It's just me now and my famous aching heart under the stars — my heart that keeps moving like a searchlight in its longing for the hearts of other people, who in a sense, already live there, in my heart, and keep it turning.
❝if i could give you the moon, i would give you the moon.❞
Grace, or "Gracie" to those that know her best, is the designated man of the house eldest daughter of the Goodwin family. Though she isn't an Ann Arbor native, her family's wealth - along with her father's role as the pastor of the local megachurch until a devastating stroke - allowed her to assimilate quickly following their move from Georgia when she was in middle school. She attended Huron Academy growing up, and, after graduation, went to UMich for elementary education, eventually obtainging her masters; this degree is put to use in her role as the music teacher of Burns Elementary.
Grace spends her days juggling her fathers' health with her career and, notably, her relationship with Caleb, to whom she recently became engaged. A recent downturn in her dad's condition, however, has unmoored her, forcing her to be much more hands on supporting both her ailing father and her histrionic mother - and making her call her younger sister - her first baby, really - back into town. While Grace is generally endlessly idealistic, she's recently become paralyzed by the idea that it's all going to have to get worse before it gets better.
Other useful facts:
too embarrassed to do karaoke but has her song picked out just in case
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When Grace and Caleb had set a wedding date, Grace had gone home that night and, as she lounged in the tub, counted on her phone’s calendar how many days away it was. It felt like every day of her life leading up to it was simply negligible to the day itself; whether they were good days or bad, she knew that it was just part of the journey to getting to what she knew, intuitively, would be one of the happiest days of her life. It served as a sort of temporary finish line to her — if she could just make it until then.
It used to seem so far away.
Part of the day was, of course, the logistics. Grace had allowed Caleb’s stepmother to get involved early, knowing that she and Mr. Ashmore had a clear vision for the wedding and also a better handle on how much they were willing to spend. So when Caleb’s stepmom wanted gardenia, Grace nodded along happily. When she wanted black tie, Grace didn’t bother arguing. She’d narrowed down venues, color schemes, dinner options — all Grace had to do was approve. It was sort of like playing a game of MASH as an adult; none of it really mattered to Grace in the long run. Caleb would get his seed money for his storefront, and they’d be married. The rest of it was just for show.
The one thing Grace retained sole control over — the only thing she expressed sincere interest in — was her wedding gown. She knew that, between Caleb’s stepmom and her own mother, there’d likely be a lot of loud, conflicting opinions. So she’d done most of the shopping on her own, only bringing Diana back when she found the right one to affirm that it was, in fact, the right one. That had been only a couple of months ago, but Grace felt so far removed from her life then as she stood in front of the bag holding her gown now. She felt oddly anxious to face it again, nervous about how tangible it would make the entire thing; the anxiety was only rivaled by her guilt.
She unzipped the bag, admiring the gown as she had when she’d first seen it on the rack, and worked to get into it, noticing her hands didn’t work as well as she’d have liked. She poked her head out of the dressing room curtain, the dress hanging off of her unzipped, and garnered Diana’s attention frantically, slightly frustrated with herself. “Can you help me?” She implored quietly, not wanting to get the attention of the seamstress just yet. “I’m not — I can’t zip this thing.”
Though it seemed to linger over her life like a blanket of smoke, Grace was not intimately familiar with the intricacies of death. Her dad had been altogether largely fine until recent months, so she’d never had any need to prepare for the worst, the next inevitable step in that journey. The last person she’d cared about that she’d lost was her grandparents, and even in her youth, Grace was able to recognize there was a certain sense to that — grandparents died, eventually.
When Caleb had told her he was going for his fourth deployment, it was the first and only time in their relationship that she had been truly selfish, had asked him to stay with her simply because it was what she wanted, because she didn’t know if she could stand to miss him again. When he couldn’t stay, Grace found herself struggling with an unrecognizable anger, almost violent in its nature and intensity. For weeks, she wanted to scream until she was hoarse; instead, she sobbed until she couldn’t breathe every night. She didn’t write him for the first couple of months, because nothing she said felt kind or good; when she finally did reply to him, her letter was filled with recent events, apologies for being so busy. She told him she missed him and loved him. She went to bed alone.
Nearly losing Caleb was the closest she’d come to death in recent years, and even that was so far removed from her — she found out from Caleb’s dad, whom she begged to go be with his son as his only next of kin. Grace was forced to wait, a world away, for Richard Ashmore’s nightly updates. She was forced to believe him when he said Caleb would be fine. Even when she could speak to Caleb herself, his voice so disengaged, laced with pain medicine and sleep, it didn’t feel tangible or real to her. It didn’t hit until he came home, scarred and exhausted and so wholly different than even the Caleb that had left months before.
But still, that wasn’t death. That wasn’t this.
Grace sat on the front stoop of Gabby and Sam’s modest home, watching Caleb as he stood swarmed by a gaggle of children. Their parents were seated anywhere a seat could be found, some crying, some laughing over shared memories, all left sitting with an almost oppressive love for Sam, just as Caleb was. As peals of laughter rang out from Gabby and Sam’s daughter, Grace smiled softly, watching as Caleb whipped her around, throwing her up into the air and catching her until she was breathless with joy. Grace wondered, idly, how much of her dad Sam’s daughter might remember — how much of his existence might be made of memory and how much might be made of simply photo recall from here on out. She wondered then if Sam thought of this before he made the choice to leave her.
