The Truth About Grace

by Cassie Dandridge Selleck

  “I wanna go home,” she said. Her voice still kinda cloudy, but you can understand her okay now.

  “How you feelin’?” I’d brought her some roses out of the garden, tucked into a bud vase she had underneath the kitchen sink. I put those on her bedside table. “I brought some clean underwear and nightgowns from home. I figured you were tired of the hospital kind.”

  “Oh, Gracie,” she clutched at my hand. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

  “I think they go’n give you a shower today. And Re’Netta’s comin’ by tomorrow to fix your hair. That little bit your hairdresser did done worn off.”

  “I don’t want to stay here,” she repeated.

  “I know, Miss Ora. But we gotta get you well enough to come home.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  I had to think about that for a minute. I’m not always there when the doctors come in.

  “Seems like I remember them saying you had to be able to walk with a walker, stand long enough to take a shower by yourself, and you have to get far enough on your physical therapy to be able to do it at home. Oh, and get up and down the stairs, too. That’s not all that much, Miss Ora. Maybe it won’t take long.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I hate that walker.”

  “We can get you a better one. A snazzy one with a chair thingy you can sit in if you get tired. I saw a lady down the hallway with one.”

  “I’ll look like a doddering old fool,” she muttered under her breath.

  I walked over and opened the curtains on the windows. The room looked out on a little grassy area they had decorated with little flower windmills and four or five metal stands holding bird feeders.

  “Oh, look, Miss Ora. They have hummers here, too.”

  She craned her head to see the red feeder swaying in the breeze. A pair of hummingbirds swooped in, fighting each other for one of four plastic flowers.

  She reached for the cord pinned to the top of her bed and raised herself up to a sitting position.

  “That’s better,” she said. “Oh goodness, I’ve got a bird’s eye view, don’t I? That’s lovely. Not my style, but I can appreciate the effort.”

  “Better’n the hospital view,” I said. “All you saw was the air-conditioning unit.”

  I stayed with her ‘til they came down to take her to physical therapy, then I walked over to the church and waited for the meeting to start. I got there early enough to help set out the cookies and make the coffee. They liked when you did that, and it kinda felt good. Like I was a part of it all.

  I have not shared yet. I don’t know why. I’ve gone every day. I say the prayer and I say my name and I join hands with people I still don’t know, but I can’t bring myself to stand and speak on my own. I sometimes think I can just fade away inside the group, but I been doin’ this long enough to know I won’t disappear. The longer I go without tellin’ my story, the more I stand out and, worse, stand apart from the rest. And that ain’t good. I need a sponsor, and that comes with a whole new set of troubles. I never learned to trust nobody. How you gonna trust somebody when you can’t even trust the people you love the most?

  48 – Patrice

  Aunt Tressa went back home the day after our family meeting, but we stayed in close touch by phone. Her voice sounded remarkably like my mother’s, especially when she said my name. I loved when she called to check in. It was almost like having Mama back, even though I knew better.

  We settled into a summer routine that felt something close to normal. Shawn got certified in water rescue and CPR and started working three days a week at the YMCA across town. Danita picked him up on her way to work and dropped him off at Miss Ora’s afterwards. Rochelle spent some of those days with Re’Netta at the shop. She put her to work answering phones and sweeping hair off the floor and paid her just enough to make it worth the effort. Occasionally, though, she asked to stay with Grace. They would often go by the public library on their way to the nursing center. Rochelle enjoyed reading aloud to Miss Ora, who still had trouble holding a book in both hands.

  On the days that Shawn didn’t work, both kids stayed with Grace. We got into the habit of eating supper together at Miss Ora’s house on those nights. Shawn and Rochelle helped Grace take care of the house and yard. Miss Ora had a lawn service under contract for the mowing, but Grace trimmed hedges, pruned roses, and weeded the flower beds. She also started teaching Rochelle how to cook. They would bake a couple of times a week, taking cookies and cakes to share with Miss Ora and the staff at the center, or with her group at AA. I began to relax and enjoy our new normal, despite wishing Miss Ora could come home. It was nice knowing I could count on Grace for the little things.

