1. Lace and Lipstick

1

Lace and Lipstick

W ith the passing of each day, she deflated a little more. By this point, she was barely more than a scrap of lace and a bad attitude.

Propped up against the headboard of the heavy, mahogany, sleigh bed and stripped of her legendary energy, she appeared even smaller. Hair that used to be as blond as my own settled around her wrinkled face like wisps of smoke. Even still, she was fiercer than I’d ever been.

Staring me down, she plucked and smoothed the lace cuffs of her nightgown.

She taught me a woman never leaves the house without her lipstick. Though confined to her bed, at the first hint of company, her lips blushed like a wild Irish rose. She was, in her words, ‘going out in style.’

She reminded me of this often, usually after making a disparaging remark about my favored uniform of jeans and t-shirts.

When her rant went on too long, I threatened to bury her in an open casket wearing her Kerry green ‘Proud to be Irish’ sweatshirt.

No lipstick.

She promised she’d haunt me.

I wasn’t completely opposed if it meant I wouldn’t have to let her go. She was all I had left in the world.

I shook my head as if to dislodge the thought. The time for facing the truth would come, but not today.

I smoothed the wedding ring quilt she painstakingly stitched together decades ago across her lap and tucked it around her legs.

Plants lined her windowsill, their trailing leaves arching toward a sun that was valiantly trying to usher in the spring.

One of the nightstands that bookended the head of her bed staggered under a huge stack of books. The other held an ever-growing collection of prescription bottles clustered around a China teacup and saucer that had served to hold her wedding band for as long as I could remember.

Candles flickered on the matching dresser, their light reflecting off the antique mirror attached to the back while rock music streamed through her speaker.

She was cherry lipstick and Carrickmacross lace, Galway crystal and the crashing waves of the stormy Irish sea, the pot of burnished gold at the end of every rainbow and all the sparkle of Christmas. Full of piss and vinegar with just enough honey to sweeten the harshest of truths, she held me through all my worst days.

What was I going to do without her?

I pulled her quilt up higher over her chest.

She patted my hand. “Muriel is on her way over for a visit. Would you put the kettle on for us?”

“Of course, Nan.”

She looked out the window, her lips compressed in a thin line. “I was sure I’d outlive that old bird.”

“Nan!” I laughed but she only rolled her eyes and grinned in response.

At the sound of the doorbell, I ran downstairs to open the door for Nan’s cantankerous neighbor. She proudly wore a prickly mantle of irritability and impatience, but the cackles of laughter coming from Nan’s bedroom whenever she visited told the truth.

“Tea, Mrs. Wemberly?”

She nodded as she hung her coat on the hook in the hall. “A splash of milk and a half teaspoon of sugar. And don’t skimp this time!”

I smiled. “Of course not.”

She carried an enormous carpet bag wherever she went. Like Mary Poppins but not nearly as spry.

Or smiley.

And she certainly didn’t sing.

“You can hang your bag up on the hook if you like.”

“I’ll be keeping my bag, thank you very much,” she retorted as she marched upstairs.

I snickered as I filled the kettle. The first time I made her a cup of tea, I followed her instructions to the letter. Twice she sent me back for more sugar. Now I dumped one and a half teaspoons in the cup and heard not a word of complaint.

But God help me if I accidentally added an extra drop of milk.

An hour later, her face drawn and deeply lined, she came downstairs to the kitchen where I sat staring into space with my own cup of tea gone cold. Without a word, she covered my hand with hers and bowed her head.

Her unexpected tenderness stole my voice and breached my defenses. I could do nothing but nod. I bit my bottom lip to distract my brain from facts I was wholly unready to face.

“Sometimes it flies, other times it crawls.” She sighed deeply. “Either way, Shae, life’s too short to muck about.”

With a gentle pat, she turned and left.

Swallowing the sob in my throat, I blew out a harsh breath and took myself back upstairs to Nan.

My voice barely quavered as I asked, “Did you enjoy your visit with Mrs. Wemberly?”

She twinkled. “I always do.” Wagging a finger, she continued, “Don’t let that old bat fool you. Mind in the gutter and a heart of solid gold.” Her brow furrowed. “Though she is a mite grumpy.”

“She makes you laugh.”

“Aye, that she does.” Her gnarled, arthritic finger traced the faded stitching of her quilt.

