Chapter One
Grace Runyon paused in the doorway of the little house. She
listened to the real estate agent drive away with a little zip and a crunch of
the gravel drive and felt a moment’s panic.
“Not buyer’s remorse at this stage of the game, my good woman.”
She marched inside, carrying two overloaded paper bags of supplies from the
convenience mart. “And stop talking to yourself.”
The real estate lady had checked the lights to make sure the local
electric company in tiny East Bay, Michigan had “turned her on” —her words.
Grace’s responding chuckle came out like a zebra snort, one that smelled lion
and was trying to warn the herd.
“You’ll be all right,” the plump, business-like woman reassured
her before she left. “It’s a ways out of town, but not too far, and the
neighbors are good people.” She looked down at the drive and stirred some
gravel with her brown patent pump. “In fact, this place used to belong to one
of the brothers next door.”
She pressed a card into Grace’s limp hand. “Now, here’s my card.
You just call any time.”
One of the brothers? Not information pertinent to the deed, she
hoped.
Grace had merely glanced at the place before signing the papers
yesterday. “The house hasn’t been opened up in a number of months. The last
occupant was ill,” the agent said. “I can give you the name of a good cleaning
crew.”
“A little dirt doesn’t scare me. I can handle it,” she’d blithely
replied.
Today, in the sparse rays of early spring through fly-specked
windows, she wondered if she’d been a little hasty. The dusty, braided rug did
not look like an inviting place to set down the sacks she toted in from her
green Subaru.
Deep, calming breaths read the story of the place: sickness and
neglect hovered almost tangibly. Cobwebs, glittering dust motes. Dangerously
lopsided drapes.
A lonely pile of toys, a car and some plastic figures she didn’t
recognize, and a cobbler bench huddled beneath a weight bench in the corner
near the open stairway.
Passing through an opening across the long, narrow room, she found
herself in the kitchen—a sad, neglected kitchen—and definitely not the heart of
this home. She set the bags on the table and dumped her purse on a chair. A
slow turn made her wonder what she’d seen that made her crazy enough to buy this
house.
“What kind of person paints her kitchen ice-green? And what’s up
with the grinning daisies? Honestly.”
Remains of the day were left as is. Her Tennessee
Something rustled in the cupboards. Hopefully only mice. She
sighed and picked up two forks and a bent serving spoon that had been left on
the kitchen table. Little flotsam, napkin bits, and nut shells of some kind
decorated the cracked and scorched ancient linoleum countertops.
She opened one of the packages of cheap, white paper towels she’d
purchased and used one to gingerly swipe away attached spider webs. With a
grimace she quickly thrust the wad into the trash and slammed the lid, its
metallic echo a hollow laugh. You wish it was that easy to erase your past, don’t you? Created a
web of a mess. Ran. Who’s left to clean up after you?
Grace blinked and twisted the porcelain handle of the tap. Warm
orange gunk gurgled out and spewed thickly around the stained sink bowl. At
least it didn’t smell bad. She cheered when it soon cleared up.
“Call me easily pleased. And, seriously, stop talking to
yourself.”
She pulled a pad of paper from her leather handbag and toured the
little one and a half story cottage, making notes of the supplies she needed.
Clean first, then patch. Definitely painting. And figuring out some furniture.
Something to sleep on. “Do I even have a hammer? Talk about starting from
scratch.”
Putting together a whole new life after everything she’d been
through was risky. She wasn’t exactly hiding, but neither did she care to let
anyone know where to find her. Yet. In good time. When the wounds weren’t so
fresh and raw; when the wonder of her failure faded from their memories.
Jonathan had been a good man. He hadn’t deserved his fate.
Her heart ached for him, for what they’d lost, even though he’d
been dying for a long time. Losing him was more of a release.
Still, they blamed her. And rightfully so. So she gave them what
they wanted.
Time for a normal life, remember?
A good night’s sleep will do wonders.
By the time the sun faded, Grace had exhausted herself. Scrubbing
the kitchen and a cubby of a room behind it she’d claim for her own took
buckets of hot water and a pair of neon-yellow rubber gloves, but at least
she’d have a clean spot to lay her mattress and sleeping bag. Too tired to eat,
she’d stretched herself out and groaned. Thirty-five-year-olds should not be
this out of shape.
The room seemed to whirl in a nauseating kaleidoscopic frenzy. No!
She wasn’t ready to think about it. Not yet. When she focused again, she stood
in bright daylight, looking down into the newly-dug hole. Without looking up
she knew they were there, standing around her and staring, accusing.
“Your fault! You let this happen! You let him die when you should
have saved him!”
“I wanted to!” God knows she wanted to save Jonathan. “He was the
one—he told me not to try again.” At first, she’d tried to help. Of course she
did. He was all she had left. Everyone needed him. Everyone loved him. But it
had hurt so much. She hadn’t complained, but after that second time when they
had to revive her in the ER, shocked out of her ability to feel anything, he
made her go home. Alone. She’d been more afraid of that than the pain.
She lifted her head. Jonathan’s father had his back to her. As she
watched, they all, one by one, turned their backs until only Lena ,
her best friend, was left. “Please, Lena , not
you too!”
Running away over the clipped grass of the cemetery seemed the
smartest thing she could do. Run, run! Why couldn’t she get anywhere? Her high
heels stuck in the lawn and she couldn’t pull free.
Grace reached automatically for the warmth that was no longer
there anchoring the other side of the bed. She forced her eyes open against the
sleep-tears that nearly welded them shut. The blackness of the room calmed her
frantic breathing. She lay still a moment, stars from smacking her head against
the wooden floor buzzing like angry lightning bugs. She pushed the tangled
sleeping bag from her legs and got to her knees, willing her legs to hold her,
her ankles to be strong. She stood. So much for sleep tonight, the first in her
new home. If she had to be alone now, at least it was amongst strangers who
didn’t know what she’d done.
* * * *
By the third day and the fifth trip into town, Grace decided to
treat herself to a side trip. She had passed the sweet chalet-style building
that housed the local library often enough. Time to stop in.
