Need You Now

by Beth Wiseman

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. She picked it up without looking at the display, assuming it was Skylar and feeling the guilt.

  “Hello.”

  There was silence for a few moments, then a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, Grace. It’s me.”

  Grace bolted upright on the bed. “Tristan?” She brought a hand to her chest, hoping to calm her racing heart.

  “Yeah. How are you?”

  She took a deep breath, tried to sound casual. “I’m great. What about you?”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  Silence again, and Grace was dying to know why he was calling her. Maybe he wanted to get back together, to invite her to visit him in Houston. He’d finally realized how much he missed her, how much he loved her.

  “How’s life in the country?” he asked.

  “It’s okay. How’s Houston?”

  “Same ol’.”

  Why are you calling me? It was so good to hear his voice.

  “Hey,” he said after a few more moments. “I need to tell you something.”

  Grace’s breath caught in her throat. “What’s that?”

  “I—I just didn’t want you to hear from someone else. But . . .”

  Her heart started racing. She could tell by his voice that it was bad, and she clamped her eyes shut. “Just tell me, Tristan.”

  “I’m going to be a dad, and I didn’t want you to hear it from some of your old friends.”

  Grace felt the air leave her lungs. She’d refused to sleep with Tristan, despite his many attempts. She’d only been fifteen. How could he have expected her to do something like that, even if he was a year and a half older? Not to mention that she wanted to be married first. “What?”

  “I started dating Jenny Schwartz, and . . . well, she’s pregnant. Her parents don’t want us to get married, but we are anyway.”

  Grace was sure she was going to have a heart attack. Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn’t say anything.

  “Grace, are you there?”

  She knew they were young, but she’d always thought that they’d be together. She’d so often pictured Tristan showing up in Round Top, ready to commit his heart to her. They’d go to the same college, graduate, get married, and start a family. And now . . . he’d fathered a child with Jenny Schwartz. Someone Grace used to call a friend. She held the phone out from her face, stared at it for a moment, then slowly pressed the End button. She gently laid it down on the nightstand.

  Somehow, she stood up, then she paced for a moment. An image of the pink collector’s pocketknife that her father had given her last year popped into her mind. “Here, in case you run into a snake or critter when we move to the country,” he’d said jokingly.

  Grace searched for the pocketknife in the top drawer of her dresser. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. And the pain had to stop. It just had to. She finally found it.

  She sat down on the bed, raised her blue jean shorts up several inches, and made a small cut across the top of her thigh. The blood oozed, and relief washed over her like a cleansing balm to her soul. She stood, then sliced herself again, deeper this time, drawing a line of blood several inches long. Thank you, thank you. Relief. No more thoughts of Tristan. No more regrets. Just relief. She closed her eyes as she stood in the middle of her room, blood dripping down her leg and splashing onto the hardwood floor. She was going to enjoy the moment. One more cut . . . She closed her eyes, breathed deeply.

  Less than a minute later, her bedroom door opened, and she locked eyes with Chad. Adrenaline shot through her body like a speeding bullet, her heart beating so hard her chest hurt. Why didn’t I take the time to lock my door?

  “Grace! What are you doing? You’re bleeding! What are you doing with that knife?” Chad moved closer to her, his eyes dark and accusing.

  Grace froze, her face and ears burning, her body breaking out into a sweat. She’d already lied to her parents about the scars on her arms, telling them she’d had a run-in with a barbwire fence. No lie could fix this.

  “Please don’t tell,” she pleaded. “Please, Chad.”

  Chad pulled the knife from her hand and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed.

  “Gracie, what have you done? What’s going on?”

  Chapter Eleven

  It went against Chad’s better judgment—which, he admitted, wasn’t always the best—to keep Grace’s secret, and the only reason he’d agreed was because his sister said she’d never done anything like it before and now knew it was stupid. It had been the result of a phone call from Tristan. If I could get my hands on that guy . . .

