by S. L. Scott
His lawyer listened intently and nodded in agreement. He then took the next opportunity he had to introduce the new evidence.
The judge showed interest in this turn of events and announced that the police would also have great interest in it. Shortly after closing arguments, the jury spent less than an hour behind closed doors before returning a guilty verdict. Barnes would be liable for $3.6 million to Grace Edwards for distress and emotional damage. Payments would be set up after he paid the $2.4 million he had in savings and investments, including his apartment. He would also be required to perform seven hundred and fifty hours of community roadside service. In other words, picking up trash along the state’s highways.
During the jury’s deliberation, John and Joe met with the police officers and District Attorney who originally handled Barnes’s medical fraud case. It was an angle they hadn’t thought of before because they were so focused on taking Barnes down for medical file tampering and getting his license taken away.
After the return of the verdict, the DA received word to take Barnes into custody, which gave Ben and Grace, and their families, a satisfactory verdict.
As his lawyer escorted a disgruntled Barnes out of the courtroom, the police stopped him to read him his rights, though they all knew he had none at this point. This was a slam-dunk and not only did the DA openly smile, but Ben smirked victoriously.
Grace returned to her husband’s side and asked, feeling nervous and yet, excited over the arrest. “What are the official charges?”
“Felony. He took your ring, stole your ring from your finger the day of the accident with no intention of giving it back.”
“I don’t understand.” She shook her head confused.
Ben laughed, feeling the burden of Hunter Barnes lifting from his shoulders while their lawyer explained, “That’s a felony in the state of Illinois because the heirloom setting plus the diamond Ben had added was valued at eighteen thousand dollars with aggravated identity theft, which equates to three years minimum jail time.”
She smiled and kissed him on the lips. “I’m just glad to have it back.” She looked at the ring on her finger as it sparkled in the late afternoon sun shining through the courthouse windows.
Barnes shouted at Ben, one last time before he was pushed to the far side of the corridor. “You’ll pay for this.”
“Actually, I think you’ll be the one paying for this for about three to five years. Good luck with the boys in jail, Mr. Chicago Under Forty Fucker.”
Barnes turned to his lawyer. “Do something!”
His attorney held his still swelling nose and said, “You need to find yourself new counsel. I’m done.” He turned and walked out as Barnes’s chest was shoved against the hard marble, and he was handcuffed. “Fuck!”
Grace jumped at the sound of the monster’s shout. She looked over and saw the anger on his face. The scowl and hate aimed at her made her shudder. Moving to stand against Ben, she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking down at their adjoined hands. “I can’t feel sympathy for him because he’s finally getting what he deserves. He is going to lose years of his life, and there is nothing he can do about it.”
“He stole years of yours and now will have his taken in return. Karma’s a bitch.” Both Ben and Grace along with their families finally felt like justice had been served. Eye for an eye. “The outcome is very satisfying.”
Just as her eyes met Barnes, he said, “I’ll always love you, Jane.”
“You love someone who doesn’t exist.” Her reply came easily, with no sympathy. Just the facts. “Come on, let’s go, babe.” Ben tucked her into his side protectively, and they walked down the steps.
In the cab, Grace looked around the city of Chicago as they drove to the airport.
Ben noticed how quiet she became, and asked, “Do you miss it here?”
“No,” she said, nodding her head. “This was never my home. This is just where Jane lived.” She leaned her head on Ben’s shoulder as the taxi wove in and out of traffic. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “My home is wherever you are.”
He kissed the top of her head and said, “I want the hell out of this city and I’ll be happy if we never return.” She giggled under the weight of his arm. “Grace, let’s go home. We have a destiny to fulfill.”
She lifted her head and they kissed, their hearts full of emotion and their heads filled with a lifetime of memories.
THE END . . . Almost.
34
Grace Stevens
Ben handed the scissors to Grace. “You take the honors, Mrs. Edwards.”
“You sure?” she asked eagerly.
“Absolutely.”
Grace snipped the large red ribbon and the bow fell to the wooden porch under their feet. Everyone they loved and who loved them clapped as Ben turned the knob, opening the door to their brand new home.
He bent at the knees and lifted his wife into his arms. Grace grabbed her very protruding, very pregnant stomach in anticipation as she was hoisted up. “You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m kind of big now.”
“Kind of?”
“Oh, shut it!”
“I’m just teasing, baby. You’re still beautiful and light as a feather,” Ben lied, smiling so she wouldn’t feel bad. No doubt he was feeling the extra weight in his arms and struggled not to drop her. He had promised her, so there was no way he wouldn’t carry her across the threshold of their home. That was her man. Always keeping promises in the way he loved her.
She laughed and he laughed, holding steady. He carried her inside and set her down on the couch in the living room of the house they’d built on the property line that separated their parents’ properties. It faced the lake, and was right beside the tree he had engraved his love for her on.
