One Wish (18 page)

“You had good teachers,” Winnie said defensively.

“Probably, but it’s not the teachers I think about when I look back and examine the choices I’ve made, when I think about the opportunities and accomplishments. It’s the coaches. I’ve had two of the best.”

* * *

Grace called Troy’s cell and asked him if he’d join her and her mother for lunch at one of the resort restaurants. He was pleased to do that and he showed up at the cottage to push Winnie’s wheelchair.

Winnie might not be ready to admit it, but Troy charmed her. He made her laugh and her eyes twinkled. If there was a sweeter, kinder and funnier man, Grace had never met him. And he was completely sincere, Grace felt that in her heart.

On the way back to Thunder Point, she asked him what he would do if money were no object. “Grace, that is such a remote possibility for me, I’ve never even thought about it. I have no idea. Probably something fun and irresponsible.”

“But you’re the most responsible person I know. You work hard, you save, you measure every penny.”

“That’s because in my life, money has always been hard to come by. I learned to be careful at an early age.”

Grace and Troy were back in Thunder Point by three, but Grace didn’t open the shop. Instead, she made and returned a few phone calls, and then she went upstairs to her apartment and got on the laptop, researching ALS. At six, Troy showed up with crab cakes and salad from Cliff’s and a bottle of wine. They talked about all she’d learned in just a few hours of research, how much more she should know, including the need for genetic testing.

“I’m going to do a little more reading tonight,” Grace said.

“Would this be a good night for me to spend at my place?” he asked.

“Can you stay? I’m not going to read all night. And tomorrow I’m going to work in the shop in the morning and in the afternoon I’m going to close the shop and drive over to Eugene to pick up Mikhail. He’s going to stay at the resort with my mother for two or three days.”

“And what will you be doing? Will you spend the evening with them?”

“Maybe part of the evening, but I think it would be best if I let them catch up. Would you like to join us?”

“I don’t think so. But I hope I’ll meet him before he leaves. Why don’t you let me keep the shop open till five or so. I can sell what you have on hand, then I’m due to help Cooper for the next couple of nights.”

“Troy, did you plan to go somewhere? Is my sudden crisis keeping you from doing something fun with your spring break?”

“You think I’d run out on you now? Gracie, I think the way you handle this is one of the most important things you’ll ever do.”

“Because?” she asked, but she knew. She just wanted him to put it into words for her.

“Because you have this one chance to get things right between the two of you. And you should take it.”

“Right,” she agreed. “I hope I don’t really screw it up. And I hope I don’t mess things up with you, because you’re pretty important to me.”

“I’m a big boy, Gracie. Don’t worry about me. I’ll stick with you while you go through this.”

“And after I’m through it?” she asked.

“After? You might be living an entirely different life. Let’s see what all this means. I gather there’s a fortune involved. And not a small one.”

“Troy, that doesn’t matter. You can’t imagine that it would matter.”

“You can’t say that yet. That’s one of those questions that will have to be answered when it’s not just talk, when it’s real. But for now, while you try to sort all this out, you can count on me.”

* * *

That had such an ominous sound, Grace was a little nervous. Concerned enough that she didn’t sleep all that well.

When he took her in his arms, everything felt the same—easy and delicious and perfect. But she suspected that Troy, like just about anyone would be, was a bit intimidated by Winnie and her money. Money that she wished to confer on Grace but only after Grace jumped through all the right hoops. What Troy didn’t understand and couldn’t until it was, as he said,
real
was that Grace had been happier since she’d been on her own than ever before. And she’d been happier with Troy than she thought possible.

Once she was alone in her shop, when Troy was off doing his own thing, she placed a call to Ray Anne Dysart. Everyone knew Ray Anne was the person to contact for real estate needs. She wasn’t sure how to phrase her request exactly. She asked Ray Anne if she had time to stop by Pretty Petals this morning. She wanted to talk about property for rent or sale.

Ray Anne walked in not too long after, and with her was a pretty blonde woman. “Hi,” Grace said with a smile.