The idea of it made her skin crawl if she dwelled on it for too long.
She heaved herself up, back into the house, back to find something useful to do with herself.
…
That night, Grace called her mother out of courtesy, looking to check in but not necessarily looking to make conversation. She mostly wanted to know if the pain medication they’d begun administering to her father was making him any easier to deal with, and, based on Louise’s demeanor, she couldn’t necessarily tell.
“When are you coming home?” Her mother insisted, sounding frantic for no apparent reason.
“I’m not sure,” Grace answered honestly, her tone soft, as if she were talking to a child. “Diana is there if you need her. And it’s not going to be more than a few days. I have work.”
A moment’s pause, then Louise blurted, “How’s Caleb?”
This wasn’t altogether uncommon; Louise was far fonder of Caleb than Grace, and frankly, Grace didn’t mind -- it made it easier for things to happen efficiently if Caleb was there to incentivize. While it was somewhat uncharacteristic of Louise to show any modicum of concern for anyone else, Grace didn’t dawdle on the idea for too long, not bothering to get offended by it.
“Fine,” Grace offered, her voice low. She was pulling out her toiletries with the phone in the crook of her neck, laying everything in an orderly line on the countertop, preparing to rinse off her mascara and take a shower. Feeling oddly protective, and then equal parts guilty for it, Grace exhaled. “He’s doing as well as to be expected.”
There was an unusual silence on the other end, as if her mother was thinking. “‘Fine’ like he was ‘fine’ a couple of years ago?”
Louise’s voice was almost acidic, and Grace held her breath, like she’d been caught in a lie. She immediately turned the sink on, the sound of the rushing water hopefully obscuring her voice further from Caleb’s ear as she bit back, her voice even more hushed, “‘Fine’ like he’s fine. Do you need anything else from me?”
Grace scrunched her eyes closed in frustration, disliking the person she became around her mother. Louise didn’t seem to notice a shift, because he didn’t know any different at this point. “You want this for the rest of your life, Grace?”
Grace felt sick to her stomach. She swallowed.
“I’ve gotta go,” she murmured quickly. “Call Diana if it’s urgent. Call me for anything else. I’ll let you know when we’re heading home.”
…
Each time Grace closed her eyes at night, she saw Gabby being handed a flag.
She and Caleb had fallen back into their routine, the last few weeks of school coming to its end, but neither seemed entirely able to navigate the day without being ensnared by their grief -- Caleb for Sam, and Grace for Caleb. She knew better than to pry, so she mostly stayed quiet, letting Caleb offer what little he was willing to about anything that he was thinking. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been, but in some ways, that was almost worse; Grace could tell that Caleb was floundering, trying desperately to swim against the current of his own making. He went to therapy, he took his meds, he obeyed the rules he’d imposed on himself and the suggestions of his therapist -- still, he struggled. Grace wasn’t sure what the right thing to do was. She wasn’t sure if there was a right thing.
She was more than content to give Caleb his space in most every circumstance, but one matter unfortunately seeped from her sole discretion and control: she was late.
Grace tried to reassure herself it had only been a couple of weeks, trying to assuage her own guilt for keeping it from Caleb, but it was half-hearted; she knew her withholding it was a form of deceit, even unintentional. The anxiety of knowing - of knowing and not wanting him to know - made her sick.
She wasn’t necessarily sure what the endgame was, but, mercilessly, she didn’t ever have to find out: three and a half weeks after her first missed period, Grace finally bled. She cried in relief alone over the bathroom sink in the middle of the night. Then she went back to bed, sliding in next to Caleb, wrapping her arm tightly around him, her eyes still wet with tears.
"Friday." Caleb nodded slowly, his jaw clenching tightly after his one word reply. The grief he had been struck with had hit so squarely that he simply felt numb. There was he could think to say that could fill the depth of despair that was sinking ever greater in his chest with every second that passed since she'd told him. The anger, the resentment, the pain, they all coalesced together into a tight ball, which pressed down on his chest and threatened to take his breath away.
"I talked to him yesterday." Caleb stated quietly, the disbelief still laden in his tone of voice. It was then that he finally gave in to Grace's touch, reaching out to hold her back in turn. His anchor in the storm they now found themselves in. "He sounded the same. Nothing, uh..." Caleb found himself, in that moment, considering every single interaction he'd had with Sam in recent history. Every detail he'd offered, every topic of conversation. There was nothing Caleb could point to, nothing at all he could claim he'd missed.
Sam had been... Sam. Most conversations surrounded Gabby and the kids, or whatever project Caleb had been working on. Mentions of excitement over Caleb and Grace's impending nuptials, and everything in-between. Sam is who Caleb had spent his adult life with — Grace and Gabby had only gotten fractions of their time in comparison.
"Baby, I don't —" Caleb felt the lump in his throat shift, and then the sting of fresh tears. "I don't know what to do." The statement was raw, earnest, and, a blink of an eye after saying it, Caleb felt a sob heave his entire body, a wretched gasp for air following.
As Caleb’s tightly-held composure unraveled, Grace stepped forward quickly, closing the space between them and enveloping him in her arms so their bodies overlapped. “I know,” she murmured, holding the back of his head as it rested in the cradle of her shoulder, gently running her palm over his wily hair. “I know, honey. I wish I could tell you. I — I don’t know. I don’t know, either.”