“So, you’ve taken over the Marshall Marshalls
Grace nodded and smiled as if she knew what the woman was chatting
about. The librarian went on to tell her that the property edged East Bay
Uh-huh, well, there was something Grace could do on rainy days—dig
up local history. Something new to learn, instead of the almost intuitive
understanding that came with being raised in Woodside, where their story was
almost like an extra rib or a twenty-fifth vertebrae. “Thanks, Marie, bye now.”
Next errand.
The local resale shop proved to be a blessing filling in for her
missing wardrobe and no one there said a thing when she went back three days in
a row, modeling the former day’s purchase. Casual clothes…something she’d found
grimly amusing for her new life of leisure. Her beautiful suits and silk church
dresses would be so out of place here; running away as she had might have been
a blessing in disguise, if she wanted to try to fit in. She certainly had no
need of her uniforms. She’d missed the nice leather set she and Jonathan had
purchased for the family room, though. Could she stomach buying something used?
Maybe slipcovers for a sofa and some chairs would be all right. She could use
some dishes instead of paper plates. Service for one.
* * * *
On Saturday she was so intent on brushing cobwebs down from the
high ceilings that she didn’t notice company coming until pounding on the front
door rattled the glass. She let out a screech and nearly tumbled off the
kitchen chair on which she perched. A peek through wavy glass revealed her
visitors, for there turned out to be more than one: a delegation of two.
“One and a half,” she amended as she pulled off the threadbare
T-shirt covering her hair. She cautiously opened the oak front door to a man
and a small boy. “Good afternoon.”
The man was very tall, black-haired, and terribly gaunt. He leaned
on one crutch and stared through narrowed eyes, frowning, as though he had not
expected to see her. A little boy held a pillowcase with something lumpy inside
and the other hand of the man. She thought she recognized them from the day at
the bank when she went to sign the closing papers for the house. She had been
surprised to find no one besides the real estate agent and the bank’s vice
president at the meeting. The former owners had not been able to stay and meet
her, but everything was in order, she was told.
The man cleared his throat and spoke at last, breathlessly.
“I—we—wanted to see that you were all right,” he said, glancing down at the
child and then back at her face.
“Yes, thank you, I’m fine. Last occupants apparently left in a
hurry,” she replied.
“Um, right. I guess the place is a mess. If you need help with
anything…” His voice fell away. Grace guessed the “you can call me” would be
meaningless, and not just to her. His sallow face paled. Perspiration trickled
down his temple, even though the air was cool. His left arm and leg started to
quiver. Sweat rolled past the startling white rictus of a scar on his temple
along the premature age line around his eyes and dripped down his jaw onto his
faded navy shirt labeled “Sleeping Bear Dunes.”
Grace slumped against the doorframe, breathing shallowly, trying
not to scream or burst into tears. God’s sense of humor escaped her. Why did he
insist on making her the butt of a cosmic joke? The last few days had only been
a calm moment in the midst of a virtual hurricane. This man, God all but
screamed in her inner ear. This is why I brought you here. For your touch.
She willed the voice into silence and shuttered her heart. No.
Grace locked eyes with the man on the porch until the silence
became uncomfortable.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
“Yes.” The word came out more clipped than she’d intended; ice
instead of pleasant. “How may I help you?” As she spoke, she blinked away the
thought that his eyes were the color of the Morning Glory pool at Yellowstone . Jonathan’s eyes had been a mossy brown.
Grace looked down at the child. He stood behind the man’s legs, clutching the
bag to his chin, and peeked back at her with an anxious expression creasing his
forehead.
Really, God? Is it necessary to punish me this hard? Grace bit the inside
of her cheek so hard she tasted sweet rust. But she would not, not, not, let anything touch her
heart. Ever again.
The man urged the child forward.
“Give Mrs., ah, Mrs. …”
“Runyon.”
“…Runyon the bread.”
The miniature grubby hand thrust the pillowcase in Grace’s
direction.
“Good job, Eds. I’m Ted Marshall,” he said, apparently recalling
they had not exchanged names. “And this is my son, Eddy.”
Eddy stuck his head sideways from around the side of his father,
eyed her solemnly, and then disappeared again.
Grace took the bundle. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Grace Runyon.”
She did not offer to shake hands. Although running away from Woodside more than
likely lessened the strength of the gift, she wasn’t taking chances. Besides,
it was strictly forbidden to let strangers know what happened there—sometimes.
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
“I—can—work a bread—machine.” He wobbled and reached a hand out to
steady himself against the jamb.
She reached out anyway, stopping just short when he held up the
same hand to ward her off. “I’m all right. Just give me a second.”
“Um, thank you, Mr. Marshall, and Eddy, for the bread. Would you
like to come in and sit for a minute?” The case felt cozy in her hand, warm
from the fresh-baked loaf and the child’s hand.
“Ted. Call me Ted. We have to get back.” He straightened using the
crutch. “I have an appointment, but thanks anyway. We’re over there”—he
indicated a hedge of tall scraggly bushes— “on the other side. At the house.”
They turned and clumped across the gray-green cupped porch boards. Eddy looked
back through the open door. Grace followed his gaze to the abandoned toys piled
in the middle of the room. He turned and bent to grasp his father’s crutch to
help him manipulate down the steps.
Ah. “One of the brothers” now made sense. She watched, her mouth
pursed. How old was the child? Maybe four? Too young to have to help a parent
like that.
She looked up at the ceiling of the living room, free of webs but
showing cracks in the white paint. “I will not, Lord! No! You brought me here
for a reason, but not that. Please, not yet… I want to be free for a while!
Away from sickness and everyone else’s hurt. Let me heal myself, first.”
Sinking down and slapping the T-shirt against the smooth floorboards, she
hunched up her knees. Staring at nothing, she let her forehead rest against her
wrists and rocked. No tears. You promised. No feelings. If you don’t feel, you can’t hurt.
A long time later Grace ate dinner, butter melting on the
re-warmed slice of bread. She sat at the now shiny chrome kitchen table,
occupied with thoughts about her visitors. Ted was obviously the former
occupant. Her medical curiosity took over and thrust back the emotion that
threatened her slim self-control. What was the nature of his illness? He had
received some terrible injury, evident in the scar on his head, but was it
related to the need for a crutch? Usually a head injury didn’t count as “ill”
like the real estate lady said.
