around the room. “It is. Gracie was perfect. She had the poise of a swan while I was more of an . . . ”—she scrunched her nose—“an ugly duckling and a klutz.”

“Sara, I can’t imagine you as an ugly duckling and certainly not a klutz. You’re so elegant.”

Sara gave her an appreciative smile.

“I mean it. Everything about you is beautiful.”

Sara’s voice dropped. “Not everything.”

Chills spread over Adrienne’s arms, though she had no clue why. Then she thought about the letter. The note from Grace that Pops had salvaged. She’d intended to ask Sara about it but had lost her nerve. Now it seemed that fateful note could be somehow connected to Sara’s admission. Now was the time.

“Sara, Pops had one letter from Grace. It was the last letter sent to him.”

Sara’s gaze dropped to the floor.

“I read it. It sounded . . . it really sounded like a woman in love. But it was right before Grace died.”

Sara remained silent.

“I wondered if you might know anything about that letter?”

Sara stood slowly and moved to the far wall where her suitcase sat open; clothes ruffled as she dug through the blouses and skirts. One deep breath, and she turned to face Adrienne, a stack of letters in her hand.

Adrienne blinked, trying to assimilate the idea of this new stack with the ones she’d found from William. “Sara, what are those?”

“Grace never wrote to William. I begged her to. I pleaded, but she wouldn’t.”

A muddled picture of the past began to clear before Adrienne. She wasn’t sure she liked what she saw. But what could she do now? Forge on. Clarify her suspicions. “Sara,
you
wrote the letters? The letters from Grace?”

“Every single word.” A lone tear trickled down her cheek. “It was such a deceitful, evil thing to do. But he’d gone there for her. If he knew the truth, I was afraid he’d never survive.”

“But you told William Grace lost interest in him because of you. Because you loved him.”

“Over the years, it was just easier to believe she’d landed in another man’s arms because of me. Truthfully, she had no intention of waiting for William.”

Adrienne couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move.

“Oh, I loved him from the first day he found me crying at the riverside.” Her thumbs caressed the letters in her hand. “But I fell deeper and deeper in love reading his letters. I grew up on those letters. Became a woman.”

“And you wrote him back.”

“Yes. We grew closer and closer, sharing the war, sharing home. I poured my heart into those words. But . . . but never my secret.”

“And with each letter, you had to sign Grace’s name at the bottom. Oh, Sara.” Adrienne moved closer. “I’m so sorry.”