“Grace, meet my niece, Ginger. Not really my niece, but almost. My cousin Dickie is like a brother to me and this is his daughter. Ginger is staying with me for a while.” After the brief introductions, Ray Anne was all business. “How can I help you? Ready for a little more space than your darling loft?”

“Not exactly. I love my little loft. My mother lives in San Francisco and she’s up here for a visit. She’s staying at the Dunes in one of their beautiful little cottages. And she’s handicapped. She’s not getting around well and the San Francisco house isn’t the best for her disability. She can barely manage the stairs and it’s only going to get worse, and soon. Of course I’d like her to be closer. I’m afraid she has a progressive degenerative disease, and we don’t know how much time there is.”

“Oh, Grace,” Ray Anne said, hand to her heart.

“We’re doing as well as we can with the diagnosis,” she said, making it sound almost as if she’d known as long as her mother had. “Now, when I’d like her nearby, when she’s getting worse, I want a house for her. A one-level house. A beautiful flat house. She’s certainly not up to looking at houses, but everyone knows you’re the best there is. Fortunately, my father took care of my mother—he passed a long time ago. That San Francisco house will bring a nice price and she has a healthy pension. She can afford to spend her last months in comfort.”

“Almost anything in San Francisco can fetch a good price. Do you know what kind of house you’re looking for besides one level?”

She shook her head. “I don’t. It has to be ready. We don’t have weeks or months to decorate. Even though my mother isn’t getting around much, it should be spacious.”

“And will you be staying with her?”

“I’m sure I’ll be spending my share of nights there, but let’s think of her. I want her to have something to look at—”

“Oceanfront?”

“That would be wonderful, but anything that doesn’t feel like a hospital room. She has ALS. The symptoms are coming faster now. I think she’ll be bedridden in a few months.”

“And your price range?”

“I don’t have one. I don’t know how much my mother has socked away, but there’s plenty. She has old family money and, Ray Anne, I don’t want any of it. I want her nearby or else I’ll have to close the shop and go to San Francisco until...” She cleared her throat. “If you find something wonderful, I’ll look at it and if it’s perfect, I’ll find a way. My mother has always lived well.”

“I assume you want to rent?”

“I’m flexible,” Grace said. “If there’s nothing stunning for rent but there’s a listing that’s perfect, I can always sell it...” She looked down. “Later,” she finally said.

Ray Anne reached out and touched her arm. “There are some nice properties around. Have you looked online?”

“I haven’t. But I could—”

“Don’t worry about it. Write your email address on the back of this card,” she said, helping herself to one of Grace’s flower shop business cards and flipping it over. “I’ll get right to work on this. I can see why you’re in a hurry. I’ll send you some links.”

“Is this possible, Ray Anne?” Grace asked. “Because I have to convince my mother that this is a better idea than me moving to San Francisco for a year.”

“If it’s possible, darling, I can do it. It’ll give me a chance to show Ginger a few things about real estate and hunting property in case... Well, my darling girl is with me for at least a few weeks, maybe longer, and we’re visiting local businesses to see if anyone needs help. Ginger wants to work while she’s here.”

“Are you serious? What kind of work?” Grace asked.

Ginger flushed and looked down. “My experience is mostly in retail. I worked in women’s clothing, housewares, a little bit in an office. I’ve done a lot of things.”

“Did you work in decorating at all, while you worked in housewares?”

“I wouldn’t call it decorating, no. But I did things like bridal registries.”

“I’m desperate for help. Especially now, with my mother and all. Do you have any interest in flower design? This is a small boutique, but it’s busy. Not crowded, but busy. There are a lot of phone orders and arrangements to design. I spend a lot of time in the workroom, putting them together. Most of them are not originals but created from pictures I have and they’re pretty easy to learn. I try new things from time to time.”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I could try.”

“Would you like to spend a morning with me? Just to see how it feels? It’s very messy work.”

“Could I? The idea of a small shop appeals to me a lot more than a restaurant or—” she glanced at Ray Anne “—real estate.”

“It’s okay, babe,” Ray Anne said. “Not everyone is cut out for my job, even though they think they are.”

“Can you come tomorrow morning? Early? Eight o’clock?”