G. Forever yours, B.
The next day, Grace gave birth to a baby girl. Hope Elizabeth Edwards. The name was fitting for their baby, the emotion that renewed Ben and Grace’s faith in this world after it had ripped them apart.
She had been convinced she must have done something right in another life to have a man like Ben Edwards love her. And she knew. There had been no denying the truth, the reason for her joy and hope.
Saying yes to his love was the best thing she’d ever done.
It wasn’t luck that brought them back together. It wasn’t chance that he found her that night at the dinner. Grace often spoke of destiny, and how karma wielded for good, and bad. And he could give her that, but Ben knew better when it came to them. Like the day her family moved next door to his, their lives changed forever. The moment he laid eyes on her, he felt it—magic. They were always meant to be.
It was serendipity.
And they lived happily ever after.
The End. For real. Or for now.
If you enjoyed Missing Grace, you might also enjoy Until I Met You. The prologue and chapter one are next or you can download here:
Until I Met You
Part I
Until I Met You
PROLOGUE
The bars were rusted. The dingy paint was chipping on the inside of the windowsill, and her gown was fraying along the ties. She took in and then slowly released a long breath, even though the air she was breathing was stale. She wondered if the vent was blocked, but it was too high for her to reach. So she remained flat on her back on the bare mattress with the springs poking into her. Jude had a knack for lying very still for hours on end. This was how she stayed sane. This was how she survived.
Don’t give them anything.
Don’t give into them.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
Hold on.
One more day.
Hold on.
Love wasn’t about reason.
Love wasn’t rational.
The heart charged forth with love on its wings to spite the possibility of the bloodshed aftermath.
1
Jude Boehler
Maybe it was the music—a
n instrumental version of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” played melodically through the Upper East Side apartment. Or maybe it was traces of the pink pills still in her system. Her mental freedom was slowly awakening her dormant mind.
Either way, Jude Boehler liked this party.
She liked the suits that surrounded her, the women who ignored her. She liked being invisible. So wonderfully rare not to be under a microscope.
Jude swayed to the music while nitpicking her way through the trays of food on display. She tried a few of the fancy appetizers but put back what she didn’t like. Grabbing a celery stick, she dipped it in the creamy sauce next to it. Nice. She dipped again.
“You shouldn’t double-dip,” she heard a man say.
Continuing to swirl the celery through the dip in a figure eight, she looked up. While taking a large bite her gaze traveled over the charcoal-gray suit-clad banker type, and she swallowed. And smiled. Then laughed as she dunked her celery in the dip again as if she had never heard him. She took another bite, this time louder while looking into the eyes he hid behind black-framed glasses. Lifting up on the balls of her feet, she tried to see them more clearly. Not appeased, she dropped back down and asked, “What color are your eyes?”
“Hazel,” he replied flatly. A line between his brows, which had formed long before tonight, drew her attention.
Done with the celery, she stuck the remaining piece in the dip, leaving it sticking straight up, and took his hand, palm up, into hers. “You should buy me a drink.” The tip of her finger traced a broken line that led from just above his wrist in a semi-circle around his thumb.
Pulling his hand back and shoving it into his pocket, he stated, “The drinks are free. The bar is over there.”
His words screamed impatience and she wondered if he was always this uptight. She stood her ground with him and looked in the direction he was pointing. “You should offer to get me one. Isn’t that the polite thing to do?”
His head jerked back. “You just put your germs in that dip and touched half the food on the table, thus contaminating it, and you’re calling me out for not being polite?”
She nodded. “Yes. I’ll take a Crown and Coke.” Her back was turned to him as she picked up four different cookies to investigate the chip to dough ratio, and then settled on a brownie. She could feel Hazel’s gaze and returned to face him. With an ironic smile, she curtsied. “Fine, I’ll get my own drink. Since you’re here, can I get you something while I’m over there?”
“No. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Before she left, she asked, “What do you do for money?”
“My profession?” He watched the peculiar girl twirl in front of him. Her skirt ballooned out and brushed against his gray wool-covered legs.
She stopped, smiled, and replied, “No, just in the general sense.”
One of his eyes squinted, completely confused by the nonsensical question. “I’m an architect.”
Jude’s lips pursed, seeming to agree with him. “That makes sense.” She left this time while he watched her go, but she didn’t walk. She floated. She danced her way in red snow boots through the stiff crowd dressed in suits and evening attire. The girl wearing a chartreuse sundress with little pink flowers embroidered around the bottom in the middle of winter stood out at this party. And captivated him.
There were plenty of people he knew and some he should talk to, but he didn’t move from where he stood. He waited for her. Shifting uncomfortably, he was confused as to why he was waiting, but he did.
Jude returned as if they were long lost friends, as if she had no doubt he would still be there, waiting.
Taylor stood next to the girl in the sundress in silence. Her brownie had been eaten, and a cocktail now replaced it in her hand, which she waved flagrantly to the music not noticing—or not caring—that liquid was spilling as she moved.