“Hard to believe these old hands were once capable of creating such beauty,” she murmured. “I made this for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, did you know that?”

I did know. It was that quilt that inspired me on my own journey.

Christmas of the year I moved in with her, she set a box filled with swaths of satin and the most beautiful array of silken threads I’d ever seen down in front of me.

Embroidery gave my mind something bright and beautiful to focus on when the darkness swallowed me.

It had been years since I’d picked up a needle.

Would it come back to me?

At the thought, my mind slammed shut as tight as the door to my rarely entered craft room. Because the last embroidery project I started lay folded and unfinished in a box under my bed.

She smiled. “Ach, but I loved the old fool. You know I had to hunt down his wallet and keys for him every single morning?”

I grinned. “I remember that, Nan.”

Her face softened as she stared into space, lost in the sweetest of memories. “I made this for him for our 25 th wedding anniversary.” She looked up at me, her eyes shiny. “I figured if he could put up with me for the first 25 years, I could trust him with the next.” She paused. “It wasn’t easy for me to trust him, but he earned it.” Her chin trembled. “That man knew me better than I knew myself.”

I swallowed hard and gave her my standard response which was the truth. “He was the best, Nan.”

Her eyelids fluttered as she dozed in and out.

I sat sentinel beside the bed, her fragile hand in mine.

An hour later her eyes popped open, and she continued without missing a beat.

Smiling into my eyes, she reminded me gently, “Two people shorten the road, pet.”

I ducked my head. “I know, Nan.”

Her deep sigh garnered my attention. I raised my head to find her eyebrows lowered as she looked me over appraisingly.

She clucked in disapproval. “You could show a wee bit of your bosoms you know.”

“Nan!” I barked out a laugh. “I don’t want a man who’s only interested in my,” I choked on my laughter as I spit out the word, “bosoms. I want a man who wants me.”

She smiled, the fading blue of her eyes twinkling. “So, you do fancy a fella of your own.”

I rolled my eyes.

She leaned forward, a hint of urgency in her tone. “Shae, darlin,’ marry a man willing to put in the work to know you.” Her eyes searched mine. “Don’t be afraid to pick up the phone, pet.”

Her unexpected words pierced me deep. I dropped my gaze and nodded quietly. “I will, Nan.”

“Promise me, Shae,” she demanded. “No regrets.”

“No,” I cleared my throat, “no regrets, Nan.”

She nodded and leaned back, satisfied, then pursed her lips and shook her head before throwing up her hands. “Jesus, Mary, and St. Joseph, Shae, would it kill you to show a wee bit of leg?”

“I’ll roll up my jeans and flash my ankles,” I sassed.

“Ach, away with you,” she scowled, then reached for my hand. “What are you doing tonight?”

I eyed the dark circles under her eyes.

Early that morning I’d called her doctor to get the latest update, praying for a miracle. Instead, he confirmed the tomorrows Nan promised were numbered.

I was not ready.

“I thought I’d stay home tonight.”

“Not at all,” she snapped with a sharp shake of her head. “Standing here with your two arms the one length, what’s that going to do? You’ve only just reconnected with your Sage Ridge friends.” She patted the telephone that had sat on her night table for so long I wondered if they weren’t fused together. “I’ve got the phone if I need anything.” She tossed me a sly smile. “In any case, Rudolpho is coming over to sit with me.”

I laughed. “Nan, we must be the last house in Mistlevale with an actual house phone. We should get rid of it. And that man is an incorrigible flirt.”

Rudolpho was the head chef at Ayana’s, Nan’s restaurant. He was also thirty years younger than Nan and married for even longer to his high school sweetheart, Marlena.

Since her doctor had relegated Nan to bed rest the week before, there’d been a constant stream of visits from our Ayana’s family. Rudy and Marlena chief among them.

“I’m sure I will,” she sassed. “This phone never runs out of battery. And Rudy’s virtue is safe with me. He’s bringing Marlena, and she’s bringing her famous brownies.” She wagged her eyebrows. “And everybody knows chocolate is just as good as sex.” She cocked her head to the side. “At my age, it’s maybe better. But there was a time…”

I covered my ears and laughed as her feistiness loosened the knots in my chest. “No, Nan, no! I’ll never be old enough to hear about your sex life.”

She smiled slyly. “Let’s just say Ayana’s back office saw its share of action.”

I groaned. “The office where I do payroll and place orders?”