Well, her neighbors were none of her business. She took her dishes
over to the sink and ran some water. Not that sweet little boy with the
poignant eyes. Certainly not his enigmatic father. And no way was she
interested in knowing where Eddy’s mother was. If she didn’t get to know them
better, it would be easier not to care. If she didn’t care all that much, she
wouldn’t feel obligated to help them. If she didn’t try to help them, she
wouldn’t fail. If she never had to fail, she couldn’t be hurt by it. If she
wasn’t hurt, she’d win. If she beat the emotion game, maybe someday she could
blend in here, her new home, and nothing could drive her away.
When she accidentally splashed suds on the wall next to the sink,
she picked at a bubbling daisy. Underneath, the walls had once been sunny
yellow.
Chapter Two
Grace was not surprised to find Eddy behind the polite ring of the
doorbell at seven-thirty the next morning. She offered the soulful, long-lashed
child toast and jam, some of her tea, a share of the morning paper, which he
declined with a swift shake of his silken head, and a freshly-washed toy from
the box near the door.
He drove the beat-up blue police car across the living room floor,
making wonderful sounds. “I’m glad the rug is gone. Now we can drive straight.”
He didn’t look up at Grace, too rapt with his play.
“It was dirty and mousy. I’m trying to clean it up.” She smiled at
his antics while she sorted through some laundry. “But I may have to throw it
away.”
“We always had mouses. Trigger helped clean ’em up.”
“Trigger?” Grace looked back from the hall where she was headed
with a stack of folded towels.
“My kitty. Daddy said she was fast on the draw!” At this, he did
look up at her, smiling wide, big-eyed and dimpled, innocent as the sunrise. He
let go of the car and came toward her. She stiffened. Memories of another
little boy threatened to overwhelm her.
Peace, Grace, peace. It was long ago. You don’t have to go there
again. You cried enough back then.
“Can I see my room?” he asked, smile gone.
She was probably scaring the poor kid to death. Forcing a smile
back on her face, she said, “Sure! Which one?” and followed him down the
hallway alongside the wide staircase she had yet to scrub, to the second door
on the left, the one across from the kitchen. It was little-boy-sized with a
closet under the staircase that tunneled through the house. Eddy went to sit on
the floor in front of a dusty window which looked out on a sorry playhouse in
the backyard.
“This is where my bed used to be.” His voice cracked and he
sniffed. “You don’t know where Trigger is, do you?” Fat tears rolled faster and
faster down his thin cheeks.
The clump-clump of a heavy tread on the porch steps and a shadow
crossing the other window signaled another visitor, saving her from doing more
than patting the child on the shoulder for a moment. A different man, an older
version of Eddy’s father, stood outside.
“I’ve come to see if Eddy is here.”
They both heard the snuffling sounds coming from inside.
“I’m sorry he bothered you.” The man made no effort to introduce
himself, and Grace was too uncomfortable in his stern presence to demand his
name, although she didn’t doubt that he was Ted’s brother, Randy Marshall, the
name on the mailbox of the house next door.
“He’s not bothering me. He came to visit me earlier. I hope that
was all right with his father?”
The man did not rise to her bait. She gave it one more try. “Yes?
He is welcome to stay here for a bit, if it would be easier for you.”
“No. He knows he no longer lives here. Eddy!”
Grace jerked her head as he called past her into the house. He
stood with fists planted firmly on his hips, his expression stony and distant.
This was not a happy person—not at all. Should she let Eddy go
with him? “He’s not in any trouble, I hope? Or am I?”
A sarcastic eyebrow raise was his only response. The child came
running, picked up his police car and skipped through the door, but not before
thanking her with his expression: the faint flash of a dimple and blink of long,
black, damp lashes. He did not appear fearful of the man, so she decided the
situation was, again, none of her business. It was not her problem to care who
watched over her neighbor’s son.
* * * *
Grace continued to fold laundry into piles on the coffee table,
the easy chair, and the arm of her “new” sofa. These lulling, comforting
routine motions of dealing with familiar activities helped ease her into
accepting this place as home. She’d tied some brown-striped sheets as
slipcovers for a couple of mismatched chairs from her favorite store—the resale
shop. She wondered what the local gossips had to say about her. What would they
do if they really knew her and what she’d done?
Her simple touches coordinated the furniture well against
freshly-painted beige walls. Her walls in Tennessee had a touch of gold in the
paint, but that formality wouldn’t work here. At least the room no longer
smelled of cigar smoke, vomit, and mouse urine. She wondered who had smoked the
cigars.
The old brown and tan braided wool carpet was sacrificed to the
mouse droppings, and with it gone, she’d done her best to clean and wax the
narrow planked oak floors. At one time a dog had obviously occupied the place,
one which did not always make it outside to do its business. She put an end
table over the biggest black stain. The drapes were gone, revealing the
beautiful wood casement around the windows. The corner of one window was
cracked. How much would it cost to replace the whole thing? Mundane thinking
kept the other whispers at bay; the ones that reminded her of her calling, of
her purpose in Michigan. She struggled to tune them out with busy work.
Exhaustion would quell the dreams. At some point she’d see what kind of work
she could do here. Absolutely nothing to do with the medical field, though.
A ray of brilliant sun beamed though the low cloud bank at that
moment, glancing off the glass on the coffee table and stinging her eyes. She
closed them. No. I told you. No.
She ached from washing and polishing the sashes and the panes and
flexed her shoulders. Think about something else, Grace, girl. Get your mind on
anything else but what you’d done before.
Yeah…let’s see. Maybe she could offer her services as a
professional decorator. She chuckled. There were houses like this in her home
town. They came from a kit and were personalized later. Marie had been
exceptionally chatty at the library, filling in the gaps about Ted’s
grandparents leaving the main house to their daughter and son-in-law’s growing family
and building this place next door. There were more touches, personal ones, made
through the years in wood paneling in the living room and plastered ceilings
and light fixtures. Two square rooms on the second floor looked out over the
slope-roofed front porch. There was a walk-in pantry behind the kitchen and a
miniature bathroom stuffed between it and Eddy’s former room.
Grace could not bring herself to take one of the bedrooms upstairs
for her own. Ted and the Mrs. must have occupied one of them. Just a feeling,
but it was enough to keep her away. Besides, how would she carry furniture all
by herself? The cupboards in the kitchen were plentiful for her needs. The
former pantry was large enough for a single bed and comfortable.