Her voice broke a bit on the admission, the idea that she was just as lost in this as he was providing her no comfort. Her thoughts lingered on Sam calling Caleb, on if he’d already decided when he picked up the phone, if he’d lied through his teeth the entire conversation. She couldn’t imagine the weight of that feeling as it must exist within Caleb now, how close he came to it without even knowing what was happening. She felt sick to her stomach, and she tried desperately to focus on the feeling of Caleb in her arms, the weight of his leaning into her, the shaking of his shoulders as he cried. Clutching him tighter, Grace turned to press her lips against his temple, letting her lips graze over his skin.
“I do know that he loved you. And that you loved him. And that it really hurts. And I know that whatever is happening with you, and whatever you’re feeling — that’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay, love. It’s okay." For as deep as his emotions were, Caleb kept them meticulously guarded, and Grace knew that, throughout all of this, that would be their biggest challenge to overcome. She needed to make it clear to him how unnecessary his self-censorship was, how much he needed to feel it to get through it - how much she needed him to feel it. Pressing her mouth back against his temple, she murmured against his skin, "You and me. We'll do this together. You and me. Okay?"
"Gabby?" Caleb interrupted, his brow knitting with concern. "Gabby called you?" Not a stitch of what Grace was saying made even a modicum of sense to Caleb. Why would Gabby call? When had Gabby ever called before? He knew they were in touch, to some extent. But Sam was the master planner. He was the social butterfly, he was the one who kept the band together, so to speak.
Caleb's hand instinctively went to cup her elbow as her hand fell to grasp his bicep. He didn't know what to make of the words that well from her lips. Gone. They didn't make any sense to him.
No, Sam was the solid one. Sam was the one that all the guys could lean on. He was Caleb's brother, not by some random accident, but forged by the fires of warfare. In many respects, Sam knew Caleb better than anyone ever could, because they had triumphed together, suffered together.
Sam, more than anyone else, was who had guided Caleb to the resources he'd desperately needed after being discharged. It was Sam who took weekends away from his growing family to drive up from Fort Wayne, Indiana, to see Caleb. Sam who, at Caleb's request, had even come to work on the house they now stood in a handful of times since they'd purchased it.
Sam who was magnanimous, a leader, a team player. Who loved his wife and children desperately. Who Caleb had followed back into war time and time again, because he loved him. But by the look in Grace's eyes, he knew the answer to the question he dare not speak aloud.
It had been a normal day, until it wasn't any longer.
"Okay." Caleb nodded, a glazed over look in his eyes as his gaze drifted, his mind filled with a thousand different thoughts and emotions, none of them good. "What did Gabby say? When is..." He couldn't say it. Couldn't say the word funeral, or any other derivative. Could hardly find any words at all, really.
“Friday,” Grace murmured, straining to keep her voice even. She watched as Caleb’s eyes clouded over as he attempted to process everything in real time; her hand tightened around his arm, giving it a firm squeeze. She wasn’t sure what, if anything, she could offer him. The ever-narrow gap between grieving and succumbing to something much greater was so perilous, and she wasn’t sure how to talk herself out of obsessing over it, which in turn made her feel shameful and foolish. “I figured — we’ll head down there Thursday night, and we can come back Saturday or Sunday. Whichever you…we’ll just see.”
She nodded at him, then, desperate to keep him actively engaged with her. The unspoken question lingering in the air, the weight of the unknown, pressed down on both of them. Gabby had not been very loose with details, but Grace had inferred enough — and knew enough — to have been able to parse what happened. Something about Sam having made that decision, however, didn’t fully sit right with her, and the more she tried not to think about it, the louder the thoughts became. He had children. A lovely wife. A happy home. He had been someone Caleb had leaned on during the worst time of his life. A trusted confidant. A source of wisdom. He had been Caleb's ally in every sense of the word, and, because of that, Grace had felt wholly indebted to him, so incredibly grateful just to have someone else, besides her and Caleb's grandparents, who saw Caleb for how hurt he was and just wanted to help him. Without Sam, his persistent goodness, she wasn't sure what Caleb would be, now.
Grace’s eyes burned, and she blinked quickly, rushing to wipe her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I’m —“ she shook her head, clearing her throat. “We’ll be there. We’ll do what we need to do.”
That was all she could promise, realistically: that they would take care of it. Of Sam, of Gabby, of their kids. That they’d get through it, and they’d do what they could. She began thinking of things she could do, meals they could make and pack, weekend trips they could take. Grace had tried many times to tell Sam how grateful she was for him, and each occasion led to him brushing her off gently. She had long sought to repay her debt to him. The idea that this was how she could made her sick to her stomach. Grace watched Caleb’s expression, her heart in her throat. She stepped closer, letting her free hand come to rest against Caleb's cheek.
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Caleb had spent his day like he spent most days — holed up in the garage working on designs, whether it be for furniture pieces, or finalizing his plans for his show room. He gotten up at the same time he did each day, had the same breakfast, followed the same routine. Nothing about that morning, nor the afternoon, had felt any different than the day before.
No variables, no surprises.
He had heard Grace's car in the driveway at the same moment Peanut had, letting the dog abandon him from his position on the couch, electing to finish the page he'd been on in his book before closing it and setting it aside. "In here!" Caleb replied, slowly rising from the comfort of the cushions to meet her where she stood in the kitchen.
