by Mary Carter
“We can’t wait that long. I have to find Jake.”
“Come on. I’ll show you.” Grace followed Jean Sebastian up the stairs. She couldn’t believe she was contemplating skirting a ledge and jumping onto a balcony. That was for the movies, not real life. But there was no way she was going to stay cooped up here until seven p.m. while Jake was God knows where. Maybe the others were passed out on the grounds just outside.
Grace looked out the window that Jean Sebastian had managed to open. She was relieved to see that the building wasn’t that high at all. Even if she fell, it meant breaking an ankle, not plunging to her death. Still, she had a feeling she was going to need her ankles intact. “Let’s just yell for help,” Grace said.
“Go ahead,” Jean Sebastian said. “Although I doubt anyone will hear you but the seagulls.” Grace stuck her head out and yelled for help. She could hear her voice echo in the morning air.
“Hello?” Jean Sebastian yelled. “Anybody there?” After a few more attempts, Grace resigned herself to what had to be done. She wondered what Marsh Everett would think of her now. Climbing out on ledges in Spain. She’d have to write about this one day. Use it all for her art. What a crock of shit. Whoever came up with that deserved to be beaten. If Jake were here right now, he’d know she was on the verge of composing in her head. It was the thought of finding him that made her climb out the window and stand on the ledge. It was about three inches wide, and she’d have to scoot along the wall about six feet. She was petite, and as long as she didn’t look down, or panic, it was within the realm of possibility. Jean Sebastian was right beside her. “Don’t stop,” he said. “Don’t think.”
“But where are we going?”
“When you get to the edge, you’ll see. Right below is a first-floor little balcony. I was out for a smoke on it last night.”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Once in a while. When I drink. I hope you are not choosing this moment to lecture me.”
“Definitely not.” Grace’s heart was pounding. She was in danger of hyperventilating. Jean Sebastian was right. Nike was right. Just do it. She scooted a little to the left.
“That’s it.”
“It’s not that high.”
“Two stories.”
“Even if I fell, I’d probably just break my ankle.”
“As long as you protect your head and neck.” Great. She shouldn’t have opened her mouth. She felt frozen with panic. “You’re right; you’re right,” Jean Sebastian said. “You would only sprain an ankle.”
“I can’t do it. I can’t move.”
“You’re a singer, right?”
“Yes. But it’s hardly the time for a concert.”
“It’s a perfect time. You sing, and you move. You sing, and you move.”
“What do you want me to sing?”
“Whatever song you like. Whatever makes you feel good.”
See, Marsh Everett. See? Grace glanced out. The sun was low on the ocean. It was a beautiful and peaceful morning. Where were the locals? Why couldn’t somebody be out walking his or her dog? They could call the fire department and bring ladders. But the club was out of the way, probably so they could party as loud and as long as they wanted. Grace picked a popular country song; she wasn’t going to sing one of her own right now—a critique was the last thing she could take at the moment.
“Take your cat and leave my sweater”—Grace scooted a few more inches than the last time. “We’ve got nothing left to weather”—scoot, scoot.
“I thought it was take your cap,” Jean Sebastian said.
“That’s a common misconception,” Grace said. Scoot, scoot, scoot. “It’s definitely cat.”
“Take your cat and leave my sweater,” Jean Sebastian said.
It sounded funny in his accent. Grace laughed. Then she was in danger of getting the giggles. When Grace got the giggles, her whole body shook. It used to happen all the time with Carrie Ann. One of Carrie Ann’s favorite pastimes back then had been giving Grace the giggles in all the wrong places, like church. She needed to think of something serious. Lionel Gale.
She saw him dangling from the noose in the barn. His black leather shoes were level with her eyes. Shining from a recent coat of polish. Before he had crawled up to the hayloft, attached the rope from Stan’s tire swing to the rafters, and slipped the noose around his neck, he had polished his shoes. Just thinking about it made Grace cry out.
“Easy, easy,” Jean Sebastian said.
She was going to have a breakdown. Calm down. Calm down. Sing a few bars of the song you wrote for Stan. You won’t crack up. Singing does help you calm down. Just do it. Jean Sebastian won’t know. Grace took a deep breath.
“It was a Tuesday night, he was a working man, he had a son named Stan.” It was strange at first to hear her own singing voice. God, she’d kind of missed it. Grace scooted and scooted and scooted. “She was a foster child, she was a girl gone wild, her name was Carrie Ann.” Grace was focused and calm. “We shared my tree house, she was a friend in need, but not a friend in deed.” She stopped.