A week after his initial visit, Eddy’s father limped up the walk
on her side of the hedge and found her in the yard, puttering in the late
afternoon sunshine.
That hedge was not big enough. Maybe she could install a fence? An
electric one with…
Was he attempting to be friendly? She could assure him she was
fine and send him away…
Surely he didn’t need anything. He lived with his brother, didn’t
he? She had nothing to offer, nothing, nothing, nothing. Please, don’t ask me…
“Hello, there. Nice day for a walk,” she said when he came within
hearing range.
“Hi.” Ted settled both hands on top of the single crutch and let
his gaze roam the yard. He shifted feet awkwardly. “I hope you’re doing well.”
She assured him she was.
“Um, Shelby is in the hospital. They think it might be food poisoning.
She’s the only sitter Eddy’s ever had. I called around but it’s such short
notice. There’s no one else to ask. My brother, Randy, you met him the other
day… Well, he’s out of town on business. I’d take Eddy along to the clinic, but
this is a long test. I don’t—”
Then, please, don’t. “That’s all right. What are neighbors for?”
She returned his tense smile while mentally hearing fingernails across a
classroom chalk board. “He’s welcome to come here for the afternoon. I’m
not—I’m not doing that much, anyway. I’m not an ax-murderer or child molester,
either, in case you were wondering.”
His eyes did not crinkle at the corners, like happy people smile.
Too much brotherly love? His skin looked papery. She forced herself to stop her
automatic clinical analysis. Should she ask who Shelby was? Folks around here
were so familiar with themselves they forgot others didn’t know them. Not that
she wanted to. Know them.
Ted leaned against a pillar on the porch. “Okay, thanks. And I
wasn’t wondering. I saw you go into the library. I don’t think ax-murderers
read much.”
After he returned to his side of the hedge, Grace stalked into the
house, slammed and locked the door, crawled into bed and held her stomach until
she fell asleep.
When he returned the next day with Eddy in tow, he dug in his hip
pocket for a slip of paper, which he held out to her with a shaky hand. “Here’s
my cell phone number and the number where I’ll be if you need anything. I
should be back by four-thirty if the taxi is available. Eddy will eat anything
you give him. He’s a good kid, generally.”
The subject of their discussion gave her a saucy grin and
transferred his grip from Ted’s hand to hers. Yeah, right, sure.
Grace wondered about the reliability of taxi service in such a
small town. Should she offer to drive him? She had not gotten a landline yet,
either, and was contemplating not bothering. Her own cell phone had disappeared
sometime during the trip here and she hadn’t taken the time to figure out
something new. She did not take the slip of paper from Ted. “I don’t have any
way of reaching you.”
His brows went up and he immediately held out his phone. “Well,
why don’t you take this phone, then? The number for the doctor is plugged in
here.”
She took it from him, holding it between her thumb and forefinger
as if it might bite. He quickly showed her how to use it and then said with a
grin that Eddy could help her if she forgot. Eddy held onto her hand with a
two-fisted grip. He gave her a radiant look when his father mentioned his
expertise.
Despite her declaration that the child was welcome, Grace felt
wide-eyed and wholly incompetent to care for a boy this age for more than a
fifteen-minute checkup as she watched Ted lean down to hug his child and give
last-minute admonishments. He was clad in a polo shirt and cargo shorts today.
His left arm trembled even more than when they first met. She stoppered her
professional curiosity once again before meeting his skeptical look. Maybe
someday she could ask what had happened, but not yet.
Chanting internally “act normal, be normal, you deserve a normal
life after all you’ve been through,” she watched Eddy wave his father off to
the waiting cab, apparently unconcerned that he was being left in the care of a
virtual stranger. Maybe the fact that he had lived here once made a difference.
Maybe the child was simply a happy-go-lucky kid, used to being left in the care
of others. Like the mysterious Shelby.
It had been so long…so long since she’d been alone with a little
boy. What would they do all day? Eddy played on the living room floor while a
radio scratched out a quiet generic piano station in the background. He didn’t
seem to mind the lack of television and she promised they would look in the
playhouse later after her laundry was put away.
Grace put the folded towels in the bathroom cupboard and followed
him into her room with a pile of things held in both arms. She had scrubbed the
walls and ceiling and removed most of the shelves. She was still mulling a
choice of wallpaper to cover the worst of the patched places.
Eddy looked about him with awe. “This door was always closed. I
peeked once when I was a little kid. There were big boxes all over and it was
cold.”
The door had been closed, hmm? Every corner of the house held some
secret to pique her curiosity. But it was none of her business what had
happened to Ted’s wife and nothing would make her ask the little boy where his
mother was.
With efficient, practiced motions she remade her frameless bed.
“Thank you, Lord, for my dryer,” she muttered under her breath as
the fresh grass and sunshine smell billowed up at her.
“What, Grace?” Eddy made faces at himself in her rusty bureau
mirror. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, sweetie. Let’s go look at the playhouse.”
“Yippeee!” Eddy dodged outside past her.
The little house was filthy inside, strewn with leaves, and dead
bugs of every type littering the floor. Chewed fragments of white plastic surrounded
a play stove and refrigerator like snow, mixed with the typical brown pellets
of mouse droppings and a suspicious pile of shredded newspaper and grass in a
corner. It looked long abandoned.
“Did you ever play in here?”
“Uncle Randy said no, not even when we lived here. He told Daddy
to keep me out. It was too dangerous.”
So, the stern man from yesterday was Randy, as she had thought.
Curiosity got the upper hand of her vow not to care. Caring wasn’t the same as
knowing helpful information. Like who else might be coming around the hedge
this summer. “Hmm… Where are, ah, Uncle Randy’s kids, now—your cousins?”
“Just one cousins.”
“Oh? Is your cousin a boy or a girl?”
“Boy,” Eddy replied, swiping his fingers along a thick web in a
window sill.
Twenty questions time. How hard do I pump a
neighbor’s child for information and still not get too involved with the people
here? Okay—one more.
“Does your cousin live around here?”
Eddy squinted, put a hand on his chin and then crossed his arms in
obvious imitation of some adult. Grace kept her smile in check.
“No, I don’t think so. Jimmy only comes in the summer. I don’t
like him. He’s lots bigger than me. He punches hard.”