“I can do that,” she said.

“Wonderful! Ray Anne, thank you. Send me pictures, please.”

Sixteen

M
ikhail Petrov’s flight arrived promptly at three in the afternoon and he walked into the baggage-claim area with a duffel over his shoulder. He was sixty-six and his face was whiskery and lined with age, but his hair was reddish brown.
Bad color
, Grace thought. He’d had bad hair color for so many years. But for a man his age, he was fit and strong. Small but built like an ox with his big shoulders and short legs. She held up her tablet upon which she had typed, in very large letters, PETROV. He didn’t smile, but she did. He was accustomed to limos or at least town car service. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t recognize the best figure skater he’d ever coached.

“I see,” he said. “You think you’re funny.”

“I do,” she said, grinning. “Do you have luggage?”

He held out his duffel. “Only this. Two days, maybe three, that is all I have for you.”

“Not for me, Mikhail. You came for Winnie, remember?”

“Right,” he said. “Lead the way.”

Grace directed him to the parking area and opened the back of the van. It was custom painted in pink, yellow, purple, blue with lime-green lettering in script.
Pretty Petals.
“Your luggage, sir.”

“What is this?” he said, handing over the duffel.

“The flower mobile,” she said. “Jump in front. We have a long drive.”

He did as he was told “We’ll make one stop,
golubushka
. The grocer, please,” he said.

“You won’t need food,” she said, buckling in.

“Is just for some fruit, if you don’t mind so much. You drive this thing?”

“Remember Mamie and Ross Jenkins? Ross taught me to drive. I love driving! Love the control. Tell me, Mikhail, have you been well? You look exactly the same.”

“They call it preserved,” he said. “I have been six months traveling and now we train in Chicago. There are three assistants and twelve US contenders, from which the US will take a few to the finals, maybe not mine. There is time, but this will be my last Winter Games, if any of my girls are selected. From the look of it, I say there is no a chance in hell. But there is time. And sheet of gods, they need it!” He turned in his seat and looked at her. “Tell me how is Winifred?”

“I spent the day with her yesterday. The first day I’ve spent with her in five years. She looks very beautiful, but she’s thinner and has aged. I think it’s the stress of knowing she’s battling ALS and is losing. The tremors and weakness are obvious and she said this is just within the past few months. She has no idea how much time she has. She’s taking a drug to slow the progression but she’s cynical—she doesn’t see how it matters. She said, ‘What good is three more months?’ All she wants to do is clean house, so to speak. Settle her affairs. Get the end of her life in order, but this would mean in order to her satisfaction. It’s not as though she can control it from the grave.” She bit her lips against the threat of tears.

“If anyone can do that, is Winifred,” he grumbled. “I am afraid she has contract with God.”

That brought a laugh from Grace. Spurts of laughter through tears had become common the past few days. “We never communicated, Mikhail. She instructed, criticized, praised, but we never talked about our feelings. I talked with my therapist or Mamie. Now I understand that Winnie wasn’t ready to retire when I was. It destroyed her.”

“There is the thing with athletes and their mothers.” He peered at her. “The mother is not doing skating. She can’t make decisions like that. She is there for cheering, no more. It is not about Winifred. Unless she wants to take on the ice, then it is not about her. Is about you.”

“I wish I’d understood,” Grace said.

“You understood,” he said. “You knew. You did the right thing. Is time to have life for yourself.” He looked around the van. “In flower mobile.”

Grace pulled into a grocery store lot not far from the resort in Bandon. It occurred to her that since Mikhail wanted some fruit, she could pick up a couple of things for later. Troy would probably come over after his evening at Cooper’s. They walked into the grocery store and Grace went immediately to the deli and bakery while Mikhail presumably went to the produce section. When she went looking for him he was holding a bottle of vodka and looking a little lost.

“Have you found your fruit?” she asked.

“Where is raisins?”

“Raisins? Let’s see,” she said, walking down an aisle and around a central counter. “Ah. Raisins.”

He selected a big box of plump golden raisins. “Wow. You like your raisins,” she said.

“Fruit of the gods,” he told her.