  Tristan was a scumbag who’d tried to sleep with any girl he could in Houston, and Chad had never wanted Grace around him. She was way better than Tristan, but Grace had been madly in love with him, so he could understand—sort of—why she went all nuts. But cutting herself? That was crazy, and Chad didn’t get it. But he’d been through his own stuff, so who was he to judge? He figured the best he could do was be there for Grace.

  Later that evening, he talked to Cindy about it.

  “Man, I’m just really worried about her.”

  Cindy sat down beside him on his bed. Chad was still surprised that his parents allowed her in his bedroom, but Cindy was the epitome of the perfect high school girl, the one every parent hoped their son would date. Beautiful, classy, straight As, polite, and involved in every civic function available. Right. Cindy sipped from a McDonald’s cup that had more in it than Diet Coke.

  “Here, want some?” She pushed the paper cup in his direction, and he had to admit, the rum and Coke tasted good. “Yeah, I’d be worried about Grace too. I mean, I’ve heard of girls doing that, and it’s crazy.” She took the cup back and took a swallow.

  Even though Chad thought Grace’s behavior was a little nuts, he didn’t like hearing Cindy say it. “Well, she said she’s not going to do it again.”

  Cindy shrugged. “Ya never know. I’ve also heard about girls who go to cutting parties. They have a few drinks and everyone cuts. It’s supposed to be like a high or something.”

  Chad recalled the way Grace was crying—so hard that she couldn’t breathe. His sister hadn’t cut herself as recreation. She was devastated. “No, it’s not like that with Grace. She was super upset.”

  “Well, I hope no one finds out about this . . .” Cindy cringed. “She’d be ruined in this small town.”

  Something about Cindy’s tone left Chad uneasy. “Well, don’t tell anyone then.”

  Cindy sipped on her drink, shrugged again, and didn’t look at him.

  “Cindy, did you hear me? I told you this in confidence. Don’t tell anyone about Grace.”

  “I won’t, but things like this tend to get out.” She flung her hair over her shoulder, the hint of a smile on her face.

  Cindy didn’t seem so beautiful in his eyes anymore. “It’s late. I should take you home.”

  “It’s not late. It’s only seven o’clock.” Cindy pushed her lips out in a pout, something he used to think was cute. “Oh, I get it. You’re mad.” She leaned over and cupped his cheek with her cold hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone about Grace.”

  Moving closer, she kissed him on the mouth, lingering, waiting for a response, but her touch didn’t give him the heady sensation he’d expected. Instead, her lips felt as cold as her hands . . . and her heart. She hadn’t showed one ounce of compassion for Grace.

  “No, really. I’ve got stuff to do. I better take you home.” He stood up, and Cindy slowly did the same.

  “Okay,” she said as she picked up her books.

  Chad hurried her out the door.

  Please, Lord, don’t let Cindy tell anyone. And please, please don’t let Grace do anything like that again. But Chad had decided that if she did it again, he was telling his parents.

  Then a name came to mind. Every goth kid he’d ever known was into something weird. Did Skylar introduce her to cutting?

  Grace knew it was no
coincidence that she kept bumping into her brother on Monday. Normally Chad avoided her at school, but he was around every corner today.

  “I’m fine, Chad,” she said as she closed her locker and found him standing beside her. “So quit following me around.”

  “I’m just worried, Grace.” Chad pushed a longer strand of his dark hair behind his ear. “I know you’re flipped out about Tristan, but I just . . .” He hung his head and sighed. “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

  “Hush.” Grace brought a finger to her mouth. “I told you that I’m never going to do it again, Chad. So let it go.” She stomped off, rounded the corner, and ran right into Skylar.

  “Hey, Grace. I thought maybe I’d come over today after school, and—”

  “Today’s not good.” Grace kept walking, surprised that Skylar asked to come over. She wasn’t sure why Skylar even wanted to be friends with her. She picked up her pace. Skylar is a loser. And she was going to keep telling herself that until she believed it.

