Dolly All the Time(74)

“What happened?” she asks.

“Grant. I’m not sure,” I say. She puts her arms around me in the most tender hug—it’s the hug you’d give your child after their first big heartbreak.

She whispers in my ear, “You know what you know, Dolly.”

I pull away and meet her eyes. I nod my agreement, because of course. He’s just in a panic right now. This will be the new oft-repeated story to replace the skunk in the foyer. We’ll all laugh and laugh. I follow Busy out through the bustling kitchen, and we leave through the delivery entrance. This seems fitting for how this day is going. In through the grand double doors, out through the delivery entrance.

Outside, I touch my dahlia necklace, the thing, besides maybe Stewart, that I’d hoped to keep. If this is over, I don’t want to drag this out or engage in any kind of lengthy goodbye later, so I unclasp it and hold it out to Busy.

“Please,” she says. “Put that back on.”

“I can’t,” I say. “And I do think you’re right, that he cares about me. I am sure of it, actually, but I’ve been super wrong before. In case I’m wrong, I don’t want to have to do this later. He can give it back to me if…when—” My voice breaks and betrays the fact that I’m not as sure as I say I am.

Busy pulls me into her arms. I take in the baby powder and lavender smell of her. She has been so, so kind to me. When we pull apart, I hold out the skirt of my dress. “If this doesn’t turn into rags at midnight, I’ll take the necklace back.” I smile at her because she’s the kindest person, but she smiles back with worry in her eyes.

“Deal,” she says.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” I say, but my voice wavers. “I’m just really surprised.” That he left me there in a crowd of people who think who knows what about me, I don’t say.

“This is his worst nightmare,” she says. “Screwing it up.”

“I know,” I say.

I make my way back out to the garage, where my family is tending to lobsters. I put my arms around Gus and squeeze him too tight.

“Your dress will get ruined out here,” my dad says. “Get back to your party.”

“It’s fine,” I say, grabbing a piece of lobster like I’m just here for a snack. I look out through the open garage doors, and Stewart is pacing on the gravel driveway. He must know I’m in here, because I’m not exactly subtly dressed. I consider waiting him out but that’s not what love is. Stewart is in a bad place and I’m the person he leans on. I can lean on him later.

I walk over to him and lead him by the arm to the side of the house. I squeeze his hand and he doesn’t react by pulling me into his arms. He doesn’t react at all.

“You okay?” I ask. He looks a little broken and it terrifies me.

“Sure,” he says, and looks up at the house.

We just stand there, silent. He’s not being quiet to get me to spill my guts; he’s being quiet because he doesn’t want to talk about what’s upsetting him. It’s a new kind of silence and it puts distance between us.

“Grant really plays dirty, huh?” And I laugh a bit, a jagged little laugh, just to highlight how absurd it all is.

“This is a mess,” he says. “It could all end up in Grant’s hands now. A new legacy of strip malls.”

“Would that be so bad?” I ask.

He pulls his head back as if to survey me for the first time. “Yes,” he says. “It would be.”

“What does this mean?” I feel like I’m about to jump off a cliff. But I ask anyway. “For us.”

We’re fine, I love you. He looks at me, and he does not say those words.

“I don’t know,” he says. His eyes are not latching on to mine the way they did in the herb garden or in the helicopter or fifteen minutes ago. I know Stewart now, and I wish I didn’t. I wish I couldn’t tell that he’s pulling away.

“So what does that mean, exactly?” I ask, my voice tight. “Like, be super precise with your words.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs, tight-lipped. He’s the Tin Man again, like he flipped a switch. “I don’t know,” he says. How could he not know? My heart starts to burn. Heartburn, I think, an odd combination of words. Heart burn. My heart is burning because he doesn’t know.

“Got it,” I say to his perfectly shined shoes. And I really mean it. I have got it—I am in full possession of the big picture. I stand a little straighter and touch the place on my neck where the dahlia used to be. “Let’s take a little time?” My voice catches and I hate that I turned it into a question.

No, don’t go, Dolly. I love you. If you could wish words into existence, those would be the ones I’d choose.

Instead, he says, “Yeah, I’ve got to get back in there. Emergency board call in the morning.” He looks away and then says to a spot just above my shoulder, “I’ll call when things settle down.” One thing that both of us know: things never settle down. He’ll call me never.

“Stewart,” I say, a whispered plea. He won’t meet my eyes.

“Sorry, yes. I’ll drop by with a check this week.”

The pressure on my chest is so sudden and intense that I almost can’t catch my breath. An eternity passes and I’m surviving, just barely, on tiny sips of air. I am reminded once again just how carelessly the Whitfields treat their precious things.