  By mid-July, I started wondering what was happening on the story Rebecca was writing. I hadn’t heard from her in weeks. One night we were just finishing a supper of leftovers Grace had heated up, when the doorbell rang. I figured it was Cheryl. She often stopped by when she saw my car in the driveway.

  “I’ll get it,” I said, rising from my chair, but Grace was already up and on her way to the door.

  I followed her, expecting to join Cheryl on the porch like we always did. When she opened the door, however, there was a man standing there. I guess we weren’t who he was expecting either, so we all stood there in shock for a few seconds.

  The man was tall and lanky, his face angular, almost sharp at the edges. He wore a polo shirt and khaki pants that fit perfectly and spoke of money. His collar bones pressed against the fabric of his shirt and his biceps stretched the band around the short sleeves. Despite all that, he looked decidedly uncomfortable. Scared almost. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I just stood there staring at his face which, if I wasn’t mistaken, looked vaguely familiar.

  He spoke first. “I…I was looking for Mrs. Beckworth? I’m told she still lives here. Am I right? I mean…do I have the wrong house?”

  “Who are you?” Grace demanded.

  I tried to soften it some. I thought maybe he was an attorney, or possibly even a relative and I didn’t want to offend. “This is Mrs. Beckworth’s house, yes. She’s not home right now, though. Can we help you?”

  “Are you Patrice?” he asked, looking directly at me.

  I nodded. “I am. Do I know you?”

  “We went to school together. I’m James Hardy.”

  I had a vague recollection of the name, but I was still not putting things together. “What class were you in?”

  “A year behind you’77. I…we…I was a friend of Skipper Kornegay’s.”

  “Jimbo,” I said.

  He winced. “I go by Jim now.”

  I took Grace by the arm before I spoke again. She looked at me with eyes wide. She seemed frozen in place for a minute. Her mouth was open like she was about to speak, but nothing came out at all.

  “Grace, honey,” I spoke like I was talking to a child and, quite frankly, at that moment I think I was. “Why don’t you take the kids upstairs to the game room while I talk to Mr. Hardy. I’ll come get you as soon as we’re through.”

  Grace just kept staring at the man, so I looked, too. His face, tanned by the sun with pale half-moons under his eyes, was blotched bright red across his cheeks and down his neck.

  “You’re Grace?” he asked, and she nodded in response.

  “What is it you want?” I stepped in front of Grace then. I wasn’t sure why I felt suddenly protective, but I did. With all of my being, I did.

  He swallowed hard and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just a little flustered. I came to speak to Mrs. Beckworth. I didn’t realize you’d be here. I should go.” He turned to leave and I stepped out of the door and onto the porch.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I closed the door behind me, leaving Grace standing mute in the living room. “I need to know why you’re here.”

  He turned to face me, raising both hands with elbows tucked at his sides. “I’m not sure why, Patrice. I just knew I had to come. I…I have struggled with
this for so many years and now…” He closed both hands and brought his fists together in front of his chest.

  “What is this about?”

  “It’s about Grace. It’s about what he did to her.”

  “You were there?” I asked, my head reeling.

  “Not exactly. I was with them that day, but I didn’t see it happen.”

  I stood looking at him for a moment. “So, I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”

  “I got a call from Donnie Allred. He said there was a reporter doing a story about Skipper’s murder. Said she knew about the rape and was asking questions.”

  “So you’re covering your ass now?”

  “No!” He looked horrified. “No, not at all. Exactly the opposite. Donnie asked me to cover for him. Asked me to say it never happened, or at least that they weren’t there when it did. I told him I wouldn’t lie for him. I can’t do it anymore. I should have told the truth long ago.”

