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The ingredient list for Nicole’s upcoming Christmas feasts had grown receipt-long so that one-half of it fluttered off the edge of the table. Casey watched with her pencil poised above the blueprint for the Keating House Part Two as Nicole chewed at the edge of her own before ultimately falling forward and scratching out a whole series of what looked like herbs and spices. “Unnecessary,” she muttered. “Nobody in Maine wants to eat anything Indian-inspired for Christmas.” Casey could only envision a hazy ecosystem of various recipe ideas; Nicole was still hyper-focused on making a statement. Casey knew better than to interrupt her and instead turned her eyes to the blueprint, which needed just the slightest adjustments before its finalization. She was thrilled with it, thrilled that she would walk the halls of a Casey Harvey original within the year. Who needed the “Griffin” on the end of that name, anyhow?
Suddenly, Heather burst into the enclosed porch and plastered herself against the door as she gasped for air. Her eyes were unfocused, her cheeks violently pink. Both Casey and Nicole burst into giggles as they asked, “What’s gotten into you?”
Heather wasn’t keen on laughter, which was a rarity these days. She collapsed on the spare chair between them and removed her mittens. “I just did something I shouldn’t have,” she exclaimed.
Casey arched an eyebrow. There was no telling what this meant in Heather-terms. She kept her pencil in its appropriate spot and waited, sensing this wouldn’t take so long.
But before she knew it, Heather burst into tears and turned toward Casey. Her ocean-blue eyes seemed deeper now than any body of water Casey had ever seen.
“I just saw Grant,” Heather admitted finally. “He’s in town.” She then squeezed her eyes shut as her body shook with fear.
Casey dropped her pencil as her jaw dropped. “What do you mean? On the street?”
Heather shook her head. “He’s been drinking with Luke at the hotel bar he’s staying at. He’s been there for a few hours. The two of them got to talking, and, well, he’s explained to Luke that...”
“That what?” Casey demanded, suddenly stricken.
“That he never cheated on you. That it’s a huge misunderstanding. That he loves you more than life itself. He never had an affair, Casey.” Heather gasped for air as her forehead wrinkles grew deeper. “I don’t know what else to say. I just know... that I have to believe Luke. He’s no liar, honey.”
Casey puffed out her cheeks as that same wave of anger and frustration washed over her. “He’s no liar? But Heather, how long have you known him? Like five minutes?”
Heather bristled at this and straightened her spine. She turned her eyes toward Nicole, who kept hers down on her ingredient list. Obviously, she listened intently.
“It’s just that you should have seen his face,” Heather tried.
“Heather...” Casey’s emotional insides whirled around like a tornado. Poor Heather. She’d married a remarkable man who’d left this earth forever. How could Heather possibly comprehend the weight of what Grant had done? Still, it didn’t mean she had to trounce all over Casey’s business like this. This was so typical; why had Casey expected anything better?
“What? Casey, what?” Heather demanded, irate.
“I’m just saying. You’re so naive. So sympathetic to hogwash. All those children’s books you write, no wonder you subscribe to emotion the way you do,” Casey said then. “So, Grant told you a story that sounded true. What now? I’m supposed to just run back into his arms like everything is perfectly okay?”
Heather’s jaw dropped. “Naive? Are you serious?” she demanded.
Now, Nicole lifted her chin and glared at Casey. “I don’t think Heather would say anything to hurt you. That’s unfair.”
But already, Casey bucked up from her chair, prepared to hurl a million insults. How dare Heather barge into her world like this? How dare she speak to Grant when she couldn't comprehend the weight of loneliness Grant had created in Casey’s world over the past few years? After her jump, her foot found the pencil on the ground and crackled it so that pencil lead scattered.
With the volatility of Casey’s motions, Heather cried, “Don’t worry. I’ll leave before you can hurt me even more,” then burst into tears and hustled off the porch. Casey moaned and splayed her hand across her stomach, her heart heavy.
“Just because you’re unhappy doesn’t mean you have to make everyone else unhappy,” Nicole pointed out, disgruntled as she gathered her ingredient list and followed after Heather.
This left Casey alone on the porch with a busted pencil and a busted heart. She collapsed back on the chair, no longer energetic enough to manage another notch on the blueprint.
After a long, heart-racing pause, Casey grabbed her computer from her nearby backpack. She wasn’t a typical social media user; she’d never gotten accustomed to posting images of her children or snapshots that illustrated her accomplishments. Her profile picture remained the one of her and Grant from twelve years ago, which Melody had taken when they’d been out at Quintin’s ranch. Casey had been thirty-four at the time. Her eyes flickered over the image as her heart surged with regret.
Then, she did something purely self-destructive: she searched for the name Alyssa Limperis. Within the Keating House, she heard her sisters’ murmurs as they headed upstairs. Naturally, they spoke of Casey, words Casey was grateful not to hear.
Alyssa Limperis’ profile picture featured herself and what seemed to be her newest baby, which she had wrapped over her chest. She leaned against a wooden fence as a Montana sunset beamed orange behind her. In every respect, in every way, she was beautiful and vibrant. Casey’s heart sputtered with jealousy.
Alyssa didn’t have any of her settings on private, which was quite rare these days. Casey clicked through her first few profile pictures to find her on a short journey through Alyssa’s early years of motherhood. With three children under five, she’d packed a whole lot of emotion in just a short time. Probably, her living room was akin to a small village after a hurricane. Grant had always been the one to tend to the toddler messes while Casey had gallivanted off from one architectural site to the next. Grant was probably so grateful to have a partner in those menial tasks, now. It clicked.
Casey continued to go through the photos, her eyes scanning for some sign of Grant. He’d been gone every single month for an extended period of time for many years, and it wasn’t like Alyssa was particularly careful about what she put online. (Often, what Alyssa listed was crass enough to make Casey question everything. Who was this woman her husband had fallen in love with?)
After approximately forty-five minutes of searching, Casey still hadn’t discovered a single photo of Alyssa and Grant together— a curious thing for such a sloppy social media poster.
She had, however, spotted Quintin Griffin within several of the photographs.
This Quintin Griffin was a different Quintin Griffin than Casey had met all those years before. In the wake of Frankie’s accident, he’d grown despondent and an alcoholic, which had resulted in weight gain and a bloated face. He’d retained some of his handsome features, probably only due to his arrogance, and in many respects, looked like a powerful and sturdy American man, the kind you’d want to latch on to if your world seemed hazy with fears and sorrow.
In three of the photos, Quintin even held onto one of Alyssa’s babies with a look of pride and adoration. This was the cowboy Quintin Griffin— not the man in a loveless marriage who’d lost his eldest daughter in a freak accident. Maybe he’d reached out for whatever love he’d been able to find. Maybe this had been it for him.
And beneath two of those Quintin-and-baby photos, Alyssa Limperis had written, “My whole heart.”
Casey’s own heart surged with doubt at that moment.
It made no sense— the secret bank account, the endless weeks away from home, the lies. But then again, Grant had a pretty enormous weakness, and that weakness had and always would be his older brother, Quintin Griffin. He would do anything to protect him. Had she made a mistake?