Healing Grace

by Lisa J. Lickel

  He met a former patient in the parking lot after asking at the clinic to speak to anyone who knew her. The young woman told him that Grace had left a year ago, after the deaths of practically her whole family. People wondered what happened. She’d had a large patient list. They hoped they hadn’t upset her. Nobody seemed to get better as fast as when she treated them. The woman had a little boy with a bad case of poison ivy—again—and Grace had always helped him. She was missed. Did he know her? When was she coming back?

  Another passerby had mentioned a ceremony in the cemetery a few weeks ago. “If I hadn’t been out of town, I’d have confronted her myself,” the prissy elderly woman said. “I’d have told her how sorry we all were. I’d have begged her to come back. Her house is so empty. Just sits there. Sad.”

  Grace’s house? “Where did she live?”

  “Why, it was just, over”—the woman turned and pointed—“down Bradley Street, there, the pretty Cape Cod. Douglas Kirby mows the lawn, you know. Misses the edge every time between hers and Kitty’s.”

  “Thank you.” Randy had already looked in the courthouse for personal records, death certificates of Grace’s husband, and found her parents, even a child Ted never mentioned. He hated to think that maybe Kaye had some right to be concerned. What mother wouldn’t admit to having a child or talking about him? Grace had plenty of pictures of that husband of hers. What about the kid?

  After strolling down the street past her blank-eyed Cape Cod, Randy walked through the rows at the cemetery.

  A striking, young woman with spiked orange hair strode up to him. “Can I help you find someone, a missing relative, or family history, perhaps? I must also remind you that if you are a tourist this place is private and dear to us. We ask that you respect it.”

  He studied her square-rimmed, golden-wire glasses and narrow lips, incongruous with the hair. Had she ever cracked a smile?

  “Someone told me that a whole family was buried here, and there was some interesting story behind it. I was looking for a plaque or something, telling about it.”

  “Oh? Did you catch the name?”

  “Runyon, I believe.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. Her hands clutched her elbows. A long white coat billowed out about her in a puff of wind.

  Between the coat and a stethoscope thrust into her pocket, Randy took a guess. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be from the medical center, would you? Did you work with Grace Runyon?”

  “How do you know her?” The woman’s mouth bunched into a small, tight bud.

  Now that he was onto something, Randy was unsure how to proceed. He turned and gazed down a row of headstones. Brilliant grass was neatly clipped and bumblebees explored azalea bushes. “She bought my house, lives next door to me in Michigan.”

  The orange-haired woman stuck out her chin. “You must be Ted.”

  Randy took off his sunglasses. “No. Ted is my brother. I’m Randy Marshall. What made you think I was Ted? And who might you be?”

  A puzzling angry glint appeared in the woman’s eyes. His first estimate of her age changed when a cloud passed over the sun. Crepe skin showed under her jaw where the short reddish twists of hair ended. She would be a little older than Grace, then.

  She kicked a divot in the smooth lawn. “I’m Lena Roberts, a friend of Grace’s. She’s written to me and stayed with me when she came here for the dedication.” Lena indicated a monument a few rows over. “That’s the memorial we put up to honor her family. Was there something you needed to know?”

  Randy opened his mouth when he caught site of an intimidating bearded man in a knee-length black cloth coat leading a uniformed police officer toward them. He heaved a gusty sigh and grimaced.

  “Look. I like Grace. She’s a private person. We—I—just wanted to know a little more about her. She’s been taking care of my nephew and I had some…missing pieces to fill. Nothing serious, but he’s going to be my responsibility, eventually. And I heard a strange story about her whole family dying. I wanted to check it out for myself.”

  “You are obviously here out of some…concern…about Grace. She would tell you anything you needed to know.”

  The men had joined Lena, facing off against Randy.

  Lena made the introductions. “Reverend Edwards, Officer Grenich, this is Randy Marshall, come from Michigan to pay his respects to Grace’s family. He’s her neighbor in Michigan where she lives now.”

