Stay Sweet(84)

On the back of that page, there is a newspaper announcement, neatly clipped and taped inside, dated almost exactly one year later. It is for a memorial service at Holy Redeemer in honor of Wayne Lumsden, war hero, declared missing in action. The rest of the diary’s pages, nearly half of the book, are left blank.

*

The buzz of Amelia’s phone wakes her up. Her room is dark. The candle has burned down to nothing.

It’s Grady.

I’m turning onto your street. Can you come outside?

She texts back, It’s two in the morning. If my parents catch me sneaking out, they’ll kill me. Though Amelia recognizes that, in a few weeks, she’ll have the freedom to do whatever she wants.

Please.

The waning hope in Amelia’s heart twists into something tighter.

Okay.

She quickly pulls on a pair of shorts, then tiptoes downstairs in the dark. Her mom is in bed, but her dad has fallen asleep in the den, an infomercial flashing colors on the walls.

From the front window, Amelia watches the pink Cadillac creep slowly past her house and park on the other side of the street. Grady kills the lights. Opening her front door as quietly as she can, Amelia slips outside in her bare feet.

The asphalt still feels warm from the day.

Grady reaches over and unlocks the passenger door for Amelia. She climbs in, and before the interior lights click off, she sees the redness on the bridge of his nose, the back of his neck. “You’re sunburned,” she says, touches his arm gently with her fingertips.

“I was so nervous, I forgot to put on sunscreen.”

But what is Grady feeling now? Amelia searches his face for any happiness, any relief, any glimmer of success. He manages a tired smile, which Amelia clings to as a good sign, and she asks him, “How did it go?”

“Everything was great for the first nine holes,” he tells her. “I was basically doing exactly what my dad said, trying not to get emotional. I laughed at all his jokes, listened to college stories I’ve heard a million times over, and purposely screwed up almost every one of my putts. And he kept saying to me, Isn’t this nice? and Isn’t this great? and We have to get out here more often!??” Grady wrings the steering wheel. Guiltily, he says, “I hate to say it, but it was nice, pushing everything aside and getting along with him.”

“Believe me,” Amelia says quietly, “I get it.”

“Once we hit the back nine, I started making my pitch. Casually, you know? I explained the situation to him, told him that if he loaned me the money to cover the repairs and a new walk-in freezer, I’d be willing to implement all his business ideas—scoop size, price increase, salary cuts. And I promised I’d pay him back, with interest, basically double the sum and give him fifty percent of all the profits until then.” Grady swallows.

“And the ice cream?”

“I said that was the one change that I couldn’t entertain.”

At this, Amelia impulsively leans forward, takes Grady’s cheeks in her hands, and kisses him.

He kisses her back, his hands slipping up her neck and into her hair. When she tries pulling away, he leans forward, holding his lips to hers, extending the kiss for a second, two, three. Like he doesn’t want it to end.

When they finally pull apart, Amelia learns why.

“He’s not going to loan me the money, Amelia.”

She’s taken over by a helpless, shivery panic, not unlike the moment when the safety bar clicks down on a roller coaster and there’s no getting off. “Because of the ice cream? I mean, what if you found another dairy? There has to be someone who’ll sell you the ingredients for cheaper. Maybe—”

“No.”

“Well, did you talk about your mom? Tell him how important this was to her? Did you tell him how you almost cried tasting Home Sweet Home?” She shakes her head. “You should have gotten him to eat some that day he came here. Maybe then he’d understand.”

Grady is starting to look frustrated with her. “It’s just not a good business decision. The profit margins are small, and there’s so much work to be done on the building. There are other things I didn’t factor in either, which my dad brought up. Like that no one is going to be living in the farmhouse all winter.”

“So hire someone to take care of it! Or! Or you could rent it out!”

“And then what? I’m supposed to come back here every summer for the rest of my life?” He avoids looking at her when he says, “If Molly hadn’t died, I’m not sure she could have kept this place going another year. In some ways, maybe it lasted as long as it needed to. As long as she did.”

“Let me guess. Because you’re listening to your dad, he’s going to send you back to Truman and reinstate all your credit cards. Is that what you really want?”

“No.”

“So the stand can be your freedom!”

“I know. I’ve . . . decided to sell the property.”

All Amelia can do is blink. Grady left to try and save Meade Creamery. And he came back ready to sell the entire place.

“Look, I spent the whole drive back to Sand Lake trying to think of a way to make this work. I think I got so wrapped up in this place and with you, and proving myself to my dad, that I wasn’t thinking clearly about the practicalities. I don’t want to be a businessman.”