I, Gracie

by Sharon Sala

  She'd been so little then, but she vaguely remembered the huge turkey Mama had roasted every Thanksgiving back when grandparents from both sides of the families were still alive. The house had been full of laughter then. They were all gone now. All of the Dunhams were gone, except for her and her siblings...but she remembered.

  Every room was imprinted on her DNA.

  Every creaking floorboard.

  Every water stain in the ceilings.

  Every windowpane that rattled when the wind blew.

  She knew the house, and the house knew her. But it was time to say goodbye. She paused in the hallway, knowing if she stood in a certain spot, her voice would carry throughout.

  "It's me, Gracie. I have come to say goodbye. I can't cry about this, because I wouldn't be able to stop, but I'll never forget you. You sheltered three generations of my family and me, from the time I was born, throughout every sad time and glad time of my life. I'm not leaving you behind because you'll be with me in my dreams. And the DNA of me is all over you. Thank you for holding it together, even when you needed more than I could give."

  Then she paused. She wasn't listening for an answer. Not really. But she needed to feel the weight of her words settle before she moved. Then something banged outside. It sounded like it was in the back yard.

  She sighed. "Damn wind," she muttered, and went back through the house, then to the kitchen windows to look out.

  At first, she saw nothing. And then she heard it again. She peered across the yard toward the old chicken house and saw the source of the noise.

  The door had come open and was banging in the wind. And just as she saw it, she felt her mama with her and laughed.

  "Dang it, Mama. You're doing it again. Yes, I was remembering us out there in that damn chicken house in the dark, but you didn't have to get literal to let me know you knew. You could have just said, Hello."

  Then she was walking out the backdoor. She laughed as the wind hit her in the face. She leapt off the porch, running headlong into the force, feeling it push against her body like an impatient lover, delineating her every curve with the nightgown she wore.

  She got to the chicken house, slammed and latched the door shut, then paused in the moonlight and lifted her arms up toward the stars.

  "Blow all you want, you damn wind, because my sweet mama is free. I, Gracie, am free! You can't blow me away because I'm already gone!"

  Chapter Five

  Gracie woke up to sweat between her breasts and her nightgown plastered to her body. The dead calm outside was depressing. Even a hot wind was better than no wind at all, but since her siblings would be returning to Sweetwater today, maybe this was just God, holding His breath for the confrontation to come.

  She got up and showered, dressing afterward in the least amount of clothes she could get by with wearing, and went to the kitchen. She turned on the box fan, then began opening up windows and spraying the fly-dotted screens. She was just about to pour herself a bowl of cereal when her cell phone rang. She glanced at Caller ID and frowned.

  It was the bank.

  "Hello, this is Gracie."

  "Good morning, Gracie, this is Roger Cantor. I hope I'm not calling too early."

  Gracie's frown deepened. The president of the bank was calling? Now what had she done wrong?

  "No, sir. I'm up. Is something wrong?"

  Roger chuckled. "On the contrary. I wanted to let you know that someone here in town started a fund for you on the day your mama passed, and then posted about it on social media. People have been donating to it ever since."

  Shock rolled through Gracie in waves.

  "What? Oh my God! I had no idea."

  "It's quite amazing," Roger said. "There's over six thousand dollars in there at the moment, and there are still donations coming in."

  Gracie gasped. "You're not serious!"

  "Yes, yes, I am," Roger said. "And the way it's set up, it's solely in your name. When you can, I need you to come into the bank and sign a signature card so we'll have it on file. You're the only one who can withdraw money from it."

  "I can do that this morning," Gracie said. "I can't believe this happened, but it is a godsend."

  "I'm happy to have passed on good news," Roger said. "I think you're past due for some. We'll see you soon."

  Gracie laid down her phone before she dropped it. She'd been so scared about tomorrow. It would be weeks, maybe even months before the life insurance police would be paid. And, with no idea where she was going, she knew she wouldn't have enough money to survive for long. But now she had this. It was the cushion she needed to find her place in the world.

  She finally calmed down enough to eat some cereal, and then went to change. Nearly everything was packed, but she pulled a pair of slacks and a t-shirt out of the suitcase, used a belt to keep them up, and slipped on her sandals. After turning off the box fans, she locked up the house and headed for her car.

  The drive into town was of no consequence, but she realized after tomorrow, she might never come this way again. She began marking the passing of houses and people as she went.

  She knew every farmer and rancher in this area for miles around. She knew the color of their trucks. How many kids they all had. Which houses had mean dogs, and which ones housed the men who couldn't be trusted.

  She'd always thought of herself as country girl, but Delia's death had cut the roots out from under her. Until she found a new place to be, she would be another Texas tumbleweed, and it made her sad. She didn't want to get lost like Mama, because there was no one left who'd come find her.

  It was just after 9:00 when she reached Sweetwater and parked in front of the bank. She was a little embarrassed to be going in to claim what amounted to charity, but whatever pride Gracie had once possessed had eroded along with the ranch. And if people had thought enough of her and her mama to do this now, she was grateful.

  She walked in with her head up, her shoulders straight, and that long braid swinging down her back as she walked.