  Randy offered his hand. “Sorry to intrude. I was simply passing through on business and thought I’d stop in.”

  “And what business are you in, sir,” the officer asked, not really making it sound like a conversational question.

  “Fruit grower’s cooperative, Officer. I’m the head sales rep for the company.” He named the organization which brought smiling, nodding recognition to all of their faces.

  “It’s nice to meet you. We’re all friends of the Runyons, here. Was there something in particular you wanted?” the Reverend asked.

  “No, sir. Like the lady said, I’m only here to pay my respects.”

  He hoped Kaye would get over whatever bugged her, as it seemed there was nothing remotely dangerous about Grace.

  The biggest wrench in the summer was Jimmy.

  Randy had gone up to Sault St. Marie earlier in May to watch his son graduate from high school. The boy had been accepted at his alma mater, Michigan State University, in East Lansing. Randy still expected Jimmy for his usual two weeks before heading out for campus life and was surprised to arrive home late one evening to find him, dressed in ragged shorts and tank top, high-topped sneakers and no socks, draped all over the front steps to his house. Jimmy’s hair was shaggier than ever with a bleach job grown out to about the level of his earlobes. His expression in the moonlight was beyond sullen.

  Randy loosened his tie and top shirt buttons and plunked down next to him, letting his hands dangle on either side of his knees. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Son, does your mother know you’re here?”

  Jimmy hesitated for a long time. “She’s the one who said I had to come.”

  Randy took in another long, deep breath, sighing it out. He got up, held out a hand to Jimmy, and said simply, “Okay. We’ll talk this out tomorrow.”

  Jimmy bent to pick up his backpack and guitar, relief and shame mixed in the set of his shoulders and jerky strides into the house and up to his childhood bedroom. Randy watched him go. He wiped his hand over his bristly hair and ran himself a glass of water at the tap. When he checked his messages, he listened carefully three times to what his ex-wife told him.

  The other problem was Tanya.

  The girl had agreed to help watch Eddy over the summer. Shelby wasn’t planning to return to her former daycare business and helped out upon occasion after school. With his nephew complaining about lack of playtime with Grace and the stinky baby at Shelby’s, Ted was stressed, which didn’t help his health.

  But if Tanya was on the other side of the hedge with Eddy, Jimmy was bound to sniff it out. After last summer’s sparks, who knows what trouble they’d cook up now? One thing for sure—Jimmy needed a job of his own if he was going to stay until he went to college in September. Washing dishes in Soo might not have been the most sought-after position, but it had been steady. The boy needed to occupy his time and keep his work ethic muscle in shape.

  For two weeks Jimmy sweated picking at the local cherry orchards before flatly refusing to return. Randy had been rushing around getting ready to go to work and not in the mood to discuss the situation at that particular hour of the morning.

  Angered, he sputtered, “You made a commitment, Jimmy. Everyone’s counting on you.”

  “I’m sure they’re nice people, Dad.” Jimmy didn’t meet his eyes. “And yeah, I know everyone has to work hard. But I don’t understand Spanish. And they make fun of me when I can’t even defend myself.”

  Randy opened his mouth.

  Jimmy cut in. “And I have a scholarship. I don’t need more money for colleg
e. I been saving.”

  Randy’s mouth pursed. Then he sighed and contemplated his son’s huge feet. “And when you fail English and have to stay another year? What then? Son, you have no idea.”

  Jimmy slammed open the screen door, shouting. “That’s what everyone says! Why can’t you just let me find out for myself? I’m supposed to be a man now and everyone treats me like a kid!”

  Randy looked at the door, heaved a breath, and drove to the co-op headquarters. What was a father to do?

  East Bay was a hidebound community. It didn’t take long for the stories to circulate back to Randy. He could have guessed that, having nothing else to do, Jimmy discovered what days he might find Tanya not in the stuffy café uniform but in a cute and skimpy swimsuit and playing at the park with his cousin.

  They told him, the ladies at the gift shops around the square, how Jimmy and another gaggle of boys hung around, discouraging their customers. No one wanted to pass the half-dressed, dirty boys and their smoke and spit to come inside and spend money.

