Saving Gracie

by Terry Lee

  Mother and daughter stared, wide-eyed. Hannah excited, Grace bewildered.

  “I love the beach!” Hannah jumped up and assaulted her dad with a bear hug. “I’m telling Jenn,” she signed and bolted out of the room.

  Grace stared at Adam. “Why am I just now hearing about this?”

  “I have to go back to Chicago in August.” A haunted look shadowed his face, his fingers shredding his napkin.

  “Again?” Grace’s jaw clenched.

  “Sorry. Can’t be helped.” Adam’s voice lowered to a near whisper. “That’s why I called Mr. Weiger.”

  Grace studied the paper napkin scrap-pile. Her insecurities regrouped. He’s bribing me with a vacation. What the hell is going on? For the first time in weeks she seriously longed for her closet. Or bed…or a pill.

  “How long this time?” A pout formed at her mouth.

  “Same as before. Three-four days.” Pushing the napkin pieces aside, Adam rested his elbows on the table, his fingers forming a tee-pee. “But hey, we don’t have to think about that now. You and Hannah have three more days of camp and then we head to Branson. Josh’ll love the beach, don’t you think?”

  She cringed at the irritating don’t you think? phrase her mother had used to make a point. She crossed her arms. “I guess.”

  They sat in awkward silence before Adam spoke.

  “Grace?”

  “Hmm?” Her mind vacillated between rising apprehension and self-pity.

  “I’m proud of you. I mean it,” Adam reached and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in a moment of tenderness. “You’re doing something really worthwhile; something that’s getting you back on track.”

  “I’ll never get back to that place,” Grace whispered, fighting back tears welling behind her eyes. She missed her mom. She feared for Cherry and felt a growing disturbance between herself and Adam. The poisonous cocktail combination mingled with her own splash of insecurity burned her throat on its way down to her belly.

  “Maybe to a better place, then.” Adam stood and stacked the plates.

  “Whatever,” Grace mumbled. “Mind if I take a bath?” Feeling particularly immature, Grace had the urge to leave Adam with the messy kitchen.

  ~~~

  “Get to a better place,” Grace sniveled, pouring bath salts into the filling tub.

  “What the hell’s wrong with that?” #2 asked in one of her many annoying tones.

  “It’s like he thinks something’s wrong with where I am.”

  “Yeah…that’s because it sucks.”

  Grace felt perfectly content sulking alone. “Why are you here anyway? You haven’t bothered me in weeks.”

  “You haven’t been letting that whiney pansy-ass run the show.” #2 didn’t pull punches. How like her. “When are you going to get rid of that cry-baby? She makes me gag.”

  “Oh, and what do you suggest I do with her?” Lame comebacks on rapid fire now.

  “For starters, you can throw her sorry little ass in that closet you’re so fond of. And while you’re at it, toss her a pacifier. I’m sick of her thumb-sucking.”

  “I don’t suck my thumb.” Grace crossed her arms.

  “Might as well. You’re acting like an infant.”

  Grace straightened. “You said I was doing better.”

  “No. I said you haven’t let the little twit run the show.”

  “Where did you come from anyway?” Grace glared. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine this crude, “in your face” bitch coming from within her.

  “What about Cherry?” #2 ignored her question.

  Her stomach dropped at the mention of the child’s name. “What about her?”

  “You were on to something the other night.”

  Grace tilted her head. “About Cherry? What?”

  “Gotta go. Hey, watch that bath water.”

  “Well shit,” Grace seethed. “You can’t leave now!” Silence. “Damn her.” Grace shut off the faucet, tested the water with her toe, and then sank into the foamy pool. She replayed the conversation. What had #2 meant about Cherry?

  ~~~

  Later, Grace explained the Daniel situation to Adam. And, although not crazy about the boyfriend part, he shrugged and gave the go-ahead for the baseball game.

  When they told Hannah, she responded as if she’d just been handed keys to her first car. Adam scratched his head, confused. Grace understood all too well the excitement of a first boyfriend…and the heartache after a first boyfriend.

  Puberty. The first major stage of Hannah’s life she’d have to wade through without her mother’s advice. Who’ll help me now?