“Would you like some apples? Oranges? Bananas?”

“Good to go,” he said, heading for the checkout.

“Are raisins your favorite snack?” she asked.

“Put raisins in the vodka, let sit overnight, perfect.”

“Ah,” she said, laughing at his pronunciation. “And then you eat the raisins?”

“
Nyet!
Drink the vodka!”

She was a little shocked, even though she had remembered that Mikhail liked his
wodka
,
especially after the trials or competitions were done. She laughed softly. “Right,” she said.

* * *

Virginia let them into the cottage and then discreetly left the room. Winnie was standing beside the sofa. There was a tray of hors d’oeuvres on a small table, a couple of wineglasses sitting out and an ice bucket.

Mikhail dropped his duffel and put his grocery bag on the short counter in the little galley kitchen before entering and going to Winnie. “Winifred, this is lie I am told, that you are sick.” He put his hands on her face and kissed her cheeks. In high society they stuck to air-kissing, but Mikhail always gave the real thing in loud smacks. “You are beautiful.”

“It’s all fading,” she said.

“Sit down, my dove. You are tired? Weak?”

“Things don’t work like they once did but I’m getting by fine. Can we get you something? Food? Drink?”

“Ice,” he said. “A glass and ice.” He brought his grocery bag to the chair adjacent to her and pulled out his bottle of vodka, putting it on the coffee table. Grace quickly fixed his glass for him.

“As refined as ever,” Winnie quipped.

Grace took one of the chairs near them. It had the feel of a reunion, the way these two poked at each other, but the affection between them was so obvious.

“Is perfect,” he said. “What do we give you?”

“I’m fine, Mikhail. After you’ve had a drink, we can order some dinner. Grace,” she said. “Will you have dinner? A glass of wine?”

“Nothing for me. I have a drive ahead.”

“And your young man?” Winnie asked.

Mikhail peered at her.

“He’s working tonight, his part-time job. I’ll see him later.”

“Grace is in love with a schoolteacher,” Winnie said.

“You could not find her a prince or dictator?” Mikhail asked with a smirk.

“I choose my own men,” Grace said. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home now so you can visit. I have to open the shop in the morning, Mother. I have a new employee coming early to train. If you’re feeling well, maybe you’ll come and look at my little town?”

“Let’s see what the morning brings, Grace.” Then she shook her head. “This new name. It just doesn’t fit you.”

“You’ll get used to it.” She gave her mother a kiss on the forehead. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

* * *

Left alone, Mikhail fetched the tray of snacks and placed it on the coffee table, within reach. He sampled a small toast square with tapenade and hummed his approval. He sipped his drink. “What is your plan, Winnie?” he asked.

“Plan?”

“Do not do this coy with me, it is Mikhail you talk to. You have plan. Like always.”

“I want to take Izzy to San Francisco. Home. But she doesn’t want to go.”

“Then why? Leave the child to have her life. She will visit.”

“There’s an estate to settle. A complicated estate. Furnishings, jewelry, art, investments. I can’t wave my wand and have it done. It’s hers. She has decisions to make. I don’t know what she wants to do with all of it. I can’t just leave it behind.”

“Ah, you will take it with you?” He chuckled and sipped his vodka. “If anyone can, is you.”

“I just want to make sure it’s all properly dealt with. All the possessions.”

“She looks better than I’ve ever seen her,” Mikhail said. “I think it is because the weight of all the world is not on her back. All the burdens of the world—gone. The need to win for her mother, for her team, her country, is done now. Behind her. And she thrives. That is your legacy, Winnie—Izzy. She is your estate. Think on this.”

“I have a responsibility...”

“She has had hard life, working to bring home gold when she is only a child. You gave birth to champion, Winnie, and she spent her life to give you what you could not get for yourself. You want her to miss you when you are gone? Set her free. She doesn’t work for us any longer.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Is truth.”

* * *

When Grace was back in Thunder Point, she texted Troy to tell him she was home with food and wine. If there wasn’t so much going on, she’d be out at the beach, keeping him company while he served. Instead, she poured herself a glass of wine, got out her laptop and checked messages. Ray Anne had sent her a dozen listings to look at and she breezed through them with disappointment. There was one with a Pacific view that was spacious and beautiful, but the kitchen was dated and the bedrooms were all upstairs. Just like the San Francisco house.