But something was... demonstrably wrong. Her demeanor, the lack of color in her face. Surely, if something had happened with her father, she wouldn't have stopped home first to tell him. She certainly wouldn't have finished the work day. "What's wrong?" Caleb probed, unsure if he should take her up into his arms, or allow her her space.
There were very few things that genuinely upset Grace. She was a remarkably even-keeled individual, in large part due to the emotional maelstrom that was her mother. If she was...off, in any way - too quiet, a bit tense - it immediately served as an indication to Caleb that something was amiss. She couldn't imagine how she appeared now as she stood before him, though she knew how she felt. As if by instinct, she reached for Caleb, settling her hand on his arm, stepping closer to him as if physical proximity would help in any way.
"Gabby called me at work," she murmured, trying to find her way around the words, trying to make them make sense. There was no right way to go about it, but if there was some method by which she could lessen the impact, she was desperate to find it. She could feel her throat thickening with emotion, and she worked to swallow, ignoring the prickling in her eyes. "It's...it's Sam. He's..." Grace's voice broke gently, and she worked to regain her composure, quickly clearing her throat. She didn't know how else to say it. She thought of Gabby's voice, of her script, vague and rehearsed. There was so much gray area in what she presented, but Grace knew enough to fill in any gaps - and she knew Caleb would, too. "He's gone, love."
When Grace happened to catch her phone ringing during sixth period, she had assumed, not entirely foolishly, that it was her mother. She’d left her ringer on for this very reason, and often had her phone perched on a music stand or in a pocket of a sweater, ever vigilant for the call that her father was declining or something had happened So when the screen flashed with the name of a woman she hadn’t spoken to in some time, Grace almost didn’t answer, assuming it could wait. But the oddness of it all — the timing, the fact that it wasn’t just a text — piqued Grace’s interest, and she excused herself from a rather casual class by her standards to step into the hall.
The words rushed out of Gabby’s mouth with such ordinary quickness that Grace struggled to make sense of them, and she almost told her to repeat herself. Gabby’s voice was low and pained, but the refrain almost sounded rehearsed. Grace turned it over in her head.
Sam is gone, Grace. The funeral is Friday.
Sam is gone.
Sam.
Caleb’s best friend. The man he marched back into hell for.
Grace assured Gabby’s they’d make the trip and get there. She didn’t remember hanging up. She didn’t really remember the rest of the day, really— it all seemed consumed by her suffocating fear: she would have to tell Caleb. She would have to tell Caleb, and whatever happened after that would have to happen.
…
Grace was relieved not to be met with the sight of Caleb in the garage when she pulled into the driveway; this afforded her an extra moment to attempt to gain some composure. She took a few steadying breaths, feebly, uselessly, and then turned the key in the ignition.
Whatever happened after this would have to happen.
This was an inevitable and unavoidable truth, Grace knew. The worse truth for her was that she wasn’t aware how they were going to navigate it. Caleb had shouldered so much grief, whether consciously or not. He was shaped so wholly by loss, by absence, by longing and sadness. To lose the person he loved so deeply that he re-enlisted for a fourth tour and nearly lost his life to keep him safe was not something Grace knew if he could readily handle. Any one thing could be the thing. Any one sadness could be too much to handle. And Grace, selfishly, was afraid to lose him again.
She pushed open the front door, letting Peanut get her excitement out first, giving her a thorough pat down before heading toward the kitchen to deposit her bags. “Baby?” She called through the house, her voice lacking its usual excitement, instead colored by reticence. “I’m home.”
Grace explained her choices, and Diana chewed slowly.
She chewed slowly, and kept her mouth shut, because it was important to give her full attention to her sister given such a delicate topic. Their paths had diverged so starkly once Diana graduated from college, and it was sometimes hard for Diana to understand why Grace would want to stay with people who had been looming, oppressive parents to them both. Did Grace really enjoy it, or did she feel like she should? Did Grace really choose this life, or -- as Diana often worried guiltily -- did she stay because Diana's leaving took the choice away from her? "You can make a difference to lots of people," she pointed out, and punctuated the statement by pointing with her fork. "You're a teacher. You make a difference all the time."
"I guess I just ..." she let out a sigh, and drooped her shoulders. "I don't understand why. Why do you want to be needed? Why do you have to be here to feel like you make a difference, or put roots down? It's not like Caleb is super close with his family, is he?" Unless there was something she missed, Diana couldn't recall hearing that he had a particularly strong bond with the rest of the Ashmores. "You could do all of this somewhere else, if you wanted." What Diana was really trying to say was this: you could escape Bobby and Louise too, if you wanted. You aren't stuck.
But maybe it was possible that Grace really did love the position she was in, and Diana wasn't sure how to process that. "When was the last time you took a vacation?"
Weighing Diana's words with careful consideration, Grace took a long, measured sip of her margarita, trying to answer the question for herself before she could formulate a response for her sister. She was not ignorant that most of the more tragic parts of her personality had developed in response to how she was raised, and Diana could certainly empathize with that; their parents had formed them differently, but they'd still both had a hand in creating their molds. But it was, frankly, embarrassing to admit how much of Diana's happiness and self-worth relied on them, still. How much she'd allowed them, and their perception of her, to dictate her well-being, even now. She nodded, indicating she understood Diana's perception of the situation and her confusion.
