Stay Sweet(54)

The only thing that scared me was how much Tiggy seemed to want my diamond to be fake.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. The truth is that Tiggy and Wayne have never gotten along.

Tiggy thinks Wayne’s cocky. She’s not wrong. He is. But I’ve always loved his confidence. He seems so much stronger than any of the boys in our grade. I think it’s because of what he went through in his family, left to fend for himself at such a young age. When it’s just me and him, he’s sweet as a kitten, but I’ve seen him get hot-tempered plenty. Since he shipped out, I’ve come to think of this as a blessing, because I know Wayne can handle whatever comes his way over there.

But boy oh boy, does he love to tease Tiggy. I wish I’d never told him that it bothers her, because once I did, he seemed to enjoy doing it even more. Sometimes he’ll even rib her in the letters he sends to me, knowing I read them out loud to the other girls. Near the end, he’ll write something like, “Tell Tig I’ve been passing her picture around to the single guys in my unit. So far, no takers besides our cook. He’s sixty and only has three fingers, but beggars can’t be choosers.” I am always careful to skip over those parts.

I honestly think they’re a bit jealous of each other. Which is silly. I can have room in my life for a best friend and a husband.

Anyway, Tiggy wouldn’t let it drop, so I slid the ring off my finger and went to the basement window. But before I made a scratch, I told Tig that, real diamond or not, Wayne and I were getting married.

And in my next letter, I’m telling Wayne that Tig’s agreed to be my maid of honor.

If I get my way, the three of us (plus Tig’s future husband, whoever he may be) are going to live Happily Ever After, here in Sand Lake, for the rest of our days.

Setting down the diary, Amelia pulls back the curtains on every basement window until she finds the etching on the glass.

Mrs. Wayne Lumsden.

There’s a loud rumble. Amelia shifts her focus from the scratches to the horizon, thinking it might be a storm rolling in. But the sun is out, there’s not a cloud in the sky. Then she realizes the rumbling is Grady’s feet on the floor above her, louder as he runs from the living room down the hallway and pulls open the basement door.

Amelia lets go of the curtain. She doesn’t have time to hide the diary before Grady’s hopping down the stairs two at a time. It’s in plain sight, right on the couch.

Luckily, he’s too frantic to notice.

“Amelia, I need your help right now.” He takes her hand and pulls her back the way he just came.

“What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I just got a text from my dad. He’s back in the States. He’s on his way over here to check up on me. And if he thinks I’m not doing a good job, he’s going to make me sell the place.”

Her stomach lurches. “Are you serious? I thought your family lived in Chicago.”

“He’s part of this private jet club. He can go anywhere at any time!” He shakes his head, panting, “Everything needs to be perfect. And I need to look like I’m in charge.”

“You are in charge,” Amelia reminds him, pointing to the misaligned buttons on his shirt.

Grady gives her a pained stare. “Please help me. If he finds out about the ice cream, that we’re days from going out of business . . .”

Amelia wants him to finish. But he’s so panicked, her own heart starts to race.

Grady and Amelia grab all his papers and textbooks, shove the pile into the Cadillac, and together they drive everything down to the stand. He can’t bear to look at the jalopy of a food truck, still parked in the same place it’s been since the day he bought it.

Cate’s in the office, her bare feet up on the desk, painting her toenails. She’s so startled, she flinches and the bottle almost topples over. “Jesus!”

Luckily, Amelia grabs it just in time. She caps the bottle, opens the window, and tries to waft the smell out. “Grady needs to be in here.”

“What?” Cate says, indignant. “Why?”

Grady pushes into the office. “Someone very important is coming.” As soon as Cate stands up, he sits down at the desk. He takes out his laptop, spreads out some papers and his textbooks, and smooths his hair, which he has wet and combed down in a way Amelia has not seen before. After frantically assessing the desk, he pulls out the calculator and a pad, then jumps up and grabs the morning receipts, which have already been calculated, but then spreads them out as if they haven’t. Sitting back down, he swings a skinny navy necktie around his neck and ties it faster than Amelia would have thought possible.

Cate is watching all this, her back pressed up against the wall, dumbfounded. Still, she manages to keep her freshly painted fingers and toes carefully spread.

“Amelia, make sure everything in the stand is neat and orderly, okay? And that the girls look like they’re working hard.”

“They are working hard,” Cate says incredulously. “We always are.”

Amelia guides her out, grabbing the mason jar of now-dead flowers on the way and mashing them down into an overflowing trash can. “Just hurry. I’ll explain.” Glancing around the main area of the stand, she sees that the service windows are both smudgy. She lunges for a bottle of Windex and her feet nearly slip out from under her. “There are sprinkles all over the floor,” she says, disappointed. “When was the last time someone swept in here?”