What kind of woman had spent enough time with him to bear his
child? He was so…surly. And gruff.
She decided that was enough interrogation about the Marshalls for
now and tuned belatedly back into Eddy’s conversation.
“But this is your house now, right, Grace? You can let me play
here if you want to, right?”
“It needs quite a lot of fixing up. Tell you what. If you help
clean it up a little, we can see if your Uncle Randy is right about it being
too dangerous or not. Then, only if there’s nothing wrong, you can play in here
when I say it’s okay.”
The little guy seemed satisfied with her cautious answer.
They were still outside when Ted returned from his appointment.
Hazy sunshine beat down, promising a change in weather. Spring was passing on
into full summer and the grass needed to be cut again.
Ted’s frown as he made his way across the lawn, skirting the patch
of bare earth that she had begun to dig for a late flowerbed, made her wonder
what was up.
Eddy threw down his little shovel and shouted, “Daddy! Grace says
the playhouse is hers now, so I can play in it!”
Out of the mouths…he would get her into trouble even in his
innocence. She swiftly cut in. “That’s not quite it, you know, Eddy. I said
we’d clean it up and see if it was safe first, then ask your dad. Remember?”
She studied Ted whose brow still furrowed. Lines etched the sides
of his wide mouth. Her heart hiccupped.
“We’ll talk it over, son. Uncle Randy’s home. Why don’t you go
over there now?”
Eddy galloped across the yard to the other side of the overgrown
lilac and yew tree fence row. Ted leaned on a cane that replaced the crutch
today. He grimaced and cranked his neck sideways to look at her, wavy black
hair falling across his eyes. He reached trembling fingers to brush it away.
Grace pushed away the desire to reach out and feel the stubble on
his cheek, to soothe the line of pain between his eyes and clenched jaw, to
massage the muscles with her tingling touch. She tightened her grip on the
handle of the broom she had been using to sweep out the musty playhouse,
feeling drained.
“I have to have another MRI tomorrow,” he said. “Shelby isn’t able
to keep Eddy yet… I hate imposing like this, but, could you…”
“Yes,” she said shortly. “Eddy may stay here with me tomorrow.”
Pity had come and staked a claim. More than a needle stick, more than stitches,
more than…say it…cancer…this relationship was going to hurt. Her soul
already bruised deeper every time Eddy touched her, spoke to her, turned his
head at her like…
She shook her head to dislodge the pain-filled memory. Sean was
gone.
At least Ted didn’t share any information about his condition with
her. She could stand not knowing his diagnosis a little longer. The longer it
took to learn, the longer it would be before that urge to touch him, that urge
to care, that urge to try to help would overtake her good sense. When she
failed, she’d have to run again, and she’d barely gotten settled. “What time?”
“Would seven be too early?”
“No. Is there something I should know about this Shelby you keep
mentioning? Is she Eddy’s mother?”
“Oh! No, no. Eddy’s mother is… No, she’s Eddy’s regular
babysitter. Childcare provider. She has a small business in town taking care of
a few kids. She’s known Eddy since he was born. She’s really good with
children. Especially since she can’t have any of her own. Well, she tried…
Sorry. She’s just sick.” He frowned. “Eddy’s mother…she’s not in the picture.
Never really has been. We’re divorced. I have full custody. I don’t think what
Shelby has is contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
Ted shifted his feet and took a step with his cane. “Uh, well, I
can’t be taking advantage of you, Mrs. Runyon. I’d like to pay—”
“I don’t want to talk about that now.” Grace turned on her heel
and stomped back into her house as loudly as her tennis shoes would allow.
Money would never be a reason to do anything. Never. Never again. If she ever
used her gift again, it would be like an emotionless business exchange, a fair
deal, and not a promise that she would make it all go away. If she agreed to
help someone it would be because she could, not because she had to. And she
didn’t have to help anyone here.
But maybe she wanted to.
She could choose.
* * * *
She’d resorted to an over-the-counter decongestant to ward away
the nightmares when chamomile and eucalyptus had failed to calm her enough at
bedtime. Still, memories of Woodside sifted through her, nostalgic as the scent
of the tea roses that climbed her mother’s trellises. They’d brewed rose hip
tea together after she’d been in the hospital. Her family had never lived
anywhere else. Besides college, the only other house in which she’d lived was
with Jonathan, after the wedding. There, by this time in late April the dogwood
and redbuds were nearly done blooming and summer established. Everything about
Michigan was foreign to her, the clothes she wore, the musty scent of the box
hedge, and the grass outside. The sandy soil and the humidity. She felt out of
sync, like hearing a steam whistle seconds after seeing the release. How long
could she stay here, how long could this be home before she’d ruin it and have
to leave?
She missed her parents, and despite her dreams, Jonathan’s
parents, too, despite what she’d done and Jonathan’s father’s reaction. They
had practiced hospitality so beautifully. Their hotel was always brimming with
return guests.
“Elizabeth,” Grace whispered. “You were so kind, so helpful. Thank
you for understanding,” she said into the dark. “You always treated me like a
daughter.” Thinking of her mother-in-law left her less haunted. Maybe tonight
wouldn’t be so bad. She could choose, she reminded herself. She wasn’t
obligated to act her role in society, as she’d been in Woodside.
Back there, when someone needed her, she’d gone automatically, day
or night, and loved it. Loved the praise, loved the gush of power that poured
through her when she worked.
Had she loved it too much? Had she done her job too well? Maybe
that’s why losing Jonathan had been such a shock. Not because he’d been her
husband, but because she’d never known it was possible she could fail.
Who had she failed? Jonathan? His parents? Herself? God?
But God gave her the gift. Controlled it.
Really?
She pulled back the sheets and snuggled in the smell of outside.
Switch gears. Turn off the past and move on. You’re no longer that
woman, the one who failed. You came here for a fresh start, and a new life. How
are you going to make that work?
The new mattress and box spring had been a splurge of her resources.
Work…earning money to live. Was she ready? She stared at the ceiling,
highlighted like a miniature bas relief map of the moon in the glow of the
Marshalls’ yard light. A crack wiggled out from the corner. What kind of
patching material and color of paint should she buy? Did she want shades and
curtains for the little window? If she wanted to buy things, she needed to earn
money.