"Rest assured I am taking a honeymoon," Grace insisted with a smirk, not willing to admit to Diana the absolute absurdity that had ensued with Louise the last time Grace wanted to leave the state. She took a bite and swallowed, thinking more on how she wanted to respond. "It's weird. I think part of me kind of...stopped, when everything happened with dad. Like, he got bad, and I just...like, froze. I didn't know what to do. What the right thing to do would be, I mean. I just knew that it didn't feel right to leave." Grace's tone was even, conveying a slightly false confidence. She didn't want Diana to think any differently of her for not having chased after a life she wasn't even sure she wanted. "And I'm so glad I didn't! I'm glad I didn't leave. I'm glad I was here to be with you, and meet Caleb, and all of it. And when you went to school, and he was away, it just sort of felt like limbo. And it felt like helping Dad and being active in that and taking care of things gave me some sort of purpose. Something to do in that, like, weird in-between."
Grace's eyes narrowed as she considered her words again, intent on being as honest with Diana as possible. "Then time just kept going. And I was here waiting anyway, so I just let the stuff with dad become the routine. And then Caleb came home, and things were...not great, and that got added to the routine. And now we're here." Grace shrugged, then. She was careful not to allow herself to dawdle on where here was, facing their father's mortality. She felt like she had been holding her breath about Bobby since she was eighteen years old, but she didn't know if she'd ever be ready to exhale. "It's just...life. The way life worked out."
It wasn't totally surprising to hear that the students had struggled to focus -- most every teach Mar knew had told her something along the same lines. It was a reality of teaching these days, and the best they could do was try to mitigate the damage. That said, Mar kept those thoughts to herself -- she and Grace had tried to unpack the reasons for the decline in attention span too many times to count, and it wasn't worth going down that rabbit hole again. "They did a really great job," she stressed instead, her smile sincere. "None of the stereotypical out of tune sounds. You should be proud of them."
James Bond did strike a chord in her memory -- she'd seen From Russia With Love a few times with her Papa and brothers growing up -- and she gave a nod, trying to match what the students had played with what she might have heard previously. "Ooh, new music is risky," she replied, taking a drink from her glass. "What were you thinking of having them play instead? I used to have the kindergarteners and first graders sing a song for parents at the end of every year, but ..." she trailed off and gave a small shrug. "It's very different from teaching them instruments."
At Grace's insistence that Mar didn't have to stay through the whole evening, Mar waved a hand dismissively. "First of all, I was already at school, where else was I going to go?" she asked pointedly. "Secondly ... It's been a while since I was at an event. I missed so many other ones from being sick, I figured I owed it to Huron to at least be present this time." She tilted her head, and then quickly add: "Are there other teachers who sneak in and out?"
"Nothing too controversial - probably just, like, Disney songs they know. It makes it easier to have them commit to learning to play a melody when they've already got it memorized. The school is just so...selective about what music they're willing to pay for. It has to fit the Huron standard," Grace said, rolling her eyes. Still, despite her minor annoyance, she knew she should have just considered herself lucky to work at an educational institution that prided itself on its arts education and paid for her post-its. Taking a sip of her drink, she grinned. "I have an entire Powerpoint prepared about why we should get to play the music from Aladdin next year that I'd be happy to present for you sometime. I've made my fiance sit through it three times."
Grace scoffed at Mar's inquiry, bemused and endeared by her loyalty - they were very similar in their pride for their students causing them to often go above and beyond, but Grace recognized that wasn't the case for every teacher. "You were the only non-arts faculty member at that concert aside from the principal. And he only shows up in the first twenty minutes to give an opening remark," she offered, shaking her head. She took another sip, then, thinking on Mar's words for a minute. "I don't know if I've said it yet, but - I really am so glad you're back."
Caleb held Grace near as she burrowed herself against him, feeling calm and certain, a rare feeling. But he knew that his life was with Grace, and while those dreams had been deferred, in the here in now, he was all in. "Don't be sorry." He murmured against the top of her head, then pressing a kiss against her hair. Her reaction reignited the shame and the guilt that he felt, reminding him, keenly, of the last time they'd discussed children, of that ugly conversation, of how he'd broken her heart, and still, she'd stayed. He'd felt incapable, in that moment, of giving her what she wanted. Yet, their conversation, and her naked yearning to move on with their lives, together, had sent him off to war with a new emotion: fear. And that fear, of maybe having lost his shot, of missing out on a life with Grace, had nearly gotten him killed.
"I love you too." He replied, a solemn promise. "I don't want to think about what could go wrong." Caleb replied with a soft look in his eyes, his hand slowly rubbing circles into her back. "I think we've had enough pain. I'd, uh... I'd like to think that, anyway." Caleb found no comfort in his own emotions, and rarely tried to delve below the surface. But his expressions, in this moment, felt entirely earnest, if still uncomfortable. "It should come as no surprise that I, uh, don't care much for the details of how you get down the aisle to me. So there's not a thing your mother could ruin. 'Cause my eyes will be on you." His hand abandoned her back to tuck under her chin, keeping her eyes on him as he continued to speak. "I promise, I will spend the rest of my life trying to have been worth waiting for. I promise."
The truth of Grace's life, the one that even she had not yet fully shone light on, was that she had spent the vast majority of it longing for something that long felt intangible, at times impossible - simply to be wanted. Most of the time, she felt like an accident making up for itself, an open wound apologizing for its mess. Her existence had served as an apology from the very beginning - I'm sorry you didn't ask for this. I'm sorry you had no other choice.