  “Here’s the thing, Jimbo,” I rubbed my eyes and tried to get my words straight. “This family has been through a lot. Grace has been through a lot. My sister is finally getting her life together and, quite frankly, I don’t think it’s healthy to ask her to forgive you for what you did or did not do. As far as I’m concerned, that’s between you and God.”

  He stood straighter then, almost like he knew something I did not. “It’s not about God’s forgiveness, Patrice. I have that. It’s about giving Grace the heartfelt apology she deserves. I want to tell your sister that I am sorry for what happened to her, and for not coming forward immediately. I have some contacts that might be useful, and I want to offer to help in any way I can.”

  “Are you an attorney?” I asked.

  “No, no…I just work with them a lot.”

  “What is it you do, then?”

  “I run a non-profit organization…” He hesitated, and I swear he looked a little sheepish. “We help battered and abused women find jobs, shelter, justice – whatever they need.”

  I’m not sure what I expected to hear, but it definitely wasn’t that. I studied him a moment before speaking.

  “Is this…was this because of Grace? What you’re doing…is it because of Grace?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “I got involved in a campus ministry in college and just never looked back. The thing is, it’s never been enough. I’ve always thought about Grace specifically and felt like…I don’t know…like it was the one case I’d had the opportunity to change and I’d done nothing. So, what good was what I was doing if I couldn’t fix what I hadn’t done? That sounds ridiculous, I know.”

  “No, I get it,” I paused and looked hard at his face for a minute. The thing is, I believed his intentions were good. But it isn’t that simple. “Listen, I need to go talk to Gracie. She’s always been fragile, so I don’t know if this was a good idea—”

  “I know, and I’m so sorry. I had no idea y’all would be here. I was looking for Mrs. Beckworth.”

  “So, if you’ll give me your phone number…how long will you be in town?”

  “I’m in Orlando now, so it’s not too far to come back. I’m going by Barry Hammond’s office tomorrow morning. I have an appointment with him at 10:00.”

  “Okay, so if you have a business card, that’s great. If Grace wants to speak to you, I’ll call you and set up a time.”

  He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me, staring at me for a second longer than was comfortable until we both looked away.

  “Patrice?” I heard him, but I did not turn my head. “Is she okay?”

  I felt my face go tight and my eyes filled with water. “No,” I said. “No, she’s really not.”

  “If there is anything I can do? I have resources…” His voice trailed off.

  “I’ll call you,” I said. I went back inside and shut the door behind me

  49 – Grace

  I don’t know how I knew, but I knew. Has to be ’cause we saw the picture in the yearbook. He looks the same and he don’t look the same, but I’da never looked twice at him if we saw him on the street.

  When Patrice came back inside, I was standin’ in the kitchen feelin’ like I had one foot nailed to the floor. She hugged me, but I couldn’t seem to raise my arms to hug her back.

  “How you feeling?”

  “Limp as a rag doll.” Lord, I sounded more like my mama every day. Or was that one of Miss Ora’s sayings? I can’t remember.

  “Sit down, Gracie. Can I get you some tea?”

  I nodded and sat at the kitchen table. Patrice looked at the dishes Shawn had stacked in the sink. Everything he do is organized. Plates stacked. Glasses side by side in a row.

  “I don’t know which was yours, so I’ll get a new glass.” She was already opening the cabinet door, so it sounded like she was talking to the dishes and not me.

  “What’d he want?”

  “Well…” She kinda sighed, like she was tryin’ to figure out how to say whatever it was she was gonna say. “He says he was there…the day you were raped. Says he didn’t actually see anything but was with the boys that day and heard about it afterwards.”

  “Could be true,” I said. “There was four boys on bikes, but only two of ’em came back when that white-haired boy stopped.”

  “He’s going by to talk with Mr. Hammond tomorrow. Says Donnie Allred called him about the story Rebecca’s doing. I guess he’s worried about being in trouble.”

