Honey Girl(83)

“We’re dancing?” she asks, as he positions her arms around his tall, broad shoulders. His arms rest on the side of her waist. It is the closest thing to a hug Grace can remember ever getting from him. “Okay, we’re dancing.”

“An astute observation,” he murmurs, taking the lead. “Glad to see all your education has paid off.”

She tenses. She hasn’t told him about her plans for her career, and she certainly won’t do it while he’s looking at her. When she broaches the subject, she would rather not have to see the reaction on his face.

“Relax,” he says, voice almost, almost apologetic. “I’m not going to ask you about it. Tonight is a night for celebration. It’s a wedding.”

Her shoulders relax minutely. “But tomorrow is fair game?” she guesses, and one of his eyebrows flicks in answer. “Where are you staying?”

“Your mother offered me a room in the main house, since they’ll be away on their honeymoon, but I—” He glances at Grace, and for a moment, just a blink, he looks like the man who needed so desperately to leave this place. “I declined,” he finishes, composed once more. They make another turn to the beat, and his voice is low when he says, “Some memories don’t need to be revisited.”

Grace has been trying on some bravery lately. “My therapist would probably disagree with you,” she uses it to say.

Colonel shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing she’s not mine,” and she is struck speechless.

The song starts to wind down, and she and Colonel slow their dancing. As the next song starts, something faster and upbeat, she pulls away and wraps her arms around herself. “Well.”

“Let’s have lunch tomorrow,” he says abruptly. “There’s an acceptable place near my hotel. I’ll text you the address. I suspect there are some things you and I should discuss.”

She swallows hard. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs, staring at the spot over his shoulder so she won’t have to meet his eyes. “I’ll be there.”

He nods at her, as if unsure how to make his leave. She will make it easy for him.

“I’ll just—”

“Grace—”

She freezes. She holds her breath and watches her father struggle to find words. He always has words, whether they are short and succinct or weighted and heavy. Now, though, he flounders. Grace watches, entranced.

“You did well today,” he says finally. He’s never been prone to fidgeting, not like Grace, but he rolls his shoulders and clears his throat. “I watched you stand in front of all those people, and in front of your family, and you were every inch the Porter I always knew you were. I was—proud.”

She lets out a stumbling, disbelieving laugh. “Thank you,” she manages. “I—”

“Yes,” he says quickly, cutting her off. He clears his throat again and takes a step back. “I’ll greet the newlyweds and then take my leave. Give my regards to Ximena and Agnes, yes? I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. Be on time.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, arms clenched around her waist like she’s trying to hold everything in. “I’ll be there.”

He inclines his head, and then he is gone.

Grace doesn’t remember the walk back to the table. Ximena and Agnes move so she can take the space between them. They flank her on both sides.

“That bad?” Ximena murmurs. She holds up a glass of champagne and a small water bottle. “How are we feeling?”

“Water, please,” Grace says. “It wasn’t that bad, actually. Maybe that wasn’t Colonel at all. It was probably a clone.” She closes her eyes. “Well, mystery solved.”

Agnes snorts and leans on her. “Great job, Nancy Drew,” she says.

“I’m Bess,” Ximena says immediately. “You’re George.”

Agnes shrugs. The champagne has made her languid and agreeable. “I always knew George was gay. The many Carolyn Keenes can’t fool me. And don’t get me started on The Baby-Sitters Club.”

“Don’t get started on The Baby-Sitters Club,” Grace and Ximena both plead. Agnes sticks her tongue out and slouches back down. Grace takes her hand in consolation, and it’s a testament to how peaceful Agnes is feeling that she doesn’t pull away.

Grace lets the world spin around her. She can see Mom and Kelly holding court at the elaborate sweetheart table set up for them. Mom is smiling and glowing, bright and gleaming. Kelly watches like the sun rises and sets on her command.

The buffet smells like Caribbean food. Old Maria and her sister cooked for almost a week leading up to this. Grace’s stomach grumbles at the smell of curry and brown stew and the buttery scent of roti.

People are dancing and laughing and the room fills with love. There is so much love spilling out from this tent. Grace feels it on both sides of her, between her two closest friends, who press close and do not let her go. There is a small, hollow ache, somewhere deep inside her, but she is learning that she is made up of many small, hollow aches. She will continue the process of exploring them, one by one.

Ximena’s phone lights up and she makes a choked, surprised noise. “Shit,” she says. “I forgot your mom asked me to bring in the other case of champagne ten minutes ago.”

Grace tilts her head. “Did you set an alarm for it?” she asks, leaning over her shoulder. “You’re turning into me.”