Caleb was the first person who knew her - truly, knew her - and asked for more; he had treated her as if she were something worthwhile from the first time they met, their eyes lingering on each other a bit too long, their hands finding each other's laps as they carried on for hours in a bar near the college. Grace knew that Caleb wanted her because he had chosen her that night - and again, and again, and again. Every letter, every visit home, every room in this home and the ring on her finger and the feeling of his weight against her - he had chosen her. Grace worked hard not to cry again at the notion of it.
"I just -- I think it's... it's okay to exhale, now, baby," she murmured, her voice soft and thick with affection. She eyed Caleb's expression, the sincerity of his gaze on her. Leaning forward just a bit, she let her nose come to brush against the edge of his jaw, the friction of his beard catching against her skin. She repeated the motion a few times, inhaling his scent in the quiet dark."We'll...take it as it comes. And we'll be okay."
A contented quiet overtook them, and she pressed a soft kiss into the hollow of his cheek, exhaling. She let her words hang between them, permeating the warm air. She had no way of knowing how true they were to him, but to her, they might as well have been gospel.
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Caleb watched the wave of emotion crash over Grace, tracking it even in the shadowed darkness of the room. It would be untrue of Caleb to say he had always dreamed of being a father. Until he met Grace, he'd never been able to envision a time in life where he might be responsible for the well-being of a child. But in short order, Caleb had found he had dreams for his life, too. And where it mattered most, his dreams overlapped with Grace. "I didn't buy this home for just the two of us, honey." Caleb spoke softly, earnestly, as he met Grace's gaze, steadfast.
"I can't think of anything I'd like more." He promised, his hand shifting from the small of her back to caress her cheek. Caleb's thumb swiped at a wayward tear she'd missed, not drawing any more attention to it than that, as he could sense her embarrassment. He did feel a great sense of shame in having been the cause of this dream being deferred. He'd never wanted to get married while he was still serving, and, while he could argue that it had been for the best to wait, he knew that some windows were beginning to close. He could step up and seize the opportunity now, or watch as Grace pretended it didn't break her heart. And, as Caleb had discovered, it would break his heart, too. What a breakthrough in therapy that had been.
Grace’s eyes prickled with tears again, and she turned to her side fully to move toward Caleb in earnest, letting their bodies overlap as she pressed herself against him; this was borne of both her need to obscure her face for a moment and her need to be close to him, both equally important objectives. She wrapped her other arm around him, then, embracing him fully. “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into his shirt, sufficiently shameful for the sudden outburst. She couldn’t properly name the source entirely, only recognize the yearning behind it, a burning, lingering pain that she had held in her chest like a flame for years, for as long as she’d known him; she had wanted it so badly. She had wanted him so badly. And now, it seemed, she finally got to keep him.
She pulled her head back to meet Caleb’s eyes, reading his expression, trying to observe any semblance of uncertainty; she found none. He met her gaze directly, unwavering. She blinked, using his soft, steadying breath to ground herself, the feeling of his chest moving against her body settling her, anchoring her in the moment. “I love you,” she murmured, voice resolute. “I love you. And I love our life. And I need you to know that. If…if it doesn’t work out, and a baby doesn’t happen, or—or the wedding is nightmare, and my mom ruins it, or…whatever. I love you. And I’ll be happy. I’ll be happy because it’s with you.” She let her eyes linger on him, her expression somewhat grave. “Do you know that?”
"It wasn't all shit. There was at least one box of my stuff in the mix." Caleb replied, enjoying their proximity, and the feel of Grace's palm against his back. This was his peace — the solitude of just the two of them, now with just a bit more room to stretch their legs. Sure, he'd spent his life savings on it all, but it was all he'd ever dreamed of, giving Grace what she deserved (or at least trying to). This was part of the dream, another step forward along the path. "Oh, that's a good idea." Caleb wasn't shy to admit he'd about had it with painting, and would be more than happy to hand that task off to Grace and her sister.
"Did you decide which room you wanted for the guest room?" He posed the question nonchalantly. "I'd assume you'd want the room next to this for, uh..." Caleb trailed off for just a moment. "Well, a nursery." Just as Grace was gauging his demeanor, he know look to her expression in the dark, wondering what she'd think of the remark, or, rather, suggestion.
They had only ever discussed children a couple of times, and, for Grace, neither conversation seemed particularly worth investing a great deal of credence. The concept always seemed so mercurial and abstract to her, and the possibility of it inched further away from her over the years as Caleb made the decision to leave for more tours. She had only ever outwardly named this longing to Caleb once, as she argued with him one night before his fourth tour. It was a selfish, desperate bid to tempt him to stay with her. He didn’t.
When he finally came back, it was after nearly losing his life, and Grace’s imperative had wholly shifted to become keeping him afloat, meeting his needs — her focus became making it through each day, not the rest of her life. And with the added responsibility of her father, children had fallen out of her consideration entirely. Some dreams, she knew, were just not meant to be, and she could busy herself enough to ignore this one, to numb the ache in her.