  An image of #2 hooking Hannah up with some tattooed biker dude, wearing matching vials of each other’s blood around their necks zipped through Grace’s mind, closely followed by vague images of a young Angelina and Billy Bob Thornton.

  Oh.My.God. Grace felt her heart ramp. And Angelina got Brad in the end, didn’t she? Shit. Biker chick and home-wrecker. Grace tried to calm herself by making a mental note. No (as in zero) help from #2 during Hannah’s puberty stage.

  Why did her mother have to die?

  ~~~

  Thursday morning. Grace needed to talk to Cherry before she lost her nerve. She breathed in what she hoped to be confidence and pulled Cherry aside during the morning break.

  “Today is my last day.” Grace swallowed hard, making note of Cherry’s lethal red boots. “I wanted to say goodbye.” Cherry’s eyes narrowed. She wrapped her arms tightly across her small chest and stomped out of the room.

  That went well. She watched the troubled child disappear around the corner and took off after her. She found Cherry in the empty Arts and Crafts room, curled up in a corner under a table, her arms still tightly crossed, her eyes spitting fire.

  Grace tried to coax Cherry out of the cramped space. “Please come out. We’ll talk. Okay?” Cherry refused to budge, turning her small, dirt-smudged face to the wall.

  Pulling up a chair, Grace sat. Twenty minutes passed before Cherry crawled out from under the table and stood, lifted her chin as high as her small stature allowed and, once again, marched out of the room. By the time Grace reached the door she caught the child’s small silhouette pushing through heavy double doors leading outside. Grace followed and watched Cherry join the Bluebird’s outside activity.

  Jill shot Grace a questioning look.

  With rounded eyes, Grace could only shrug. Cherry ignored her the rest of the day.

  “I guess she’s punishing me for not coming tomorrow.” Grace sat next to Jill during lunch.

  “I would too if I could think of some horrible torture to inflict on you.” Jill stacked potato chips on her tuna sandwich.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is you’re leaving me to manage that wild child for the entire day.”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine.” Grace mentally crossed her fingers. “She’s done better every week.”

  Jill wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, because you’ve been here.” She took a drink from her water bottle. “I don’t know what you did with Cherry, but you’ve saved my butt. I’d have changed my major by now if I’d had to deal with her myself.”

  Grace shook her head and smiled. “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Yeah, whatever. But I swear, next year, if Cherry’s in my group and you’re not, I’ll hunt you down, woman. Seriously.” Jill shot Grace an I-mean-it smile before leaving the table.

  Grace sipped her Diet Coke, thinking about Jill’s words. Her eyes panned the lunch area and spotted Cherry sitting near a few little girls from the Bluebird group. For the most part, she sat alone. Grace winced, only imaging the isolation of Cherry’s world.

  Fifteen minutes before the close of the day Jill called the group together to say goodbye to Grace. Overall, the Bluebirds had interacted remarkably well over the last three weeks. Several of the hearing kids spent more than the allotted time learning new signs, evidence of Grace’s contribution to the group.

  The B
luebirds lined up and said their personal goodbyes…except Cherry, who stood next to the wall, her back to the group.

  “Don’t force it,” Jill whispered.

  The day ended and so had Grace’s volunteer job. She gathered her lunch bag and purse, gave Jill a hug and exchanged emails, promising to stay in touch.

  She walked across the parking lot, feeling the sweltering June heat radiate up through her tennis shoes. She spotted Hannah next to the car engaged in animated conversation with Daniel.

  Fumbling through her purse for the keys, she received a forceful pint-size body-slam to her left side, almost knocking her to the steamy pavement. She stumbled to regain her balance, looked down and found Cherry’s small arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

  Grace dropped one arm to comfort the child, letting the purse and lunch bag slide to the ground with the other. She stooped down, which provided Cherry the opportunity to reposition her arms in an “Incredible Hulk” stronghold around Grace’s neck. Unable to free herself from the headlock, she straightened her body, bringing Cherry up into her arms. Small legs clamped around Grace’s midsection. Sobs shook the little girl.

