The Dream - Whitney Dineen Page 0,93
honey,” Gran says. “John says to tell you that Reed thinks it’s a fine idea.”
Gracie bursts into tears. This is the first her dead husband’s name has been mentioned tonight and it appears to take her totally off guard. Tears free-fall down her face as we all wait for her to answer. She finally tells Jesse, “Fine, I’ll marry you.”
He stands up and pulls her into his arms, and she adds, “Thank you.”
A world of emotion takes over the room, happiness for Gracie and Jesse, sadness that Gran isn’t fully present, and gratitude that such joy can exist in spite of the grief that led to it. Gracie lost her husband when she was only thirty, but here she is being given a second chance at love.
Dessert is cleared and Gracie and Jesse say their goodnights. They cross paths with Davis as he gets out of his car. He’s warm and welcoming to the whole family, but when he looks at me, his face is full of questions. “Ashley,” he says. That’s it, just Ashley, like I’m the one who’s supposed to say something.
I want to run out the door so I don’t have to see him at all, but that wouldn’t be very professional. I’m here as his grandmother’s companion, and no matter what, I’m going to do my job.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Davis is here for twenty minutes or so before he says, “I better call Emmie and have her come back to take Gran to the Millersville Meadow.”
“Why aren’t you taking her?” his dad asks.
Davis glances at me before answering, “Emmie mentioned she wanted more time with Gran.”
“Honey,” Lee says, “she’s already home with Zach and the baby. Why not just let them have their family time and you take her?”
Davis looks at me again like the decision’s mine. I say, “I don’t care who drives us back.”
Jedd and Lee exchange a look as though trying to figure out what’s going on between us. Lee asks, “Is there something happening here that we should know about?”
Since they never knew Davis and I were on the verge of anything, I answer, “Not at all. Everything is the same as it’s always been.”
Jedd doesn’t seem to believe me and asks, “Do you want me to drive you?”
I wave my hand in front of my face. “It makes no difference to me.” All the while I’m sending copious subliminal messages that I would prefer anyone but his son.
“Well, if that’s the case,” Davis announces, “come on.”
He wishes his parents a good night, before taking his grandmother’s arm. Oh dear, I hope John keeps all opinions regarding his grandson and me to himself.
Once we’re situated in Davis’s car, Gran announces, “I had a nice time.” Then she leans up and pats her grandson’s arm. “You have a nice family.”
“Yes, I do,” he agrees. “We love when you come over for a visit.”
“I should do that more often,” she tells him. Then to me, she asks, “Are you part of the family too, honey?”
“No!” I practically shout, which sounds exceedingly loud inside the confines of the car.
“That’s too bad,” Gran says.
I don’t say another word until we get to our destination. Davis helps his grandmother while I hurry around to the curb to meet them. We each take one of her arms and lead her down the hall.
Davis kisses her goodbye and says, “I love you, Gran. You sleep tight, okay?”
“I’m sure I will,” she tells him. “John says he’s going to stay with me.”
Davis looks at me questioningly and I mouth the words, “I’ll tell you later.” Then louder I add, “I’ll meet you at the car in a few minutes.”
After he leaves, I help Gran take off her dress and put on her nightgown. She says, “You and that boy are having some troubles, huh?”
“What? No, not at all. Why would you think that?”
“There’s some dark air between you, is all. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t going to embarrass you by saying anything in front of him.”
“Thank you,” I tell her sincerely.
“Honey, sometimes life brings you gifts and sometimes it brings a poopy pie. I don’t remember specifics, but I know that’s true.” Poopy pie?
She continues, “You just gotta be ready for whatever comes and do the best you can.”
“I’m sure trying,” I tell her.
“What did he do?” she wants to know.
“He’s friends with someone who isn’t a very nice person.”
“That’s not good. Are you sure about the friend?”
“One hundred percent,” I answer.
“I’m sorry, then,” she tells me. “I’m a firm believer that