“The very same.” She guffawed, then her face softened as she remembered something else. “He left sunflower seeds all over the bloody place.”

“Why’d you keep buying them?”

She waved me away. “Saved him a trip.”

The half of me that was terrified of losing her, the half that knew her hours were numbered, yearned to stay home. Lock the door and keep everybody out. Curl up on the bed beside her. Fall asleep with her gentle fingers sweeping over my temple the way she used to, brushing my hair and my stress away and away and away.

The other half, the half that couldn’t handle what tomorrow might bring, yearned for the escape that awaited me in Sage Ridge. There sisterhood and laughter all but blocked out the ache building inside me, knowing my Nan was not long for this world.

Then I’d be truly, utterly, alone.

Feeling like the worst person on the planet, I asked, “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” She winked. “I won’t die tonight.”

I knew my lines and recited them with ease. “Tomorrow would be better?”

She grinned. “Infinitely.”

Marlena and Rudolpho walked in just as I grabbed my car keys. Reaching out a hand to clasp my shoulder, Rudolpho gruffly offered, “Take your time. We’ll be here until you get back.”

“Even if it’s in the morning,” Marlena teased.

Hanging his coat on the hook, he winced and grumbled, “Lena, I watched her grow up. She’s like a second daughter to me.”

“And you don’t think our daughter likes to get some?” Marlena handed him a plate of brownies and let her coat fall down her arms.

I caught it and hung it on the hook beside her husband’s.

“Dammit, woman, why do you have to say these things?” Pulling the saran wrap off the top, Rudolpho marched away.

Nan’s thin voice drifted down the stairs. “Don’t you eat my brownies, Rudy!”

“I’ll save you a bite,” he barked as he took the stairs, his long legs eating them up two at a time.

Marlena laughed and winked at me as she held up a sealed container. “I’ll leave these two in the fridge for you.” Her face sobered and she touched my cheek. “Have a good night.”

Guilt, anxiety, and yearning gnawed at my stomach. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

Opening her arms, she drew me in for a brief embrace. “It’s necessary.”

I hung on longer than I should have, closing my eyes and leaning into her warmth. “I’m so afraid something will happen if I’m gone.”

“Sweetheart, it’s going to happen whether you worry or not. You can’t live in the what if.” She rubbed a slow circle over my back. “We have to take each moment as it comes and live in it.” Releasing me, she prodded me toward the door. “Go. As your Nan says, we all have our own stories to live. I’ll lock up.”

The hour drive to Sage Ridge was not yet routine, but it was getting easier. Since Harley came into Ayana’s with Daire, she had pulled me back into the fold. Seeing her after all that time triggered all the memories, both bitter and sweet, that I had buried with my dad.

I drove past my old house, picturing my dad on the front porch.

On Main Street, I saw Quinn furiously peddling her bike in front of mine, trying to get home before the streetlights came on.

When I passed Hugh’s Hardware, I remembered the pup tent Dad bought for Quinn and me to have sleepovers in the backyard.

Everywhere else, I saw him .

The bridge we used to sneak over to Carousel Island after hours?

Him.

The signpost pointing to Hailey’s Falls?

Him.

The Beanery?

Him.

Everywhere I looked, I saw him.

Yet, there was no sign of him anywhere.

And I didn’t want to ask.

I needed to make new memories. Now, I had Harley, Noelle, Bridge, and sweet Wren. To a lesser extent, I also had Daire, Hawkley, and Max, most of whom I knew in some capacity back in high school before I moved to Mistlevale.

Moving and changing high schools in grade eleven did little to help my social life. Or my grades. Spiraling in my grief, I had to repeat the semester, putting me behind my peers and further isolating me.

Not that I’d been a straight A student or a social butterfly in Sage Ridge, but at least I had the swim team and my best friend Quinn.

And him.

Mistlevale had been my home base since my father passed, but Sage Ridge was my home.

I’d only returned twice in all the years since I left. Seeing him move on ensured I never looked back again.

Until now.

The first time I ventured out to Sage Ridge after running into Harley, I made it only as far as the stop sign leading into town.

Now, I rolled right through it, flicking the indicator toward good food, good friends, and the endless laughter that awaited me at Susie Q’s.

I smiled to myself.

Anticipation unfurled her lazy bones and stretched.

My girls were crazy-wonderful.

Who knew where the night might go?