  Truth was, Skylar was probably the best friend she’d ever had. The only person who really understood her. There’d been a time when she thought Tristan was that person, but apparently she’d been wrong.

  She felt the fresh wound rubbing against her blue jeans, and the pain comforted her, distracted her from other feelings she couldn’t face right now. But Grace was smart enough to know that she had to keep such frustrations bottled up. Good girls didn’t go all crazy and act nuts.

  She heard Skylar call her name, but she walked faster until she ran into Glenda. She locked arms with her, forced a smile, and glanced over her shoulder at Skylar. The last thing she needed was another lecture from Skylar. Because Skylar would know . . . what she’d done.

  She just had to get through this one thing. Then she’d stop for good.

  Dave looked at his watch as he hurried to his car. He’d closed a sale on a big ranch outside of Warrenton, and as was usually the case on a million-dollar deal, there had been problems— issues with the inspection that had almost caused the buyers to back out. Now he was late picking up Cara.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot at The Evans School. He put the car into park, then tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel. He’d spent all of the prior day convincing himself that whatever his infatuation was with Darlene, he needed to get over it. She was a married woman, Cara’s teacher, and she deserved nothing but respect from him. He reminded himself to keep things professional between him and Darlene. She was Cara’s teacher. Nothing more. He twisted his mouth from side to side for a few moments, then decided it would be best to limit his contact and conversations with Darlene as much as possible.

  A minute later, he entered Cara’s classroom and saw them sitting at the table together. Darlene was wearing a pink blouse. She looks beautiful in pink.

  Dave shook his head, then smiled at Cara and Darlene.

  “Cara had a good day,” Darlene said.

  Dave walked to Cara like he did every day, kissed her on the forehead. “That’s great.” He was having trouble keeping eye contact with Darlene. He never should have danced with her at the gala.

  “Tell Ms. Darlene bye, Cara.” He nudged Cara toward the exit, praying his daughter would just come along with him without incident. And she did. They were almost out the door when Darlene’s voice rang through the classroom.

  “Dave?”

  He turned around, forced a smile. “Yeah?”

  Darlene hurried toward him, then handed him a folder. “Cara forgot this. It’s some pictures she drew for you today.”

  Dave’s hand brushed Darlene’s as he accepted the folder. “Thanks.” He paused. “Okay, well, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Darlene walked to the window, pulled back the blind, and watched Dave and Cara drive away. She was glad that Dave seemed to be pulling back, focusing on Cara and her studies, limiting chitchat. She’d worried over the weekend, even felt a little guilty about dancing with Dave. There was something a little too intimate about the way he’d held her, and she shouldn’t have allowed it.

  She’d spent all yesterday afternoon trying to cuddle up to Brad on the couch while the kids were off doing their own things, but she’d been outdone by the remote control. Maybe guilt had fueled her attempts, but either way, she just wanted to be close to Brad.

  As she drove home, she wondered if taking this job had been a mistake. Even though everyone seemed to be doing just fine with her working, she knew she was missing out on some of the kids’ day-to-day stuff, and she had less time for Brad because she was catching up around the house on nights and weekends. In fact, she was exhausted by the time she crawled into bed at night.

  But she loved working with Cara and the other children. She felt needed. Something she hadn’t felt in a while from her own family—that is, until they no longer had breakfast on the table in the mornings, then they needed her. She smiled. Perhaps taken for granted was a better way to describe her feelings, but she knew there probably wasn’t a mom on the planet who didn’t feel that way.

  She pulled onto Layla’s drive, glad the gate was open. She parked in front of the house and hopped out of the car. After draping the Versace carefully over her arm, she started up the front steps. Layla opened the door before she could knock.

  “Why are you bringing that dress back?” Layla said, folding her arms across her chest and frowning.

  “Because it’s yours.” Darlene shifted the dress from one arm to the other. “I didn’t have it laundered, but I’d like to. I just wasn’t sure if it needed special handling.”