  She’s crying? Cherry doesn’t cry.

  Something is terribly wrong. White-hot fear filled Grace’s throat. She scanned the parking lot and spotted a woman behind the wheel of a badly dented gunmetal gray Crown Vic, the door to the backseat open. Oh God. Cherry’s mother? She felt the woman’s piercing stare. A sickening knot formed in Grace’s stomach.

  The harsh June sun beat down, sending rivers of sweat down Grace’s back. She hugged the child, swaying back and forth, keeping an eye on the woman across the parking lot. Cherry slowly loosened her hold, allowing Grace to pull back enough to look at her. Tears streaked the grimy face of the child who never cried.

  Grace slid Cherry to the ground. “Are you okay?”

  “Don’t go!”

  “I’m sorry.” The sign of a closed fist circling her heart mirrored the agony on Cherry’s face. “I have to.”

  The child’s anger shifted to desperation, rounding her own heart with an open hand. “Please.”

  “I’m going to get my son.” Grace felt her lip quiver. “I’m so sorry.”

  Cherry stomped her foot. “No!”

  How could she make Cherry understand? The mother’s steamy glare across the parking lot added to her growing despair. She grabbed a Kleenex from her purse and wiped the smudgy tear-stained face, then swiped it across her own. Her eyes dropped to the pavement, her mind spinning. She had to think fast.

  “Maybe.” Grace pursed her lips, second and third guessing the forth-coming proposition. “Maybe, I can visit you this summer. Okay?”

  Cherry paused, sobs shuddering her small frame. She searched Grace’s eyes. “Promise?”

  Maybe quickly turned into promise. Grace gave a quick nod, then immediately regretted her agreement. What potential damage lay ahead if she couldn’t keep her promised-maybe? Too late now.

  Cherry’s shoulders relaxed, only offering Grace minimal relief. Leaving her purse and lunch bag behind, she took Cherry’s hand and headed across the blazing parking lot towards the angry woman and the army tank car.

  Grace introduced herself as the interpreter for the Bluebirds and told Cherry’s mother she also had a hearing-impaired daughter.

  The woman took a drag from the Marlboro dangling from her lips. “Yeah well, shit happens.” A jagged scar lined the woman’s left cheek from the outer edge of her eye to the corner of her angry mouth. Her hair, a dulled maroon color with canary highlights, hung around her calculated threatening glare. She never offered her name and showed no indication of engaging in further conversation. That is, if “shit happens” counts as conversation.

  Grace helped Cherry into the littered backseat of soggy McDonald’s bags, shriveled French fries, a frayed plaid blanket and a pile of dirty clothes. She brushed the child’s tangled bangs out of her eyes and gave her what she hoped to be a confident smile. Grace closed the door. Dread. Dread and remorse topped her emotional dictionary.

  Cherry’s mother yanked the gunmetal combat car into drive and spun the massive vehicle into a 180. Grace stood perfectly still, not wanting to become a moving target. However, not moving classified her as a sitting duck. A no win situation. She glanced around the parking lot for potential witnesses when the badly dented Crown Vic blasted past. Grace caught sight of a small hand, barely visible at the window’s edge in the cluttered backseat. Cherry, the wild child of the entire summer program, strapped in the backseat next to stale French fries and dirty clothes, signed, “I love you.”

  A sob caught in Grace’s throat, the stench of burned rubber filled her nostrils. Her heart hurt so bad she thought it would explode. She’d never felt such desolation, not even when her mother died. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised her face to the blinding ball of fire overhead. Streams of sweat trickled down her scalp, weaving through her waved and frizzed hair. She dropped her head forward and focused on the pavement, forcing herself to move. Her feet felt like lead weights tethered to her legs, her lungs void of involuntary in-and-out movement.

  The parking lot had almost cleared. She reached for her purse, igniting a volcanic eruption of propelled emotions surging through her, scorching the veins in her body with a pain she had no words to describe. She fell to her hands and knees, her limbs heavy and numb. Watering, hot eyes rapidly gave over to uncontrollable gulps of sobs as if expelling the grief of the entire world through her heart.

  She sat back on her heels, heaved in some steamy air and swiped her face with palms gritty from flecks of asphalt. With one fist holding her heart in place, she used the other to pull sunglasses from her purse to hide her red, puffy eyes. Hopefully Hannah, preoccupied with Daniel, had not witnessed her meltdown.