  Roger Cantor had been watching for her and came out of his office to meet her. He wished he could tell her that Willis Decker had been the one to set up the fund and had donated the first hundred dollars to it. But he couldn't because he'd promised not to.

  "Good morning, Gracie. My secretary, Doris, is going to help you with the details."

  "Yes, sir," Gracie said, and followed him. She took a seat at Doris's desk.

  Thirty minutes later, she walked out with a brand new debit card, a pad of blank checks, and a little over six thousand dollars, and still counting, in the account.

  She wanted to share her good news, but the only person in the family she still talked to was Mama. So, she headed straight to the funeral home.

  One of the employees stood in the lobby directing visitors to the different viewing rooms and nodded at Gracie. Gracie pointed to her mother's room and kept walking.

  The number of floral arrangements around Delia's casket had grown since yesterday, but seeing her mother lying there was still hard. No amount of flowers and ribbons could erase what Delia had suffered or what Gracie had endured. But she had news to share and laid her hand on her mother's arm.

  "Oh, Mama, you will not believe what has been happening!" Then she sighed. "Well, that was a stupid thing to say. It just dawned on me that you probably already know. I'm talking about the money, Mama. People in Sweetwater have been donating money to me at the bank. I was afraid of what was ahead of me, and now I'm not. Now before you start banging more doors to get my attention, I'm just telling you that I wouldn't take so much as a drink of water from your other children, even if I was dying of thirst. I know once you forgot they existed, their absence no longer mattered to you, but it mattered to me. It mattered that they forgot about me, too. And no, I do not have to forgive them. That's God's job, not mine.

  "Anyway, I just wanted to share the blessing with you and to tell you that you look absolutely beautiful in that dress."

  The old lace felt soft
beneath Gracie’s fingers as she patted her mother's arm, and then she walked out. The secretary was waiting for her out in the lobby.

  "Gracie, I wanted to catch you before you left. People have been talking nonstop about Delia being buried in her wedding dress. It's had many a woman in tears at how precious that was, and how beautiful she looks. I thought you would like to know."

  Gracie's eyes welled. "Thank you. I love knowing that."

  "Of course," she said. "Y'all take care now."

  "Thank you," Gracie said, and walked out.

  Now that she had a little bit of money, she headed straight to Walmart to buy pants. They wouldn't cost much there, and she was in dire need. If she was about to venture beyond this little piece of West Texas, she needed her ass not to be showing while she did it.

  James Dunham was on the way to Sweetwater. He'd left Houston just after daybreak. He had been on the road for hours and had hours of driving yet to go, but making this trip alone gave him far too much time to think.

  He kept remembering how he'd felt the day he'd left home for his first job in Houston. Straight out of college, cocky as hell, and almost as good-looking as his daddy, but a shorter, blonde version.

  Tall, dark, and handsome, Tommy Dunham was a hard man to emulate, but James sure had tried. He was as skilled at balancing a spreadsheet as his daddy had been with roping and branding steers. And James soon made a name for himself with his employer. He was one of their go-to men for big company audits, and the one who got the job done quickest.

  James wasn't just smart; he was also quick-witted and glib. So glib that he sold himself to Darlene Sawyer on their first date, and then married her four months later. They'd eloped to Vegas, done the deed, and had enjoyed their lives of wedded bliss. And from that union had come two children—Caleb and Joanie.

  And then he’d gotten bored.

  Everything had leveled out. There was no more excitement in a marriage with two kids demanding all of his lover's attention. Darlene became responsible, then his mother's irrational behavior had embarrassed him and scared the kids. Delia hadn't known who he was and couldn't remember his name, and they'd never gone back. He'd used Delia as an excuse to rebel, and he'd gotten away with it for a long time. But he would never forget the look on Darlene's face when she'd found out.

  * * *

  They were in the middle of making dinner. James was peeling potatoes, and Darlene was getting hamburgers ready to grill.

  Their phones were lying side by side on the counter. One phone signaled a text, and when Darlene saw Caller ID identifying her best friend, Shawn, she just assumed it was her phone and opened the text. It was a nude picture of Shawn, with a nasty little message that shattered her life and her world.

  I'm hot, horny, and hurting. Come do me, baby.

  That's when she realized she'd picked up James's phone, not hers.

  "You sorry-ass, cheating little bastard!" she screamed, then spun and threw the phone at him.

  James knew before he picked it up that he'd finally gotten caught. He saw the photo and the text and felt like he was going to pass out. He was sick that it had happened this way, but in a cowardly way, relieved it was out in the open.

  Darlene just stood there. "You're not even going to deny it, are you? You don't care enough to even lie?"

  * * *

  James shifted lanes, accelerating past a semi, remembering how her features had seemed to melt before his eyes, and then she'd gathered up their kids and left the house without saying another word.

  He hadn't told any of the family what he'd done. He hadn't had to. Darlene had done it for him. Bitterly. Cutting cords and bonds. And that had been that.

  He knew she would be at the services and didn't know how that was going to play out, but considering his track record with her and Gracie, he'd be lucky to get out with his hide.