Finally speaking up, he asked, “How many drinks have you had tonight?” But he really wanted to ask if she was drunk. He had never seen someone so careless before, so carefree before. She twirled again, and he swiftly took the glass from her and set it down on the table. For the safety of the drink, of course.
“This is my first.”
His expression may have questioned her answer, but he didn’t say anything.
With a small smile, she asked, “What’s your name?”
Her current smile was the most contained thing he had witnessed about her tonight, and he found it endearing. “Taylor,” he responded. “What’s yours?”
“Judith. My family calls me Jude. You can call me Jude, too.”
Watching the quirky girl in front of him, he examined everything about her, noting she hadn’t even taken a sip of the drink yet. “But we’re not family.”
Nudging him with her elbow, she laughed. “We’re not friends either, but we will be.”
“We’ll be friends or we’ll be family?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her expression turning thoughtful. “Let’s see where the night takes us.”
Taylor almost argued that the night wasn’t going to be taking them anywhere, but he couldn’t. As he stood there, he started feeling a loss of his own senses. Somehow, pretty little Jude made him believe there was a possibility. Her free spirit was contagious, and in the middle of this repressed party, he started to relax. “What do you do, Jude?”
“Well, Hazel,” she said with a smirk, “I’m glad you asked.”
“Hazel?”
“Your eyes. They’re hazel. Did you know that hazel is actually a very rare eye color? Most people think it’s just an awkward brown that doesn’t have any self-identity. But it does. Your eyes do.” She lifted up again to go in for a closer look. “Yep, Rayleigh scattering.”
“Rayleigh scattering?” he asked, voluntarily widening his eyes for her to see them better. He finally just took off his glasses and tucked them into his jacket pocket. He liked to wear them for distance but didn’t need them tonight.
She sighed, perplexed. “Hazel. It’s just an impossible color.”
Leaning in to see hers, he asked, “Green?”
“Blue, but mine too suffer from a variance that is often confused by what I’m wearing. I mean,” she said, shrugging, “they really don’t, but people like to say they change when I wear blue or green or whatever. But they don’t change. My clothes do.”
He nodded, almost lost, but managed to keep up. “Do you always talk like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re manic?”
“Manic or a maniac?”
“Manic. I don’t think you’re a maniac.”
She seemed to ponder that and looked away. When she turned back, she asked, “So Hazel, what do you architect?”
“Homes. A few buildings around the city. Why are you calling me Hazel? Because of my eyes?” When a few seconds passed and she didn’t reply, he realized she didn’t tend to answer his questions, so he redirected the conversation. “And you?”
With surprise, her eyes went wide and her hand covered her chest. “Oh, I’m not an architect. Is that what this party is? A party for architects?”
Taylor was fully confused and shook his head. “No,” he said, looking around. “It’s a party for The Barretts.”
Whispering, she asked, “What’s a Barrett?”
Nothing about this woman made any sense, but he liked her chaos. He leaned over, pointed across the room at an older couple near a large fireplace, and whispered, “Those are Barretts.”
“Ahh.” Bringing the drink to her lips, she took a small sip as she watched them over the crystal glass, and then asked, “Never seen them before. Who are they?”
With his head almost touching hers, he leaned to her ear and whispered, “They’re wealthy Upper East Siders who host parties for colleagues and charities pretending to be doing it for the cause, but really it’s for the publicity.”
Her eyes were fixated on the hosts, and it took great effort resisting the temptation to look at
him. “And are you one of their ‘causes?’”
“I am.” Just as he answered, the Barretts, as if aware of their name being spoken moments earlier, came toward them. “Shit,” Taylor muttered under his breath. He straightened back up and returned their smiles.
“Taylor, darling.” The gray-haired woman with smooth skin and bright pink lipstick leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “So glad you could make it.” Her eyes focused on him, but sincerity seemed to be missing in her greeting.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Jude noticed how flat his tone was, and that the life in his eyes that had sparked when whispering with her had dulled in their presence. That was no good, and she hoped it returned once they left.
The older man shook Taylor’s hand and patted his arm with the other. “How’s the world of architecture?”
When they released, Taylor’s right hand started to shake and he tucked it into his pocket. “I’m currently working on four projects.”
“Good. Good. That’s good to hear, son.”
Mrs. Barrett asked, “Who’s your friend, Taylor?”
Jude could tell the woman wasn’t invested in the answer before he had a chance to give it. She was all too familiar with that judgmental, condescending tight-lipped grin. Taylor slid his hand down the underside of Jude’s arm and weaved his fingers together with hers. “This is Judith.”
The Barretts faced her and smiled. In unison, they said, “Hello, Judith.”
“Hello,” she replied meekly, feeling her body shrink away from their disingenuous gaze. As if Taylor understood discomfort, his hold on her tightened, causing her to look up. His smile was soft. The architect made her feel safe, so she ignored the desire to flee, and stayed.
Their clasped hands were of deep concern to The Barretts judging from their critical gaze. “And how long have you known each other?” Mrs. Barrett asked.