“That would make sense, to have the guest room down there,” she murmured, painstakingly working to keep her tone even and measured; her heart felt as though it sat at the base of her throat. She turned her face for a moment to look at the ceiling, as if she was considering their options — in truth, she was working hard to suppress the burn of her eyes, and looking at Caleb only exacerbated the sudden flood of emotions. “It would probably be good for Di, too, if she comes and stays. Although I’m not — she keeps dodging me on that.” She blinked hard a few times, forcing the few welling tears out so she could quickly catch them with her fingertip as surreptitiously as she could manage. Then she turned her head back to face Caleb’s gaze, taking a deep, steadying breath; a soft, embarrassed smile curled her lips. When she finally worked up the nerve to speak, it was in a careful whisper. “Are you sure?”
"Okay, I'll be honest," Mar said, settling into her seat with a pint of beer in hand. One of the IPAs that the brewery was known for, it had a tangy taste that Mar found she enjoyed. "I really didn't know what to expect from a middle school band. But they really knocked it out of the park, I think!"
The evening had been a success on multiple levels -- Mar had been able to attend and show face at the Academy as a teacher, had felt strong enough to be out and on her feet and mingle with students and parents for several hours after the school day had ended. The students had played at a level that, while not professional, still sounded pleasant to her ears, and she could tell they must have worked long and hard to get to that point.
"What was the name of the second song you played? The funky one. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it." She took a sip of her beer and propped her elbows on the tabletop, curious for the answer.
A grin pulled Grace’s lips upward, bemused by the sincerity in Mar’s admission. Concert nights were always a massive endeavor, and, more often than not, Grace’s method of decompression was to go home and sink into the couch with reality TV before ambling off to bed. Going out with Mar, then, was a delightful deviation from routine, and she was mindful to savor it, to take time to think about how lovely it was to be able to enjoy her friend’s company after a successful evening. Grace had always been keenly aware of taking stock of good things, of appreciating what she had - she had been raised to treasure her good fortune and to celebrate God’s blessings, giving credit to the almighty for all she had. Now, she felt as though it wasn’t God’s will that brought her these joys, but her own work, the effort she laid despite wherever it seemed His plans may be. “They actually did a lot better than I was anticipating,” Grace admitted. “We’ve been having a hard time focusing in there, so practices haven’t always been….as successful as I’d have liked.” Still, Grace beamed with pride. “I’m happy they pulled it off.”
At Mar’s inquiry, Grace strained to think for moment. “I think it was called ‘Tripwire’ or something. It takes a cue from James Bond, so that’s probably why it’s familiar!” Grace took a sip of her beer, swallowing as she thought. “I did put in an appeal to be able to do some actual recognizable music to administration, so I’m hoping by winter concert they’ll let me break out something by someone people would actually know.” Grace emphasized her annoyance with a roll of her eyes, then smiled again. “I can’t believe you stayed for the entire thing. You definitely could have gotten away with just showing up for the last fifteen minutes and I would not have known a damned thing.”
Caleb turned to his side, propping himself up so he could look at the woman of his life properly. He looked into her eyes, noting that knowing stare that implied she had a question to pose, a subject to broach. He knew the look well — the earnestness, the sincerity, wanting him to open up, to share his soul. "Mhm." He confirmed with a soft smile, a hand now reaching out to slip around her waist. "My spine feels like marshmallows but there's nothing a little tender loving care can't cure." He teased, knowing she meant more than just his physical fitness.
"If I had a problem you'd know about it." Caleb then promised, trying to meet her sincerity with his own. He struggled, even with Grace, to open up completely. "But I'm good. More than good. This is all, uh... exactly what I needed." He tightened his grip on her waist, pressing himself against her as he moved to press his face into her neck, taking in a deep breath. After a moment, he'd place a kiss against her artery and then withdraw, just enough that his gaze could meet hers again. "Not everything about life can be perfect. But this slice of it feels pretty damn close."
Grace was not asking after Caleb's well-being for the gratification his profuse joy would have given her; she knew better than to anticipate some verbose proclamation of happiness. More, she knew that the most delicate of fractures between them could grow into chasms if she let Caleb go unchecked - he wasn't necessarily keen to offer her information on his mental state at any given time, and she knew now what clues to pick up on, what subtle shifts to watch for. She had learned his chosen communication methods - or lackthereof -years ago, when he'd barely been home two weeks before she invited him to share her apartment, knowing it would be a stark contrast to live so intimately after years of being an ocean apart.
She nodded, weighing his words, enjoying the feeling of his hand on around her middle, the pressure of his lips against her skin, the way his bright eyes still shone in the dark as he pulled away. She inched closer, and, with a smile, snaked her arm under the hem of his shirt, her grin blooming into something more sinister as he huffed in displeasure at the intrusion of her freezing hand against his bare skin. Moving her hand around his back and over his shoulder blade, Grace's fingers inched toward a familar scar, and she ran her fingertips over it gently as she blinked, taking Caleb in. "And you're saying that after carrying fifteen boxes of shit up the stairs. Imagine how good you'll feel after a couple of ibuprofen and a hot shower." She flattened her palm against his shoulder blade, giving it a small rub. "I can unpack more this weekend," she insisted, emphasis on the I. "And figure out the rest of the painting. I might ask Diana for help with that, though. She's good with that stuff."
Caleb had failed to consider that, at the end of his labor of love restoring this home to a state of glory, that the real work began: moving all of Grace's shit into said home. He was a good work horse, though — dependable and happy to follow her vision, of taking every carefully labeled box to its assigned room and beginning to unbox in the numbered order they'd also been assigned. He wondered what Peanut was doing, knowing she was likely having a much better time in the apartment with Diana as her guardian. He thought, at the very least, she wasn't so damn exhausted.