  Layla shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” She swung the door wide, motioning for Darlene to come in. Darlene stepped inside, and when Layla turned to close the door, Darlene noticed Layla’s usual cattle-herding garb. Sweat mixed with dirt stained her shirt, and one of her blue jean pant legs was tucked into a brown work boot.

  Layla turned and headed for the kitchen. Darlene followed and watched as she pulled a jug of water from the refrigerator and began gulping down mouthfuls.

  “Why in the world don’t you get someone to help you with this place, Layla?” Darlene laid the gown over a chair in the kitchen.

  Layla ran her forearm across her forehead and caught her breath. “Because this keeps my mind busy and my body in shape.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that it matters much these days.” She nodded toward the dress. “Just keep it.”

  Darlene’s eyes widened. “Uh, no . . . but thank you.” She couldn’t imagine Layla giving her a dress worth thousands of dollars. “I let it out so it will fit you again.”

  Layla picked up the dress, cast it across her arm like an unwanted burden, then walked through the living room and to her bedroom. She opened the door and tossed the dress inside. Darlene bit her lip so hard she thought it might bleed. She should’ve just kept the gown.

  “Thanks again for letting me borrow the dress and for inviting me to the gala.”

  “No problem.” Layla started walking toward the door, and Darlene obediently followed, knowing it was her cue to leave. Apparently she’d been right—she and Layla were not going to be friends. Layla would’ve hit her in the butt with the door, but before it was completely shut, Darlene swung around and held out her hand, the door pushing Layla backward a bit.

  “Layla, I was wondering if you’d like to come for dinner tonight.” She gritted her teeth, but something deep inside her beckoned her to reach out to this woman. Give me strength, Lord.

  Layla blinked her eyes a few times, mouth dropped. “Uh, thanks. But I can’t.”

  “Okay, just asking.” I tried, God. Relief washed over her. Layla was unpredictable, kind to a fault sometimes and rude as all get-out other times. She gave a quick wave as she turned to leave. “Bye.”

  “Darlene?”

  She took a deep breath and spun around.

  Layla had her arms folded across her chest again. “I can’t come for dinner, and I’m in a hurry because I have a very sick cow out in the far pasture. I don
’t think she’s going to make it, and I’d like to be with her.”

  Darlene stammered, “Anything I can do?”

  “No. Just wanted you to know why I can’t come to dinner.” Layla took a step back inside and closed the door.

  On the drive home, Darlene kept asking herself why she even wanted to be friends with Layla. But she knew the answer. Layla was a good person deep down. And she needed a friend.

  Over the next several weeks, everyone settled into a chaotic routine. After school was out for the summer, Darlene had to run the household like a dictator from a remote location, often texting her children throughout the day to remind them what needed to be done at home.

  The washing machine had bounced across the mudroom, dislodging the pipe and flooding the area last Tuesday. Before that, Ansley’s rooster, the infamous Rocky, had pecked the UPS man on the leg, drawing blood. The deliveryman had shown up at The Evans School to chat with Darlene about it. Another snake had made its way into the house, a grass snake no bigger than a pencil, but Chad had hacked it into pieces with a kitchen knife, further marring the wooden floor.

  Darlene was just glad that Chad had snagged a part-time job tending Clydesdales at a nearby ranch. He wasn’t home to help out as much as his sisters, but at least he was occupied and earning a little spending money. Brad had been working later and later in an effort to make partner.

  The house was a wreck most of the time, and when the kids did clean it, it wasn’t anything like Darlene would have liked. And she was tired most of the time. But as she watched Cara working a crossword puzzle—the third one she’d finished in the past week—she knew she was making progress. And the extra money was building up in savings. It wouldn’t be long before she could cover the floors with new hardwood.

  “Great job,” Darlene said after Cara eased the crossword puzzle in front of Darlene. She quickly scanned her answers, then moved it to the side. She was reaching for a book Cara had been reading when Cara touched her hand. It was the second time this week that Cara had touched her. “What is it, sweetie?”