Page 30 of Every Chance After

“They won’t, not after all the wonderful pics and positive updates he posted yesterday. For all anyone knows, youencouragedhim to go.”

I nod. As usual, Cora thought of everything.

Ivy bounds into the room as if she senses my distress. “Sorry to interrupt. Ready for more moving and grooving soon, Marnie?”

“Yes!” I answer a little too loudly. “If that’s okay, Cora.”

“Of course!” She glances at her fancy watch. “If I leave now, I’ll make it to Saint Francis’s before the choir starts. I’m lighting a candle for you, Marnie.”

“Thanks.”

She gathers her bag at the bed’s end and rests her hand on my covered foot. “Your family is here for you. When you get out, come home with me for your recovery—no arguments. I’ll have a room prepared. I’ll check in later.”

Then, in a brisk wind of expensive perfume, she clicks into the hall.

“Oomph.” Ivy tugs my blankets back. “She’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“I once saw her drop kick a shoplifter and put him in a choke hold until the police arrived,” I say. “She didn’t even wrinkle her suit.”

“Impressive.”

I lift myself from the bed, refusing Ivy’s extended hand. I fight through the soreness with quick, determined steps.

“Look at you!” she beams. “You’ll be running marathons in no time.”

“Is the doctor here? I’d like to see her if she has time.”

She checks her watch. “She should be in shortly for rounds. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, not at all. I need to talk to her about getting out of here. Early.”

CHAPTEREIGHT

Grady

The linefor coffee at Moon Beans & Books is atrocious. Six customers await service ahead of me. I fold my arms over my chest, hugging my thermos, and stare at my boots, hoping my cap and general bad attitude prevent anyone from talking to me—usually, people know better.

I shouldn’t be here.

It’s Sunday morning. A more tolerable fifty-two degrees and sunny. I woke to the usual cacophony of dog shuffling, licking, and barking, not that I slept much. My sleep marathon must’ve confused my internal clock and made it think I’ve met my quota for the week. Real rest proved impossible with guilt keeping me awake and bad dreams circulating whenever I managed to circumvent it. I spent most of the day trying to lose myself in chores, dog care, and Marigold’s comics. Nothing worked to distract me, though I have enough firewood chopped to last three winters, and my dogs have never been so clean and groomed. Even with small accomplishments, it’s hard not to hate myself.

While filling my coffee pot with water at the sink this morning, I flashed back to Marina’s face, wincing in agony, and her words.There’s no one else… I’m glad you’re here… You always seem so sad… You look like a man with a million thoughts but no one to tell them to.That she thought of me at all dredged up more anger over what I stole from her. I smashed the carafe into the sink, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

After destroying my coffee pot, I latched on to a tiny shred of clarity. If Marina istrulyokay, I should move on, call it what it was—an accident—and do nothing, beyond paying her expenses.

It’s best for everyone if I don’t get involved. So, that’s the plan.

Once I fill my thermos, I’ll spend the day on the lake, catching tonight’s dinner and drinking many beers. Alone.

The line inches up, but the spandex and ponytailed women in front of me hardly notice outside their engrossing conversation.

“I bet Cora tampered with her brakes,” one whispers to her friend.

She looks aghast and scoffs. “Why would she?”

“Are you kidding? Marnie lives in a shed, drives a crap car, and works in a grocery store. She’s not Cora’s first pick for Ashe. Everyone in the Women’s Club says so.”

The friend nods. “Yeah, my book club says the same thing. I heard Marnie got her wedding dress from a thrift store, even though Cora offered to buy her one.”

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