  He needed to do something about those boys. And tell that girl to put some clothes on.

  How to approach his son? Was there any way possible, Lord, Lord, to have an actual conversation with a teenaged boy who thinks he’s an adult, without being treated like the Grand Inquisitor? Randy ran a stoplight on the way home. At least the crossroad had been empty, and only Madge Hardaway who watered the plants at church, stopped on the other side, saw him and honked.

  Randy rolled into the driveway. Should he start the conversation with the story of his own failure? A question? A comment? Oh, God.

  Pulsating music floated from behind the house. He followed it to spy his shirtless man child sprawled on a blanket, radio parked near his ear.

  Randy loosened his tie and sat down. Jimmy opened one eye. Then the other.

  Randy took a deep breath. “I think we should talk about girls.”

  Jimmy rolled over onto his stomach and didn’t stop talking until the mosquitoes drove them inside.

  The short version was he had dropped the ball with Tanya. He didn’t know what happened, why after Christmas he wasn’t all that keen on texting anymore. Not having her voice right in his ear made her seem too unreal—too far away. Jimmy was also embarrassed to tell her that his mom grounded him from the phone for the big bill he incurred after Thanksgiving.

  The best he could do was watch her this summer since she wouldn’t talk to him. That’s why he went to the park so much.

  Then the guys showed up. Coulda stuck his finger in a socket and not shocked him worse. “I mean, Dad, how did they know? The first time I heard Robert say ‘yo,’ I knew there was going to be issues.”

  Randy figured he knew which boy was Robert. Hair was as shaggy as Jimmy’s, but streaked. A gold circle gleamed around one earlobe and scruffy black hairs spouted from a soul patch underneath his bottom lip.

  “Jason, and Paul, too.”

  “Which is the one who smokes?”

  “Paul. Home-rolls.”

  “Those were the ones in your band, right?”

  “Yeah, Dad. I told them I wanted to play music, man. I didn’t want that backstage scene they were doing.”

  Randy shivered. Should he ask? “You were uncomfortable?”

  “I just wanted the music.” Jimmy rolled over. “They told me they wanted to see the dunes.”

  “Let me guess. You were all at the park where Tanya and Eddy were playing.”

  “Yeah.” He put an arm across his eyes. “I told them to leave her alone.”

  “And that didn’t go over too well.”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do you know if they’re still hanging around? Or where they’re staying?”

  “No. Please—don’t do anything, okay?” Jimmy sat up and begged him with an earnestness that Randy remembered from his own youth. “I’ll deal with it.”

  Randy nodded, certain he was going to regret it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As a physician’s assistant at the medical clinic Grace felt useful if unremarkable. She was still called to heal, just not be spectacular about it. There had been no “recharge” after working on little Alyssa, no sparks when she touched her patients, no rush…nothing special. Since she longed for anonymity, could she accept that the special gift to perform miracles had fizzled out? The only thing it hurt was her pride, and that she could do without. She didn’t have that sheepskin with her credentials for nothing.

  The clinic counted on steady funding from the fruit growers’ co-op, for which she knew Greg was grateful. Migrant workers came in all summer, and she enjoyed learning a few phrases of whatever nationality they were.

  A few bothersome annoyances persisted. Tony’s eyes widened every time he saw Grace. She no longer took care of him, per his mother’s request. Since Tony was a little monster, she could deal with that.

  One slow afternoon at the clinic she volunteered to take inventory as Nancy wanted to put together a restock order. Grace sat on a low stool to take a breather after counting towels. She heard a polite cough and looked up.

  Greg leaned against the door frame, his legs and arms crossed. “Quarter for your thoughts?”

  She laughed. “Inflation that high?”

  “Are you okay? Things going all right? I know the pay can’t be living wages for you, and I know you don’t always—”

  “I’m fine, Greg.” His concern for her welfare was a surprise. They had treated each other with friendly professional deference since Christmas. “It’s nice of you to be concerned, but I assure you I have no financial worries.”