  CHAPTER 16

  GRACE

  Road trips to Missouri sucked. This year was no exception. Although excited about seeing Josh after four long weeks, the heart-wrenching Cherry incident had kept her awake all night.

  Grace’s life kaleidoscope had suffered a major shift, the type of dramatic movement like earthquakes that change the Earth’s axis and produce tsunamis. Because of Hannah, Grace felt relatively knowledgeable about the deaf community. And because of Cherry, she realized she didn’t know shit. From her sheltered, protective view of child rearing, she wrongly assumed parents did everything they could for their children, deaf or not: stupid, and naïve.

  Entire new concepts concerning hearing-impaired children took shape and space in Grace’s mind and they were the size of continents. A gap, a missing link, something, had failed to connect formal education with informal socialization. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

  I need you Mom, she thought, and wished for the hundredth time she could punch *1 and hear her mother’s familiar voice. She sighed and, for the sake of her family and her own sanity, tried to sequester the Cherry issue to the back burner.

  Before crossing the state line into Arkansas, they stopped for a quick lunch in Texarkana. Hannah and Grace scooted together on one side of a booth while Adam placed their order.

  Grace unwrapped her cheeseburger, ready for the first greasy bite, when Hannah lit into what she’d seen the day before.

  “Little girl almost knocked Mom down!” Hannah signed to Adam. “Then she wouldn’t let go. Wow, Dad. You should have seen it.”

  Oh God. Is that all she saw, I hope? Grace drew circle eights in a pool of ketchup with a french fry.

  Adam’s eyes shifted to Grace. “You didn’t tell me.”

  Grace shrugged. “There wasn’t time last night. Busy packing,” she signed and then proceeded to shove almost half the cheeseburger into her mouth.

  “You look like chipmunk.” Hannah giggled and puffed her cheeks out, mocking her mother.

  Grace could only nod. Her overly filled mouth kept her silent, and embarrassed.

  “Charming, simply charming,” #2 echoed somewhere.

  I don’t know why I just did that
, Grace thought.

  “Liar,” #2 piped in.

  Damn, Grace silently growled. I hate it when she’s right. Caught off guard, she felt ill prepared to have the still raw incident spilled out so openly on the table. Unable to sweep aside the horrible moments of yesterday, she metaphorically tried to swallow the pain.

  “What happened?” Adam leaned in, his eyebrows together.

  “Cherry got upset because I missed today,” Grace signed, and then winced when swallowing a large portion of the cheeseburger glob. She explained yesterday’s incident in as few words and signs as possible, omitting the “shit happens” and Cherry’s sorrowful “I love you.”

  “Are you going to see her again?” Adam asked.

  “You think I should?” Grace signed, and then forced herself to take less monster-jam-size bites of food.

  “You said you would, right?” Adam questioned.

  “Maybe,” Grace hedged. Oh yeah, she also left out the promise part.

  “You think she understands that?” he asked.

  Concerned or patronizing? Whatever the intent, she knew he was right. I’m screwed, she thought.

  ~~~

  The rest of the drive took place in relative silence. Hannah curled up in the backseat with her latest Stephanie Meyer book, Grace and Adam sat in the front. She glanced at Adam. His eyes were locked on the road ahead, the distance between them widening with each mile. What was he thinking about? Or who?

  “Sorry, time got away from me,” he had said, his eyes darting nervously around the room. That, she remembered, was the feeble excuse offered for not calling his last night in Chicago, which only added to her growing fear. None of this behavior was her Adam. She chewed on the raw spot in her mouth. She should demand answers. But then again, she was #1, not #2. Lame.

  She leaned her head against the passenger window and switched her thoughts to Josh. His letters told her absolutely nothing, except for his counselors, cabin number and the fish. Okay, she’d give Adam points for that. In Josh’s mind, he’d covered all the important stuff.

  Grace watched the passing Arkansas scenery tick by with little interest. Against her will, her mind slipped back to Cherry and her skanky, maroon and yellow-haired, scar-faced, pissed-at-the-world mother. The woman had an obvious disinterest in Cherry. Because of her deafness? Grace wondered. Or is she just a bitch in general?