  “How could he be in trouble if he wasn’t there?”

  She put two glasses of sweet tea on the table in front of me and sat down. She dragged the closest glass toward her and cupped the bottom of it with both hands.

  “It’s Donnie Allred who’s worried. Doesn’t want his name in the papers. Wanted Jimbo to say it never happened.”

  “Figures,” I said. “What’s he gonna do?”

  “He says he just wants to tell the truth.”

  I just shrugged.

  “There’s more,” Sister studied me real careful for a minute.

  “What?”

  “He wants to talk to you. I told him I didn’t think it was a good idea. You’ve been through enough, and I’m worried he’s just trying to make himself feel better, not you.”

  “Prob’ly so,” I nodded. “Ain’t that the way it usually goes?”

  She took a sip of her tea and set it back down. “I don’t know, though. I think he’s sincere. I just don’t know if it will do you any good to hear ‘I’m sorry’.”

  “So far you the only one said that, and you didn’t even know. Ya gotta kinda appreciate the offer, I guess, but it’s still weird.”

  “He runs a program that helps women. He’s been doing it since college. I think his conscience has bothered him.”

  I had to laugh at that. “Well, if that’s what’s made him keep helping people, maybe I shouldn’t let him off the hook.”

  “It is rather ironic,” Sister said. “Anyway, I told him I’d talk to you and get back to him. I personally think we need to talk to Kamilah before we do anything. I mean, if you even want to hear from him.”

  “I guess I need to think about it,” I said. “I don’t know whether I do or don’t.”

  Sister looked at her watch. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna get these kids home. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I guess I wasn’t all that convincing, ’cause she looked like she just wasn’t sure.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t do nothin’ stupid, I promise.” I stood and wiped the puddle of water from my glass with my bare hand.

  Sister hugged me, then gathered up the kids and left.

  I wish she knew how good somethin’ stupid sounded right then.

  50 – Patrice

  I didn’t tell Grace, but I was determined to be in that meeting between Jim Hardy and Barry Hammond. I called Barry at home before I went to bed and told him I’d be there, then I called Jim to let him know I’d be joining them the next morning.

  He was surprised, but agreeable, and we
chatted for a few minutes. Mostly about Grace – how she had not been told the truth until recently, and the impact the trauma had on her life.

  “I can’t imagine what it was like for Grace, I mean…women almost always face denial from the perpetrator. Denial, minimalization, gaslighting. But to have her own mother deny it when she knew the truth, that’s tough. On the other hand, most rapes aren’t reported for the same reason…fear. It’s the reason I didn’t come forward. I was terrified.”

  “I guess what I’m wondering,” I said after an awkward pause, “is why now? Would you have come forward if there wasn’t a story being written? Feels like damage control to me.”

  “I’m sure it looks that way, but I’ve told this story many times in my work. How I was a teenager and knew about a rape I didn’t report. How frightened I was, and how the guilt has haunted me over the years. For most of my colleagues, this will not come as a surprise. The only difference now is there are names and faces to go along with the story. Was it spurred by the report? Yes. And yet, I’m here. And I’m offering an apology and any help I can provide Grace to get through this. I believe in my program. I’ve seen the results. And I owe Grace every single thing at my disposal. This offer is good no matter what happens. I give you my word.”

  It was a generous offer, and yet, something about it bothered me. “I’ll see you in the morning.” I hung before he had a chance to respond.

  ✽✽✽

  I arrived a half hour early and had a cup of coffee with Barry. He gave me little in the way of information about the case.

  “We’re investigating,” he said. “That’s all you need to know right now. I’m actually glad this guy…what’s his name?”

  “James Hardy. Jimbo. I guess he goes by Jim now.”

  “Jim, that’s it.” Barry tugged on his desk drawer and rummaged through it until he found a packet of sweetener. He flipped it onto the desk beside his coffee mug but didn’t open it. “What do you know about him?”