Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace)

by K Anne Raines

  “I understand,” he said, and didn’t bring her mom back up again. Instead, he chatted with her about everything and nothing at all, until they were both unable to complete a sentence without yawning.

  “You sound tired.” Quentin breathed another yawn. “You should try to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

  She continued tapping each finger on her right hand with her thumb, hoping it would help her stay awake. “Okay, I can probably sleep now.”

  “My cell will be next to me if you need to talk again.”

  “Thanks, Quentin. Wish me luck.”

  “Luck.”

  “G’night.”

  “Sweet dreams, Grace.”

  She set her phone aside, wondering if it was habit for him to sleep with his phone. He probably said that because he was just a nice guy, she decided. As she thought back on the last few days, Grace realized she didn’t know what she would have done without him. And how much she was going to need him in the days and weeks to come.

  With a big smile on her face, Grace settled beneath her covers. She slipped her phone under her pillow, prayed her dream would continue, and drifted slowly back to sleep.

  As soon as her alarm clock blared, Grace knew two things. One, she was definitely suffering from a “sorry” hangover. And two, before the day’s end she would regret returning to school.

  Later as she stood outside her third period class, Grace was pretty sure about the latter with clarity. So far, she’d been late to first, second, and now third period.

  She should have stayed home.

  The sound of tapping keystrokes greeted her as she walked into the classroom. As she made her way to her seat, she was ignored by everyone. That is, by everyone but Zeke. He was sitting in her chair. Comfortably, by the look of it. With his arms folded over his chest, and his feet crossed and resting on the table next to her keyboard.

  In any other class, she would worry they’d both get into trouble for socializing. Not this one. They had a teacher, technically, but he didn’t actually teach. Instead, the class was taught by this dandy thing some computer-programming genius designed. Their teacher, Mr. Turner, spent class time reading Sports Illustrated, keeping up with his sports stats on his iPhone, or stepping out to “use the restroom.” Yeah, right.

  Zeke grinned. “You’re late, Miss Morgan.”

  Grace heaved the backpack over her shoulder, letting it thump loudly to the floor. Her muscles were strained with exhaustion. “I know,” Grace said. Zeke scurried to get out of her seat, while Grace simultaneously flopped tiredly into it.

  The playful light in Zeke’s eyes disappeared as concern crept over his face. “Is something wrong?”

  Grace’s head swayed from left to right. “I’m fine, just tired.” She blew air from her lips hard enough to dislodge the chunk of hair that annoyingly fell into her eyes. “I see you weren’t kidding about making sure I saw you this morning.”

  “I’m a man of my word.”

  “It would seem so,” she said.

  Zeke dropped into an empty seat next to hers and leaned over, tapping her on the hand. “Do you have plans later?”

  Grace pasted on a smile, but internally, she groaned. Not wanting to be reminded of the meeting with the attorney later, she wished there was a way out of it. “Actually, I do. Why?”

  “I don’t have to work tonight and thought you might want to get a coffee or something.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t. Maybe some other time?”

  “Sure,” he said. “Another time. I better get to work… two rows that way.” He tipped his head in the direction of his desk, then gave her a wink before he made his way that way. Grace snickered a little and watched as he walked to his seat.

  Any normal girl would be falling all over themselves for Zeke. After her moonlit rendezvous with Darius, however, Grace’s mind’s eye was too focused on him. She probably would never see him again, but knowing that didn’t stop her thoughts from wandering back to Darius. Nor did her fears.

  Since she was a little girl, Grace had been no stranger to the destruction that the death of love leaves behind. After her dad had left, Grace heard her mother’s crying through the thin walls of her bedroom night after night. When silence finally fell, she’d sneak to her mother’s door and peek through the crack. Each time, her mother had her father’s pillow clutched to her chest.

  Grace swore then that she’d never let that happen to her, never let someone steal her heart and then destroy it. This sudden attraction to Darius brought back those memories and frightened her. His whole bad-boy allure made her want to send reason packing. But that would just be stupid.

  Grace leaned back into her uncomfortable wooden seat and sighed, knowing she should probably be hoping that the redhead was his girlfriend so she could avoid the train wreck of possible heartbreak altogether. In spite of her effort, her mind kept flashing back to the first time she saw Darius, standing nonchalantly under the awning. The way the moonlight intensified his allure, and the easiness with which he leaned against the brick of the building, only left her wanting to relax into him. Her imagination went a step further as she pictured herself doing just that.

  The computer screen glowed in front of her unfocused eyes as she was jolted back to reality by the loud bell that signaled the end of the period. Looking back at the blank screen, the cursor blinked tauntingly at her. She let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, then grabbed her things and headed for her locker. It wasn’t a shocker to find Zeke outside the classroom, waiting for her to come out.

  “Hey,” he said, as she walked up to him.

  Grace avoided his eyes as she spun the combination on her locker and released a small, exasperated breath. “Hey, yourself.”

  He hitched his backpack over one shoulder and leaned his other arm against the bank of lockers as he looked down at her. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.” She shook her head. “No.” Her final answer was a very breathy “I don’t know,” accompanied by an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders.