  Mamie and Joel were on the way to Sweetwater. It was a good five plus hour drive from Austin, and the cool air blasting from Joel's Lexus kept the makeup on Mamie's face from melting.

  She'd spun the story about deciding they should stay in a motel instead of out at the farm, due to her reluctance to stay where her sweet mama had died, and Joel had bought it.

  But the real test would come with how much Gracie revealed back at the farm after everything was over. She didn't expect it would be pretty, but she knew how to turn on the tears. And she was sad about her mama's passing. It was just that Mamie had left home so many years ago, that she often forgot she'd ever been there. Her world was upscale now, and that's how she meant to keep it.

  Joel glanced at his wife as they drove, ever conscious of her whims and needs, doing everything he knew how on this earth to make her happy because he loved her so much.

  He knew she was flighty, but her inability to cope made him feel needed. He knew she was self-centered, but he fed the need with constant gifts and received the abundance of her attention as a result. They were what a guidance counselor might have categorized as "compatible enablers."

  "Mamie, honey...do you need to stop for a potty break? Or get something cold to drink?"

  Mamie sighed. "You are so thoughtful, darling. Yes. I would appreciate that."

  "There's a big truck stop just ahead, and we're still over a couple of hours out of Sweetwater. So, we'll pull in there for a bit and stretch our legs."

  Daphne Dunham left Dallas just after 9:00 in the morning. It was just a little over four hours to Sweetwater and arriving early served no purpose. She kept picturing friends and neighbors arriving at the old farmhouse to pay their respects and wondered how Gracie was explaining away their absence.

  What they'd done to their baby sister was so awful and so wrong, there was no way to make amends, and she was the first to admit it.

  But Daphne had also known her limitations. The last Christmas they’d all been there together, which was two years after Gracie had taken up residence as the caretaker, Delia had alternated between a faded version of their mama and a glassy-eyed stranger. It had scared Daphne in a way she still could not describe. All she had been able to think of was getting away. Going back to Dallas, to what was safe and familiar.

  And now, she had to face the cowardice of that act and the ensuing years afterward. Basically, they had all hung Gracie out to dry.

  Daphne had to apologize. She was going to admit her cowardice and say she was sorry. But she also knew it wouldn't mean shit to Gracie.

  Ramona Harp was in the beauty shop getting her hair done for Delia Dunham's service tomorrow. As the pastor's wife, she believed part of her job was her deportment.

  Her appearance should be pleasing.

  She should be the epitome of calm within a storm.

  And she should always be on hand as the "hostess" at all the church functions.

  When the dinner for the family began tomorrow, she would be in the background, making sure all was running smoothly, while her husband got all the attention and glory.

  Sometimes it irked Ramona that everyone looked to him as their guide to heaven, because he was just as big a doofus and sinner as the next guy. But she’d understood when she’d married him that would be their life, and she'd jumped in with both feet.

  So, this was why she was sitting in her stylist's chair, draped in a plastic cape, getting her white roots dyed back to black. It would be the height of poor judgment to show up for the funeral looking like a skunk.

  Gracie got home with four new pairs of shorts and two pairs of long pants, all of which fit, for under a hundred dollars.

  "I will be Walmart chic and grateful for it," she said, as she stood at the washer, removing tags and tossing all of the clothes in to wash, then she went to her room to change into old clothes.

  She was double-checking to make sure she had all of her personal papers packed when she realized she hadn't packed the papers for the life insurance policy. She headed to the living room and the roll-top desk. Everything of importance in this family had been kept in that desk, so she was sure that's
where her mother would have put it.

  And she had.

  In the bottom drawer on the left, in a yellow file folder with Gracie's name on the tab.

  "Thank you, Mama," Gracie said, as she reached in to pull it out. When she did, she realized Delia had filed it inside another file—the one she'd brought with her from college—the same one with her old resumé and the contact information for the Colorado job.

  She hesitated. What good would it do to even look? She'd already turned down that job when she’d decided to stay, and she had zero work experience since to put on a resumé.

  But then she thought of James. He'd have his hands on everything left in this house, and that wasn't happening. So, she pulled it out, too, then sat down on the sofa, opened it up, and started reading.

  There were contact names here. People she'd interviewed with. People she'd already met in person. People who'd thought enough of her then to offer her a job in their hotel.

  She was still the same person, with the same education from before, but with nine years of experience in management and caretaking to add to it. Just because she felt useless, didn't mean she was. Maybe her situation wasn't as dire as she’d feared, but it didn't feel right trying to go backward. Colorado was from before. She didn't want anything to do with the past. It was time to move forward.

  She'd have to update the resumé later. She didn't have a presence on social media and hadn't had her hands on a computer or a laptop since Delia had broken the one she'd had at college. She had a lot of catching up to do.

  Her belly growled. She glanced up at the clock. It was well past noon, so she took the files to her bedroom and put them in the suitcase, then went to make herself some lunch.

  There weren't any choices because she'd only bought enough food to get her through tomorrow. So, a cheese and mayo sandwich it was. But she did have potato chips left in the pantry. She began layering chips on top of the cheese, then spread a little mayo on the other slice of bread, laid it over the chips, and smashed it all with the flat of her hand, panini-style.