  Greg stood up straight and put his hands in his pockets. “How about your house, then? I can recommend repairmen, or help out with some”— he grimaced—“ah, simple, work, if you need anything done. Or work on your car.”

  Grace smirked. “You forgot lawn-mowing. All those helpless female chores,” she teased. Greg’s expression sobered. She stopped smiling.

  He looked down at his feet. “I just thought I’d remind you—I care.”

  She set the towels on the wire shelf and stood up, facing him. “Greg.” She touched his arm. “Thank you. Really. I don’t mean to be one of those people who can’t accept help from anyone. I appreciate your offer, and your…care. I see it all day long, and I know that you’re sincere.”

  She dropped her hand and stepped back. “People around here rely on you. They don’t really understand how much you’ve given up to stay in East Bay to care for them.”

  Greg took it all in. “And you? Will you ever be able to rely on me?”

  “I have, ever since I first met you.”

  He unfolded his arms and took a step toward her. “You know what I mean. I backed off. Since Christmas, I’ve sat back. I’ve waited and watched. Things are not getting better.”

  Nancy breezed in through the door, crowding the little space with her perpetual annoying cheerfulness.

  “Have you got that order, Grace? MediCo is on the line and I want to save our dime if they’re calling here first.”

  “Sure, Nancy. I’ll come with you.” Grace moved past Greg, asking him with her eyes to drop the matter. His own hooded expression told her that he wasn’t finished.

  “Let’s play hooky,” Ted greeted her one late June Saturday morning. “We feel like going to the beach today. Wanna come?”

  Eddy wiggled at his father’s side, grasping the metal cross bar of the new crutch.

  How could she resist the display of unusual cheer? Ted was often morose these days, and seeing him in a good mood was worth its weight in—raspberries!

  Glad she’d started working with the berries before it got too warm, she wiped her hands on her apron, wondering how Ted would manage crutches on the sand. Well, if he thought he could, who was she to spoil the party? “Hmm, sounds like a plan. I just have this last batch of jam to set up. Can you wait for a while?”

  “It smells soooo good, Grace. Can I help?”

  Eddy’s “help” might c
ost the rest of the morning. His enthusiastic stirring last time spun a goodly portion of the sticky red stuff on her table, the chair, through the seams of the leaves of the table, the floor, and his shirt front. She tried to let him down gently. “Thanks, my little man, but I have to finish the cooking and stirring.”

  Ted caught her hesitation. “Why don’t you show me what’s new at the playhouse, Eddy? We’ll come back when Grace is done, okay?”

  She watched them amble around the corner before she went back inside to finish the batch of jam and make a picnic lunch.

  Ted drove them drove north on M131 an hour later.

  “You people don’t seem very imaginative on naming your roads,” she commented after passing signs for exiting onto 9 Mile, 14 Mile, and 22 Mile Roads. “I can see why the country folk feel at home here, though,” she continued. “The hills aren’t so high nor the valleys so deep, but it has the same wild and lonesome feel.”

  She looked over at Ted’s profile. Sunglasses perched on his nose and his hair fluttered in the breeze of the open window. Intimate scents of soap mingled with warmed skin wafted in her direction.

  He glanced at her. “No fighting over using family or American Indian names this way. We’ll reach the tourist spots soon enough. The shoreline has gotten all built up over the few years. Industry has obviously changed from agriculture, general farming, and the like. There used to be a thriving lime works, too. That, and the mission are what started Petoskey going, if I remember right, after the railroad went in.”

  “Petoskey?”

  Eddy sang in the backseat. “Pitashkey, pitashkey.”

  “Pe-tah-sky,” Ted repeated, over the sound of his son. “It was the name of an Ottawa man who owned a lot of land on the shoreline. Or, I guess, technically, his name was changed to this pronunciation and spelling by the white settlers.”

  He hummed, tapping the steering wheel. At least he seemed comfortable in the driver’s seat today. Grace sat back. “How far are we going?”