  Zeke cocked an eyebrow. “Oh.”

  Grace laughed, knowing he was completely stumped in that male kind of way, not exactly sure how to respond. “I’m fine, really. I just have a stupid meeting at two that I really don’t want to go to, and I didn’t get jack done in class.”

  “Well,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I reckon you picked the perfect class to be a slacker in then.” His grin went slightly sideways.

  “You reckon? Did you seriously just say that?” she asked, arm still in the locker as she looked up at him.

  Zeke laughed. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

  Grace laughed too. “For the record, I’m not a slacker. I told you, I have a lot on my mind. I have a mee—”

  “—meeting,” Zeke finished for her, as Grace cocked her head at him. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day that doesn’t look like it’s going to get any better for you until after your meeting. Look, if you’re feeling up to it later, give me a call and we can go grab a coffee or something.” He handed her a slip of paper.

  “Yeah, sure.” Grace glanced at the scrap to see his cell number written on it, then slipped it into her jeans pocket.

  “I’ll talk to ya later. I have to get to class. You going to be alright?”

  She smiled. “Yeah, I think I’m just going to go home. If I don’t talk to you later, I’ll see you in class.”

  After school, Grace parked on the street under the fringe tree and walked up her driveway, peeking in the garage window to see if her mother’s car was inside. Not surprisingly, relief washed over her when she saw it wasn’t there.

  Inside, she dropped her backpack against the corner in the foyer and sauntered to her room. It was still two and a half hours until she needed to leave for the attorney’s office.

  Grace flopped on her bed, covering her head with the blanket. The anxiety she was feeling was becoming overwhelming. The dread of loneliness crept back
over her as she thought about being crammed in a room with a bunch of people who couldn’t give a rat’s behind about her. Her family hated her, and her mother was…well, not very motherly.

  The whole thing was rather depressing. Her tears couldn’t agree more, they slowly trickled down each cheek. It had been twenty-four hours since her last cry, the longest she’d gone since her grandfather died. Grace pulled the covers over her head a little more, and pushed her face harder against her pillow. She let her tears flow freely, not worrying herself with tear-induced snot. Instead, she focused on sleeping. If she could just go to sleep, she could forget about how much her life sucked for just a little while.

  Quentin struggled to relax, which was nearly impossible with Grace’s angst coursing through his veins. He lowered the binoculars from his eyes and put the front two legs of the wooden chair back on the ground, stepping away from the window. The second-story one-bedroom apartment across from the bank was the perfect location for a minor stakeout. Cameras were housed all around the bank and up and down the street, providing the extra security needed until Grace made it there.

  Walking to the bedroom, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It was eleven o’clock, just three hours until Grace’s meeting at the estate attorney’s office. The low hum from the network of computers could be heard just outside the bedroom door. Quentin pushed the cell back in his pocket as he walked through the door to check the activity up and down Broadway.

  Nothing suspicious had happened on the street or around the bank throughout the course of the day. His security network was connected to his cell, and it would have sent an instant message identifying in detail what it deemed as potential issues. As of eleven o’clock, there had been no potentials identified.

  He looked down at his hand rubbing his chest, and wondered how long he’d been unconsciously trying to rub away the gnawing pain. Grace’s anxiety had become muted, replaced with an aching sadness. At least, that’s how he interpreted it. His past had given him experience with feeling the emotions of other males. Total immersion in the myriad of emotions experienced by a teenage female was completely foreign to him, and immensely uncomfortable.

  Quentin pulled his cell out again, feeling the urge to check on her. Going back and forth with whether to call or text, the pain he felt was suddenly gone. After rubbing his seneschal band, he sensed she was safe and realized she must have fallen asleep.

  He went back to sitting again and positioned himself with the binoculars in front of the window. He had a feeling after Grace’s meeting she wouldn’t waste much time getting to the bank and was thankful she was able to get some rest. Unfortunately, rest and time wouldn’t do much in helping her wrap her brain around what she had really inherited from Christophe.

  Grace woke with a start, jolting upright. The last time she remembered seeing her cell it was on her nightstand, but she strained to find it while blindly seeking out her flats on the floor with her toes. Finally she found it, breathed a sigh of relief, and gave up the toe braille. She didn’t have to leave for another twenty minutes or so. With both hands, she hooked her thumbs above her ears and slid her hands over her head, attempting to smooth her hair back and away from her face. Tendrils resisted and crunched as she tried to pull the hunks from her cheek.

  “Gross,” she shrieked as she ran to the bathroom. Examining the evidence further in the mirror confirmed it was drool. “Great.” She sighed, eyeing her reflection. “I’m a drooler.” Defeated, she moved away from the mirror, not wanting to think about what else could be dried in her hair and grabbed her comb and detangler, hoping to tame the mass of hair. Once satisfied with the results, she washed her face with a washcloth and touched up her mascara before brushing on a little blush. After stepping far enough away from the mirror, Grace gave herself another once-over and gasped at her wrinkled clothes.