"Oh, god." Caleb groaned as Grace discovered him, an eye peeking out from under his arm as he watched her lower herself beside him. "I thought this was a good hiding spot." His head tilted to the opposite direction, looking at the box labeled 'bedroom, linens' on the floor. "I built the damn bed frame, isn't that enough?" He let out a soft groan of effort as he rolled to his side to face Grace, a hand reaching over to brush the hair that had fallen over her face. "Thanks for cleaning up after dinner." Caleb murmured before pressing a kiss against her collar bone. "And, can I just say... This mattress is a hell of a lot better than yours. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say..." Caleb thought carefully. "It's probably the same mattress you took my virginity on. It's time for that thing to get burned."
"Oh, you're being dramatic," Grace countered, huffing a dramatic sigh. She turned her head to face him, eyes locking with his. "That mattress was perfectly fine. You're just feeling it more now that you're elderly - I've heard your back when you get up in the morning." A bright and mischievious grin tugged at the corner of her lips as she delighted in the way his expression brightened as she teased him, the quirk of his brow and the glint in his eyes. Softening her voice, she continued in earnest, "It is the perfect bed, though. In the perfect frame. In the perfect house."
She blinked, eyes lingering perhaps a second or two too long on Caleb's, and, before he could open his mouth to speak - to ask her what was the matter - she beat him to the punch. With a small smile, she gazed up at him. "How are you feeling?" Her voice was small; she was slightly embarrassed to even be asking, feeling as though it was marring this perfect thing, threatening to burst the bubble of perfect happiness she existed within when the pair of them were in bed, together. But there had been so much shifting in their lives, so many moving pieces never coming to settle; it felt irresponsible not to at least check in. The symbiosis of their relationship would not allow Grace to enjoy this without ensuring that Caleb was right there with her. "Are you okay?"
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Moving was always an objectively exhausting undertaking, but, in tandem with work and her father, Grace felt tired on a molecular level. While stacks of boxes still sat in the corners of almost every room, she and Caleb had mutually decided they were done for the night, and, as the sun began to set, Grace finished loading the dishwasher from dinner, finding it all-too-easy to assimilate to a new routine and all that came with it - she tried not to place too much weight in it all, into the optimism it stoked within her, but she found that, most days, the only thing she looked forward to was coming through this doorway, knowing what waited for her on the other side.
Grace dried her hands, setting the dishwasher to run, then ambled across the house to come to plod up the stairs. "Baby?" she called, not entirely sure where he managed to putter off to, and came to the top of the stairs half-expecting to see him hanging a shelf or unpacking a box or otherwise being generally helpfull. She was delighted, then, to come to their bedroom door and find him - in complete darkness, strewn across the bed, his arm tossed over his eyes. She smirked, wordlessly crossing the space between them and coming to sit next to him, then leaning back to rest so their bodies laid parallel. "I was about to say something about you being lazy for not putting the sheets on first, and then I remembered the splinters are still fresh from you, like, building this house, so I'll hold that for another day."
"I'll be honest with you," Mar started. "I don't know who any power player is, and I don't know the criteria to make someone cool, and I am actually very happy not to know." The drama that upper grades students brought more often than not leaned toward histrionics, way out of her depth, and Mar was perfectly content to work with smaller children who did not have those problems. It was easier to teach kids to share and be kind in elementary grades when they still had the willingness to learn. "No offense, but I think dealing with teenage girls every day makes you stronger than Jesus, actually."
She brightened when Grace invited her to the spring concert, and straightened a little in her seat. "I would love that! I have been meaning to try to come to more school events to see old students. And you are welcome to cry as much as you want. I won't say a word." Mar raised a hand as if to intimate a scout's honor for her promise. "But drinks are a given, definitely. What are you going to play for the seniors?"
When Grace pulled up the page on her phone, Mar leaned in slightly to peer at the screen. The consistency of the photoshop quality varied wildly from picture to picture, but she almost choked to see the assistant principal bear a striking resemblance to Lex Luthor. "This is the dumbest and most brilliant thing I have ever seen," she said, wiping a tear of laughter away. "How long before they photoshop you, do you think?"
Grace grinned stupidly at Mar's delight, nodding to affirm her assessment. "Oh, I'm already working on borrowed time with this," she said, setting her phone down. "I'm such a moving target, because I have no idea whose behind the page, and I see almost every one of them every week - I'm about to make this classroom a no phone zone to protect myself."
Smiling excitedly as Mar agreed to attend the concert, Grace's optimism waned just slightly when she thought of the senior sendoff, already dreading it. "And we're playing the same thing for the seniors we always play - the school anthem," she rolled her eyes, clearly disillusioned by the choice - but unable to do anything, despite her best efforts to appeal to the principal. "They're weirdly strict about the songs we're allowed to play. These kids will never know the glory of Vitamin C's "Graduation," unfortunately," she sighed. "Although I don't honestly know what I was expecting, because they didn't do anything fun when I went here."
At a hint of activity in the hall, Grace strained to pop her head up above Mar, looking to see what it might be - then, with a quick glance at the clock, she groaned, wiping the crumbs from her hands on a napkin. "I have to go - flutes at 1:50," she said on an exhale. "I'll text about the concert?"