Taking longer blinks, she relaxed.
You know what you can do to earn money.
She had never needed the little trust fund her parents left her a
few years ago. It wasn’t a huge amount of money, but would help with
renovations. Jonathan’s estate was still there, waiting.
It would be so easy, the whispers whooshed
around her. Grace turned over and pulled the sheet over her ears.
She had to be careful. Transferring the trust account to
East Bay had been easy enough, though it meant revealing her current address.
So?
They could find her now. If she stayed here…
Of course I expect to stay. No one from Woodside is going to come
here, silly girl.
A long-legged spider lazily spun a messy web in another corner of
the room. Grace watched it, exaggerated in the shadow cast by the bathroom
night-light she had left burning. As she closed her eyes, she wondered if it
signaled she should be busy, too, finding something else to occupy her time.
Now that she no longer practiced medicine, there had to be something else she
could do.
Chapter Three
Ted crossed to her yard late the following afternoon. The long
shadow he cast crossed the patch of dirt where Grace arranged pansies and dusty
miller plants she had purchased the day before. Shelby Brouwer did not have
food poisoning after all, he said. Eddy’s babysitter was expecting a baby of
her own.
“She nearly died the last time, before Thanksgiving last year, and
Davy just got a vasectomy.” Ted shared the news, animated excitement mingled
with concern. Apparently it didn’t faze him that he was confiding the most
intimate details of his friends’ lives to a virtual stranger.
She held up her hand. “Mr. Marshall…”
“Ted.”
“Um, Ted, thank you for letting me know about Mrs. Brouwer, but I
don’t even know her. I’m not sure she’d thank you for sharing her life story—”
“Oh, you’ll love Shelby, I know it! She’s a gem. She picked us up
and got us going again after…” His face clouded as he faltered. Grace was sorry
the conversation turned dark. Pregnancy should be a time of joy, not fear. Ted
and Eddy weren’t the only ones to speak highly of Dr. and Mrs. Brouwer, as
Grace had overheard snippets of conversation at the food mart and the gas
station when she’d gone to pay, even at the library where a neighbor had picked
up some books to deliver to the woman. A high risk pregnancy always made Grace
anxious, even when it wasn’t her patient.
“Well, I guess you’ll want to know why I’m here.” His blue eyes
almost snared her, and she looked away, disquieted.
“Her doctor said if she has any chance at all of safely having
this baby—”
“She has to stay off her feet and get plenty of rest with little
excitement,” Grace finished for him, knowing well the drill. Ted’s eyebrows
shot up, but he kept his mouth closed.
She continued. “No boisterous four-year-olds or armfuls of other
people’s babies to practice her mothering skills on.”
“So, then,” Ted pleaded, “I don’t really know you, but for some
reason, you’re good with Eddy and he likes you, too. I don’t know what your
future plans are, but could you help us out, at least for a little while?” He
twisted his head to watch his young son poke at the bushes with a long, narrow
twig.
It appeared that her dilemma of finding company was resolved.
Short of outright lying that she was independently wealthy, she’d not been able
to talk Ted out of paying her.
“I’ll be back tomorrow—is after lunch okay? —with some details. Is
there any time or something, that won’t work out for you? No? Okay, then. And,
Mrs. Runyon, we can’t thank you enough.”
The gritty, uncomfortable discussion regarding salary took place
on Grace’s front porch the next day. She decided allowing him dignity was as
important as refusing to work for hire; she could always put the money in an
account in the child’s name. She sighed and tried to pay attention. It was her
choice to help or not. If she helped, it was to be on her terms. Maybe this was
the job she needed, and it kept her out of the medical field. The exchange of
money kept it a business deal. Business was good; it was not personal, and she
could take care of the child without getting too emotionally involved.
“Eddy needs care this spring and summer. My brother helps out, but
he travels a lot on business and there are days I can’t manage him by myself.
He is a good kid and I love him with all my heart. I want to do what’s best for
him. And for him to be around me when I’m not doing so well isn’t the best
thing for either of us.” He pressed his eyes with long, fingers.
“Some of the medication and testing wears me out. I still take
some work, farm and orchard business consulting, from home, but it’s difficult
for me to concentrate with Eddy around. So, if you could keep him four days a
week?”
“Sure. He can have his meals here. You, too, when you’re able,”
she said, watching him squirm as a spasm worked down his leg. “Do you need—”
“No!” Ted closed his eyes with a grimace and then checked around
for Eddy. “I’m sorry.” He faced the shiny, painted floorboards of the porch. “I
just need help with my son.” He sighed and sank to sit on the top step. Grace
followed suit.
“Eddy obviously could use some stability, which”— he pointed with
the crutch at his leg—“I cannot provide at this time. It’s a lot to ask, but
you two seemed to hit it off and this is such a bad time for me right now. If
you’re on the run from the law, could you let me know now and I’ll find some
other way?”
He smiled at her. She wouldn’t say no to Eddy no matter how
desperate she got. On the run, maybe; but not from the law. Not from man’s law.
His little boy scent squeezed her heart whenever she breathed in. She let out
the breath she forgot she had taken at Ted’s initial outburst. Reaching out her
hand to touch him, she remembered and stopped just short of skin to settle on
the crutch instead.
“I have limited experience with children Eddy’s age.” Well, that
wasn’t a total lie. “You’re right, we seem to have some rapport.” She grinned
as Eddy came whooping around the corner in hot pursuit of Trigger who had come
begging at the back door of the house the other day, now that it was occupied
again. Eddy had taken the cat’s reappearance in his stride, setting out her
bowl of food and keeping the water filled to the brim as if it was his fault
she’d run away.
“I’ve taken over your son’s home,” Grace told Ted. “Maybe I don’t
owe you for that as it was for sale, but I feel a little responsible. Someday
I’ll have to do something more financially reasonable for work. For now,”— she
met his stare with what she hoped was a trustworthy expression—“I’d be willing
to help you with your son.” And if she failed them in any way, or if they hurt
her, she’d fall to pieces so microscopic there’d be nothing left.
The discussion concluded with a cell phone which Grace more or
less tried to ignore, much to Ted’s amusement. They stood as he got ready to
leave.
“Didn’t this Woodside of yours have electricity and outside
communication? I had heard the hills of Tennessee can be backwards sometimes,
but honestly, Mrs. Runyon. Not even a cell phone?”
