Page 85 of Every Chance After

She climbs in, and I quickly follow on the driver’s side, lest the idiot realize what’s happened and chase us down in the parking lot. While I’d love a confrontation with Ashehole, I don’t want Marina suffering anymore. She’s had enough for one day.

We drive silently like she’s digesting what just happened, hopefully finding peace about it. Closure, if there’s such a thing. She’s not upset like she was when she exited the building. Instead, she beams, watches the world pass by her window, and occasionally taps her fingers on the binder as if reminding herself that it’s still there.

When we reach Monkey Junction, I pull into the Staples parking lot. The Beast rolls to a squeaking stop in the closest space I can get, and I switch off the purring engine.

“Short on office supplies?” she asks.

“We’re not here for me.” I turn toward her. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go in there. You’ll find a new notebook, paper, pens, markers, stickers, whatever your organizing heart wants. My treat.”

Her lips part like she wants to argue.

“Marina, please.” I motion to her worn and rather overfull Trapper Keeper. “This belongs to you, and I’m glad you got it back. But Sunny’s is over. A new store needs a new notebook. Don’t you think?”

Her pink lips curve into a resigned grin as she takes a deep breath. “Sunny’s is over,” she repeats, wanting it to sink in.

She roams the aisles aimlessly at first, contemplating something and putting it back on repeat.

“How’d you get the notebook?” she asks, playing with pens.

“It’s a grocery store. Not Fort Knox. I found his office. It was right there on his desk. His door wasn’t even locked.” She nods listlessly, still not dropping anything into the basket I’m carrying.

Watching her light up when we walked into the new Sunny’s, her passion for her work became abundantly clear. It’s not an act she puts on. She genuinely enjoys what she does. I even saw hints of it when we toured the G&G. That shit heap didn’t turn her off; it fucking inspired her.

“Marina,” I say, as she contemplates the fiftieth pen she’s examined since we strolled down this aisle, “If you don’t start filling this basket, I’ll fill it for you.”

She purses her lips. “Idolove school supplies.”

“Prove it.”

She drops the multicolored pens into my basket.

“Fill it, Marina. Seriously. Get everything you need to start the G&G project.”

A few steps later, she adds more, seemingly more unrestrained every time something drops in. Good. After Ashe, I want her to feel better. Or at least, distracted.

“Tell me more about Wade,” she says, ogling measuring tapes. She chooses a pink one and tosses it in the basket. “Why exactly is he off-limits around the rest of the family? Or is that too personal? Just say it’s none of my?—”

“Nah, asking questions falls under our truth policy. Right? I didn’t want to discuss it with Marigold in the car. Family drama stresses her out.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Thinking about Uncle Wade and where to begin, I’m overrun with memories. “Dad and Wade have always had a strained relationship. Dad was always the responsible one, Wade the partier. My grandfather died, leaving the farm to Dad and half of the G&G and the trailer park to Wade. He took that as a slight.”

“Well, itisa swamp, but it’s surprisingly beautiful there.” She circles the notebook aisles, picking up binders and putting them back. It’s a struggle, focusing on my story with her nibbling her bottom lip over every decision and smiling as ideas come to her. I swear, I could watch this woman all day without saying a word. Her eyes cut to mine, urging me to continue.

“Um, yeah. In Granddad’s defense, Wade’s never been good with money or responsibility… at least not until Maureen came into his life.”

“Oh, tell me about Maureen.” She perks up, finally deciding on a hardcover spiral notebook with tabbed sections, interior pockets, and a pen holder. She holds it up. “Green, like the lily pads around the swamp.”

“Perfect.” I smile as she drops it in. “Maureen was Wade’s… everything. He was at a particularly bad place in his life, drinking a lot, pissing people off, until finally, one day, he took off on his motorcycle for a cross-country adventure. Three months later, he came back with Maureen.”

“A whirlwind romance.” She tugs her jean jacket off and ties its arms around her waist, making me remember my hands there last night and wanting them there again.Damn it, Grady.“That’s sweet.”

I chuckle. “He says they met at a biker bar in Texas—not sure I’d call it sweet, exactly. But they were perfect for each other. She was loud, direct, and sassy, never took his crap, and we all loved her instantly. Maureen helped Wade run the store. I wish you could’ve seen it then. It was the perfect convenience store. Ice-cold sodas, all the best snacks and candy a kid could want, a chest full of ice cream treats, weird random shit like packs of cards and poker chips, magazines and comics, and The Canteen. That’s what Maureen called the bar where she’d serve fountain drinks and hot dogs. I’ve never had a hot dog as good since then. We’d fight over the stools and spin on them until we got dizzy. Or fell off. The G&G was never new or fancy, but it had…”

“Character,” she finishes.

“Exactly.”

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