Did her mother really want to die in that house? That small mansion? The thought made her shudder. Was that a conversation that had to take place? Two days after she learned about Winnie’s degenerative disease? She was up to the task of saying,
I think you should live near me, where we can be close to each other.
But the subtext of that discussion would be,
Come to Oregon where I can be available when the end is near.
That’s what this was really about, wasn’t it?

From all she read, she wasn’t sure what was involved in taking care of someone with ALS. They could hire nurses. Hospice seemed to be the end-stage necessity. But were specialists required? Because Winnie would have to have the best, she’d demand it. It seemed many ALS patients needed feeding tubes. IVs. Respirators.

She’d have to see Scott Grant, talk to him. Maybe he could tell her what she’d need and whether it was all available here.

She started to cry. It came at the most unexpected moments and she told herself it was because she was so tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well and the pressure was back, that pressure to do the right thing, to please. And this time she had to get it right because her mother was terminal. As soon as she managed to get her crying jag under control, she went back to her internet research.

Finally a text came in from Troy.
Nice night on the beach. Won’t get there till around ten.

Then she started to cry again, for no reason and every reason.

* * *

Ginger got up earlier than she had in months. She showered, blew out her hair, applied a little light makeup and put on one of her new outfits. Just to be safe, she put a pair of her old jeans and a T-shirt in a little bag—Grace had said it was dirty work. She’d ask Grace if she should change before doing anything that might wreck her new clothes.

When she looked in the mirror she admitted to herself that Ray Anne had been right—she needed to be presentable. It didn’t make that ache in her heart disappear, but it made her feel slightly less pathetic. Her father had given her some money, just walking-around money he called it, but if she earned a little something she might run over to Target in the next town and buy herself some less expensive jeans and shirts that fit, that she could afford to go to work in.

Ray Anne was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with her laptop open, glasses perched on the end of her nose, clicking through listings. “Well, don’t you look pretty,” she said.

“I feel kind of guilty,” she said. “My mom has been asking me for months to try to do something about my appearance and I blew her off. But I’m here two days and you have me cleaned up and in new clothes.”

“I’m very bossy that way,” Ray Anne said. “Plus, we have a lot of shopping history, you and me. Are you excited about your new job?”

“Nervous,” she said. “What if I just don’t have the...energy?”

“Then you’ll tell Grace you need a break. Get a soda or cup of coffee. Eat a little something. I think you’re going to like it. It’s such pretty work—making up beautiful bouquets.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You helped people pick out their household accessories, linens, dishes, table accoutrements. You have good taste. And if it doesn’t prove to be right for you, you’ll get a different kind of job. I don’t think Grace is going to expect you to take on weddings. She’ll probably hand you a broom.”

“Probably,” Ginger agreed. “I think I’ll get going.”

“Ginger!” Ray Anne snapped. “Choke down a cup of coffee and a piece of toast! Don’t go to your first day without any fuel!”

“Right,” she said, going to the coffeepot. “Are you finding anything for Grace? I mean, for her mother?”

“It’s pretty tough. I have absolutely no idea what the woman’s expectations are. I mean the mother’s—would she be grateful just to be near Grace or is she very particular? There are a couple of little duplexes with good views for rent. They’re small. I sent pictures to Grace yesterday and last night she emailed back that she was looking for something larger and more
custom
. Something more like the resort facilities but with a full kitchen and deck and view and one level, at least three thousand square feet. And don’t worry about the price, she says. When people say that, they mean anything from two hundred thousand or seven-hundred-a-month rent. They don’t know how pricey their wishes and dreams can get.”

“Are you going to ask those things?”

“Sure. Finding the right house usually takes many conversations, never all at once. Asking again and again, dribbling it out, so it isn’t so overwhelming. And I find the answers change over time. Unfortunately, Grace is in a hurry. But lucky for her, I’m good.” Then she smiled. “How did you sleep?”