  “Oh no,” she cried, and ran back into her bedroom to throw open the closet door. Having never attended a reading-of-the-will meeting before, she stood gazing wide-eyed at her clothes. Her favorite sundress—a wide-strapped yellow baby doll—caught her eye so she grabbed it. She dressed faster than she’d ever dressed before. Five minutes later, she was running out the door.

  Even though meteorologists had said the heat was from a warm air mass that moved in from Arizona, it still left Grace bewildered. It normally wasn’t hot like this until summer. The air circled about her in a heavy, humid shroud. It was so hot and thick it choked her. Once inside the car, panic settled in as she tried to get the key in the ignition. Coupling the desperate need for circulating air with her wound-up nerves, it took a couple of tries until she was successful in starting the car and driving away. Ahh, she thought. Air. The moving air did nothing to settle her nerves, however.

  The truth was, she didn’t want to go anywhere near that meeting.

  Grace envisioned her spectacle of a family. Would they put on a show? Shed a few tears? Maybe get angry if they didn’t get what they thought was fair? Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she blinked them fast away. Her family wasn’t worth the energy it took to cry. The memory of how horrible each of them had been to her grandfather pulled angrily at her heartstrings.

  With her cell in hand, she opened the map app and double-checked the address before following the directions to Rasmussen & Minor in Bountiful.

  After driving north on 200 West for a little while, Grace saw in the distance the town’s name, Bountiful, spelled out by a plush green hedge lining the state park the GPS indicated she was to take a right turn after.

  The law offices of Rasmussen & Minor sat on the corner, with entrances facing both Center and Main. Not exactly positive which entry was best, she turned right on Main and parked in the parking lot under the shade of a weeping willow tree.

  The attorney’s office was a three-story brick and stucco colonial, with red brick on the bottom of its facade and brown stucco on the top. Large white marble pillars stretched up on either side of both entryways leading into the building. Inside the door, she found a glass-encased directory. Her eyes scanned the list of names, and lingered over Paul Minor for a few seconds before she walked to the elevator. His office was on the third floor.

  Nervous moisture coated her palms. Completely unaware of the slight left-to-right shuffle she was doing, Grace danced on her toes until the chime of the elevator reminded her to calm down. She drew in a breath and stepped into the hallway, following the arrow leading to the number of Minor’s office. With entirely too much force, she pushed the door open. The bell hanging from his office door clanked angrily against the wood frame, alerting everyone that an out-of-emotional-control female was on the loose. Grace winced with embarrassment.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked, offering a smile that showed just a little too much teeth. Grateful for the lack of attention drawn to her overly dramatic entrance, Grace stepped up to the counter.

  “Um, yes. I have an appointment with Paul Minor. I’m Grace Morgan.”

  The receptionist shot out of her seat like someone ripped her up by her hair. “Of course, Miss Morgan. Right this way, please.”

  Like a small child, she followed close behind. Grace nervously took in the office’s décor, looking everywhere but where she was walking, and almost ran into the lady’s back. Again. She seemed to be making a habit of that lately, and the thought inspired a bubble of nervous laughter that she fought to repress.

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Soda? Water, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” They continued down the hall, Grace making sure to pay closer attention. She focused on her breathing and zeroed in on the hypnotic tick-tock of the receptionist’s brunette ponytail. It helped. Up until the lady stopped in front of the large double doors at the end of the hallway. The slight tap of the receptionist’s knuckles against the door caused a lump to form in Grace’s throat and her palms to go from sweaty to all-out drenched.

  Reluctantly, Grace followed her inside. �
�It’s Miss Morgan, Mr. Minor.”

  “Thank you, Claire,” a man’s voice said, as she tried swallowing the lump down.

  The room was big and bright. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the entire far wall. Palms housed in pots were placed in the narrow space between each of them. A large oval conference table was staged in the middle with matching brown leather chairs encircling it. A large flat screen nearly covered the entire wall behind where a middle-aged man stood, presumably her grandfather’s estate lawyer, Paul Minor. On his left, in front of the windows, her mother sat in one of the leather chairs, her hands crossed elegantly on the table as she quietly watched her approach. Otherwise the room was empty, which meant that her relatives weren’t there yet, and she unconsciously released some of the air stuck in her lungs.

  “Good afternoon, Grace,” the man said, as he walked around the table holding his hand out to her. As she shook it, he placed his other hand gently on top of hers and gazed at her with a solemn but kind expression as he continued. “I’m Paul Minor. It’s nice to meet you. Though I wish it weren’t under these circumstances.”

  She couldn’t agree more.

  When she took her hand back, she glanced at the floor blinking rapidly, her tears threatening to make another appearance. “Thank you,” she said quietly, not trusting her voice.

  Mr. Minor extended his arm in a sweep around the table. “Please, take a seat wherever you like and we’ll get started.”

  Confused, she brought her gaze back up to his. “We’re not going to wait for the others?”

  “There are no others. I sent a copy of your grandfather’s will to his other legatees via courier today.”

  “Oh.” Thank God, she thought, sending up a silent thank-you. “I thought there was going to be a reading of the will to everyone at once.”

  The lines around his eyes crinkled a little more deeply as he smiled. “Thankfully, that only happens in the movies.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Thankfully.”