“Call me Grace,” she finally invited. “Of course we had power
lines.” She drew herself up to her five feet, six and one-half inch height
which still only put her in view of his Adam’s apple as he leaned on the
crutch. She slumped again. “It’s simply that I wanted to take my time about,
well, about how to make contact with the outside world. The newspaper here is
very good.” She dared him to laugh again.
Which he did, of course. “Yeah, the Trib’s all right,” he said.
“But it’s not like phoning home.”
She tried to halt the natural instinct to wall off the sound of
“home,” but the defensive shutter slammed anyway. “This is home now,” she said,
more for herself than for his benefit. Eddy was the only one she’d let in at
this point. The little piece of her heart she’d thawed was for him only.
Ted’s arm began to spasm again. He gritted his teeth, successfully
ending the draining conversation. Grace would not allow herself to confront his
pain. She refused to listen to her soul, although this time she could not halt
the gut scream that he needed her touch.
Choose! You can choose, remember?
She grabbed his shirtsleeve and helped him steer along the
sidewalk back through the blooming lilac hedge to Randy’s house and his cache
of medication.
* * * *
During one drowsy afternoon, Eddy asked Grace to take him to visit
Shelby, the only mother he had known since his own left him. Eddy did not
remember much about her and never spoke of her. What did mothers do with
four-year-old sons? Errands? Shopping? Cooking? Playing…putting the pieces of a
shattered life together in a new mosaic. She didn’t know. She’d never had a
chance to bond with Sean.
She did not intend to be a hermit in East Bay, but she was
cautious. She’d never had to worry about making new friends while growing up in
Woodside. But how did one go about it when one was all grown up? Reinventing
herself in Michigan was both a relief and a challenge.
Shelby turned out to be a practical and forthright woman who
didn’t hesitate to ask Grace’s life history as soon as they made themselves
comfortable on the wide veranda, a feature that seemed a prerequisite of most
homes here. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity behind her glasses and as a
formerly busy daycare provider she was obviously frustrated at enforced
inactivity while she waited for her baby. Grace was amused at her frankness.
Shelby reminded her instantly of Lena, her best friend from Tennessee, and
another little piece of her heart thawed, completely without her permission.
“So, Grace Runyon.” Shelby caressed Eddy’s cheek absent-mindedly
before urging him off to play on the other side of the wrap-around porch. “Eds,
here, can’t stop talking about you. It’s nice to finally meet. C’mon and sit
down. Where are you from, again?”
“I came from central Tennessee, just a small out of the way town.
I lived there my whole life. But my parents had the—they were schoolteachers.
We used to travel every other summer around the country.” Honesty was always
best. She didn’t need to sweat the small stuff of remembering what
misinformation she might have planted where. She’d never needed to lie, if not
telling the whole truth. She’d never betray her people, even if they blamed her
for what she’d let happen to Jonathan. This was her new life, and she could
make new friends, if she chose to. She could decide how much to let them in.
“I’ve never been outside of Michigan, except to Canada once for a
day trip,” Shelby replied. “You don’t have much of an accent. I’ve heard people
from the hills, summer visitors you can hardly understand.” She shifted a
little under a lime green and purple granny-square afghan. Eddy returned, and
Grace helped him pour more lemonade. She wondered how her in-laws would have
reacted to Michigan ways.
She wondered, too, if Shelby was disappointed in her lack of
accent or subtly rooting about for a hole in her story. “Always reading between
the lines,” Grace’s father had teased her. How could she possibly explain her
home to these people anyway? The parts she was allowed to tell, that was.
Woodside had been founded seven generations ago. Prominent use of
spiritual gifts mentioned in Scripture, like wisdom, hospitality, and kindness,
were not considered extraordinary. But the mysteries of faith: miracles and
speaking in the tongues of angels were easily misunderstood by outsiders who
happened to stumble on the community and mistake its beauty and peace for a
quaint tourist spot, like some sort of Amish village, which it was not. They
did not have to dress a certain way or refrain from modern day living.
Grace smiled at Shelby and answered her personal observation in a
light-hearted way. “Weel, once the tallyvision masheen cum tae town, menny
younguns got ta new speak,” she intoned in rhythmic deep hill county talk.
Shelby giggled. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” She moved her hand
over her stomach. “The baby’s moving. I was never pregnant long enough before
to feel that.”
Grace went still with the sudden rush of longing and jealousy. She
inhaled deep and long and exhaled the hurt. Inhaled again, summoned joy and
thankfulness. She’d had her turn. She’d refrained from making any reference to
the pregnancy until the other woman brought it up, and now was the time to
acknowledge it. “Congratulations. I wish you the best. Ted mentioned about
your, well, past troubles.”
Shelby nodded, but didn’t share any more. “Yes, thanks. So go on
with your story.”
“I went to college in a large town, traveled some. That sort of
cures you of anything remotely hilly.” She took a sip of the lemonade. “Mmm,
this is so good.”
“I’ve known Ted Marshall all my life and count him as one of my
dearest friends,” Shelby said. “He doesn’t need any more complications in his
life right now. Selling his house was the latest blow. You can’t blame folks
for wanting to know more about you. There are others in town who would love to
take care of both Ted and Eddy, so we wondered why Ted would choose a stranger
to help him now. I guess familiarity breeds contempt, eh?”
Grace searched her hostess’s expression for guile, envious for a
moment of her pixie-cut hair.
“It’s muggy,” she noted, while contemplating a reply. How to
respond? A little strand of silvered hair waved up from her shoulder and
glittered in the afternoon light. She pulled it out with a little laugh.
Honesty works best. To a point.
“I’m not sure what to say, exactly. I’ve never been in this
situation before. I’ve never lived anywhere else besides when I went to school.
I grew up in an old, old community, and we’re not exactly progressive. Everyone
there knows what to do and does it. There are few strangers. I guess I
understand how you feel. I wouldn’t know how to trust someone who suddenly
appeared out of nowhere, either, and agreed to help me.” Grace watched Shelby
work out new questions in her mind while she tried to conjure up innocuous
details about her former life to share, should she be asked. She didn’t have
long to wait.
Shelby leaned forward on the settee and set her magnified deep
gaze on Grace. “So, what did you do there?”
