A knock on the door interrupted his search for more suitable programming, so he left the TV on some inane talk show where the hosts were participating in a cooking segment. Matt peeked through the peephole on the door, only to see the distorted face of his brother staring back at him.
“Hey,” he said as he opened the door, forcing himself not to ask the next question that usually followed: how are you? His fiancée had died four days ago. Of course he wasn’t okay. He wouldn’t be okay for quite some time and maybe never. Since Matt couldn’t think of an alternative thing to ask or say, he stepped aside so John could enter.
“I thought I might find you here,” John said, his voice low.
John had stood strong during Julia’s funeral, even as so many people—including family, church friends, and patients—broke into tears around him. As Matt had expected, John seemed to be internalizing everything. He’d done the same when Sarah died. Matt had seethed in anger, but John remained calm, even if he was broken inside. That was his way.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to stay with Grace as much as possible,” Matt said. Truthfully, she hadn’t asked him to stay with her. But then again, Grace said very little those days. Even now, she barely even looked up as John entered the room. If someone hadn’t seen Grace since the night at Stevenson Industries, he or she might have thought Grace hadn’t even moved a muscle since. It seemed as if she had been transplanted from the back of the ambulance to the couch, still wrapped in the same blanket.
“Has she had any more dreams?” John asked as he studied the redhead from afar.
“I don’t think so. At least, none that she’s told me about.”
Matt had become Grace’s unofficial sleeping partner—something that she always initiated. Just as they had done the morning after Grace couldn’t sleep at all, Matt would sit on the couch and sometime during the night, Grace would lay down, resting her head on his thigh. She seemed to sleep a little more each night, a fact—when coupled with her consistent dosage of Prozac—he hoped would soon pay dividends in her overall perspective on life.
John nodded. “Where’s her family in all this?”
“They don’t know what happened. She didn’t want to tell them.”
“That doesn’t seem healthy.”
“Probably not. But unless things get worse, it’s not my place to tell them,” Matt said, fully aware his decision could be interpreted as self-serving or, at the very least, unwise. He was monitoring Grace closely, ensuring that she took her meds and that she didn’t take something that she shouldn’t. And he made sure she ate three meals a day. For now, she seemed okay: not self-destructive, just quiet.
If John objected to Matt’s decision, he didn’t voice any further concerns. “I actually came to talk to her. Do you think that would be okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Matt said, though he wasn’t convinced it would be. Matt suspected that part of what made Grace so quiet was guilt: the feeling that it should’ve been her and not Julia who died.
John stepped over and knelt in front of her. “Hi, Grace. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” She looked at him now, her eyes intent. John glanced down at his hands. “I knew Julia really well, and she was, well...” John trailed off and bit his lip. He waited another minute before starting again, “I know what she would have wanted for you. She would have wanted you to get better, to find hope again. And she wouldn’t have wanted for you to blame yourself. Because she decided to save you. And that was her choice.”
“I thought it was my time,” Grace said, keeping her eyes locked on John.
“I guess it wasn’t.” John looked down at the ground, lapsing into another internal struggle to stave off the grief attempting to reach the surface.
“But I saw it in my dream. I was supposed to die next to Jack Walton.”
John shook his head. “Maybe Julia changed the future.” His voice broke, but he recovered. “Maybe we always can. But all she ever wanted was to help people get better. And I want you to get better, too. And so does, Matt. I just hope you can want that for yourself, too.” John patted her knee and rose to his feet. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled. “So please get better for her. We’ll all be here for you, okay?”
Grace nodded. Whatever impact John’s words had on the young woman was imperceptible at the moment. Of course, both John and Matt knew how long recovery could take. There was no silver bullet—no one word or string of syllables—that would take away Grace’s depression or the effects of the trauma she’d just experienced. But maybe these little words of encouragement could be a seed that would bear fruit in time.
John headed for the door and Matt accompanied him.
“You’re going after him, aren’t you?” Matt asked when John reached the door.
John paused, his hand on the knob. “No. He’s passed out of my control.”
“But how can you just let him go, after what he did?”
John glanced back at his brother. “Vengeance belongs to the Lord.”
Matt narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that! You’re going to go after him, you just don’t want me to know about it.”
John sighed deeply and glanced back at Grace. “Just let this go, Matt. You wanted to save Grace and you did. Just find what measure of peace you can and move on.”
“What about stopping this sociopath? If not for revenge, doesn’t the cop in you want to see this guy behind bars?” Matt asked, refusing to allow John to walk out like that. Once again, he suspected his brother was holding out on him.
John shook his head. “Not my jurisdiction anymore. The Feds have taken the case over, now.” John turned to leave, again. “I’m going away for awhile, Matt. But don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine. Just take care of Grace, okay?”
Matt considered another rebuke but surrendered. “I will,” Matt said. “And take care of yourself. Or let other people help you.”
John nodded and then stepped across the threshold of the apartment; Matt closed the door behind him. He pivoted and fixed his eyes on Grace. This business of healing—for John, Grace, and Felicia—would struggle forward as long as Parker, or Greg Tolliver, or whatever his name was now, was still at large.
Matt walked over and sat next to her. Like usual, she lay her head in his lap. In a few moments, she was asleep.
“You’ll be better soon,” Matt said softly as he ran his fingers through her hair. “We all will be. No more dreams of death, no more future, or destiny, or providence. Just moments. And peace.”
Matt closed his eyes, too, trying hard to believe that everything he’d just said was true.
About the Author
Steve Armstrong lives with his wife and two daughters in Westchester County, NY. He grew up in upstate New York and graduated from Binghamton University with a BA in English. Steve also holds a Master of Divinity Degree from Bethel Seminary. For the last 13 years, he has been on staff at First Baptist Church of Tarrytown. Although he has mostly retired from recreational sports, if you toss a Frisbee his way, you’ll likely convince him to play.
New Ordinary (Book 4)
Somewhere beyond grief and pain, a new ordinary waits.
Six people are trying to move forward after the tumultuous events that inextricably tied them together. Josh Williams and Jessie Walters attempt to build a life together, far away from the violence that haunts their past. Reporter Felicia Monroe searches for healing after the murder of her uncle. Grace Murphy, who suffers from fatalistic and prophetic dreams, hopes that she’s seen an end to her visions of death. Matt Harrison struggles to carve a place for himself in Grace’s life. And Detective John Harrison grieves the loss of his fiancée in the same attack that killed Felicia’s uncle.
But their quest for normalcy is dashed to pieces when a familiar foe returns, looking to settle unfinished business. When the ruthless Parker, who possesses the ability to manipulate objects with his mind, takes one of them hostage, the rest must band together to rescue their captured friend and stop Parker once and for all.
The New Ordinary is the fourth and final book in the Strange Gravities series that traces strange happenings in Woodside New York.
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