Chapter Four
Randy’s presence sent vibes of distrust and dislike emanating
before his shadow turned the corner. Grace appreciated that Randy Marshall
might not want to startle her but did he have to just stand there? She
continued to apply quick-dry foam to seal cracks in the foundation, probably
something he should have done himself before selling the place.
Shelby told her that Ted’s ex-wife, Jilly, demanded a cash
settlement and refused to wait until they worked out a plan to come up with the
money. “Tough luck that you turned up—at the most inopportune time,” her new
friend told her last week at her third visit, “cash in hand. Well—not really,
of course.”
She wasn’t entirely reassured.
“I, of course,”— Shelby indicated herself with a hand to her
chest—“am awfully glad you’re here. Especially now,”—the hand went down toward
her stomach—“to help with Eddy. He really needs you.”
Grace was amazed at the amount of trust she seemed to instill in
strangers. Either that, or the people in East Bay were incredibly naïve.
Not Randy though. He had not been happy about a stranger on his
property and made no effort to disguise the fact since the first time they
“met” when he came to retrieve Eddy. He gave her the shivers whenever she
caught him driving around town in his dark Cougar or staring at her when he
picked up his nephew in the afternoons when Ted couldn’t come.
“Mrs. Runyon.” Randy finally rounded the corner and greeted her.
She met the coolness of his tone with a rudeness she would never
have guessed she possessed. This was a man she could too easily not care for.
He’d never get to her, make her care. Easy. “Yes?” she replied, giving him a
glance while she continued with her task. He had yet to introduce himself. A
silly, pointless game, though, since she was perfectly aware of his identity,
as he was of hers. She knew he traveled frequently for the fruit market co-op.
She had not seen him around when Eddy had taken her on a tour of the big house
where he lived and the barren fields with their neatly kept but empty outbuildings
on the other side of the hedge.
She sprayed another hit of foam and smoothed it with a well-used
Popsicle stick before capping the can and wiping her hand on the poor
threadbare T-shirt she continued using as a rag before standing to face him.
“You don’t hold with church, Mrs. Runyon?” It was Sunday
afternoon, a day which had not escaped Grace’s notice. The question was so
obviously nosy, personal, and none of his business that she bit her lip and
took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
“Mr. Marshall,” she tried, to see if her voice was still working
properly through her anger. Good. “Mr. Marshall, I
can’t see that my religious beliefs are any of your concern.”
Randy’s thin nostrils flared. “In East Bay, everyone attends
church on Sundays. We still hold to the Sabbath here, even if you—”
“Excuse me!” She held up her hand and glared right back. “I’m not
interested in getting into a feud with you over this,” she told him when she
regained control of her temper. “That was a pretty poor invitation to church if
that was your original intention. Now, if you’d like to get to know me better,
then, by all means, come on inside for a cup of tea. We’ll sit down and have a
civilized conversation. You can tell me all about yourself and then I’ll tell
you about myself.”
She stood her ground, chin up, refusing to look away from the dark
glasses that shielded his eyes. Intuition told her Randy Marshall was not going
to reveal any personal information. Well neither was she.
He backed down but not without making sure she knew he didn’t
consider this matter concluded. “We attend First Covenant Gospel Church. The
early service is at nine a.m., and the evening service is at six-thirty.” His
lips thinned. “We would be pleased to have you accompany us this evening.”
She turned back to her puttering at the cottage’s foundation. She
leaned down to pull a handful of weeds away from the next crack before she
trusted herself to reply. “It just so happens, Mr. Marshall, that I shall be
unable to attend church with you this evening.” She sat back on her knees then
and smiled at him narrowly, brushing away a lock of hair that blew across her
eyes. “But I look forward to attending morning worship with your family next
Sunday.” She turned her back, dismissing him.
Getting the last word in was petty. But it felt so good. She grinned
while she pictured Randy in a tall pilgrim hat and shoes with big, shiny
buckles.
He was right though. One missing ingredient in the recipe of her
new life had been church. She could try another way to worship than the comfort
of Woodside’s tradition. Nothing would ever be the same again. She was the one
who had to adjust if she wanted to fit in here in her new home. It was her
choice.
* * * *
Randy frowned on the walk back home. Instead of being furious at
the way the woman had treated him, he felt as though he needed to apologize for
his behavior. He had been surprised to see her bent like that, taking care to
make repairs on his parents’ house, upkeep that Dad had once been proud to
perform. Mrs. Runyon had been a surprise all around, all right. A widow woman
wanted to buy the house the banker told them, immediately after that vicious
ex-wife of Ted’s demanded he sell out and give her half the cash. A widow woman
didn’t seem like much trouble to have next door. Randy hadn’t counted on a
widow woman who looked and acted like Grace Runyon. Not elderly at all,
but…trim and…fit. Maybe around his own age. Capable and independent. An answer
to his brother’s prayers for childcare?
Randy doubted that Mrs. Runyon was aware of the gossip grinding
away in East Bay. The joint owners of the resale shop where the woman had first
acquired duds for herself and the house regularly visited Kaye’s Café. Randy
stopped in to meet up with the other members of the co-op when he was able. It
wasn’t long before anyone who cared to listen in on their conversation knew how
the newcomer decorated her house as well as her person with offerings from the
shop. He could hear their whispers even now:
“That old brown club chair, you know, that we had since old Mr.
Woolver was…”
“And you know the dishes from crazy old…”
“I heard she doesn’t believe in church. How does that sit with the
Marshalls?”
“You know that young man has her taking care of the little boy.
Poor motherless thing…”
Randy didn’t care if everyone in town talked about his new
neighbor but he had to stop the dissection of his family. They were not going
to dredge up old hurts now. Not when things were getting back to normal and the
co-op was back on its feet and doing well. Forcing the widow woman to appear in
public at church was a start.
* * * *
Grace knew she would further entrench herself in the Marshalls Marshall
Mrs. Ten Veldt, a row ahead of them, wasted no time in turning
around and loudly whispering that she enjoyed seeing Grace wear her former
favorite dress. “My dear, I knew at my age I was only growing wider and
shorter, so”—she shrugged her shoulders—“I donated most of my wardrobe to
charity.” She sniffed. “It looks good on you, too.”
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