“Keep going,” Jean Sebastian said. “Keep singing.” He sounded strained. Grace needed to listen to him. She needed to shut out everything else and just sing.
Stan had a tire swing,
He liked everything,
He was a boy with hope
His feet could touch the sky,
He could really fly
It was a long, thick rope. . . .
Finally she was at the edge.
“That song,” Jean Sebastian said. “You wrote it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s beautiful. Sounds sad.”
You have no idea. “I’ve never sung it for anyone.”
“Why not?”
“It’s personal.”
“I want to hear the rest sometime.”
“Now what?” Grace said.
“The balcony is just around the corner. You’ll have to scoot, then either bend down, or just jump. From there, it’s only another short jump to the ground.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t think, just sing and go.”
“It was a Tuesday night, he was a working man, he had a son named Stan.” Grace stepped out farther and planted her foot. She rounded the corner and lost her balance. Jean Sebastian’s arm was on her chest in an instant, and he held her back against the building. She could feel his arm atop her breasts, and she could feel her heart beating against his forearm like a one-woman drum circle.
“Easy,” Jean Sebastian said. “Easy.” He sounded so in control. It dawned on her that his experience in the Congo had probably prepared him for much worse than this. “If you stay still, I think I can make it around you. I’ll jump onto the balcony first and then I’m there to catch you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Grace hated that she was so afraid. But she was immobile again, and no amount of singing was going to help this time.
“Don’t move.”
No problema, she thought, but she couldn’t even say the words. She pressed her back hard against the building. Jean Sebastian scooted close to her. He put one hand on either side of her, one foot on either side of her feet. They were face-to-face, close enough to kiss, and she had the most inappropriate urge to do just that. Jake would not like this one bit. Jean Sebastian scooted his left hand out farther, then brought his right to her other side and finally swung his last foot over. He was now on the other side of her. From there he jumped. She heard a bang as he landed on a chair on the balcony and knocked over a cigarette bucket that clanged to the ground. He landed with the chair on top of him and his top leg bent.
“Are you okay?”
“Un momento.” Jean Sebastian moaned and held his leg. He thrashed out and kicked the cigarette bucket away. “Maybe I will quit,” he said, flicking butts off him. “Fuckers.” Grace guessed the word worked no matter what your native language was. She wondered what the Belgian word for fuckers was. Jean Sebastian soon righted himself.
He held out his arms. “Nothing broken.” He moved close to the edge and kept his arms open. “I’ll catch you. I promise.”
He was tall. And seemed pretty sturdy.
“Can you move the chair? And get rid of the cigarettes?”
“You’re pretty picky for a damsel in distress.”
“Sorry.”
Jean Sebastian shook his head and smiled, but moved the chair and kicked cigarettes out of the way. “Good?”
“Better.”
“Jump.”
“Oh, God.”
“I’ve got you.” Grace jumped. Jean Sebastian’s arms wrapped around her, but the force of her coming into him sent him stumbling back a few steps. Their bodies slammed into the rail of the balcony, and for a moment Grace was sure they were going over. Jean Sebastian was definitely in a back bend. If the railing gave, they wouldn’t even have time to protect their heads and necks. Jean Sebastian grunted, then curled forward, and the two of them hit the deck of the balcony with a thud. Grace felt all the air go out of her lungs as Jean Sebastian fell on top of her. This was the moment when being petite certainly didn’t help. “Sorry, sorry.” Jean Sebastian immediately removed himself from her. “Are you all right?”
“I’m okay.”
“You can talk. Good. Means you can breathe.”
We’re setting the bar pretty low here, aren’t we? Jean Sebastian held out his hand. Grace took it, and he hauled her up. They looked over the balcony rail. It was still a good six-foot drop. Jean Sebastian was already lowering himself over the edge. Maybe compared to the Congo, this was like recess. He hung for a minute and then dropped. He landed on his feet. Stan used to drop out of the tree house like that. Funny how seeing Carrie Ann was bringing back all these memories, a tidal wave of little moments.
“Your turn,” Jean Sebastian said. “I’ll catch you if I can.”
“Catch me if you can,” said the Belgian man. She really was a girl out of Nashville.
CHAPTER 22
Grace couldn’t get to the apartment fast enough. She and Jean Sebastian walked for a short while and then encountered a taxicab driver snoozing in his car on the side of the road. They startled him by pounding on the window, but got a smile out of him when Grace flashed the cash. He was then as chipper as could be, as he raced around the streets of Barcelona toward La Rambla. He didn’t even seem to notice that Grace didn’t speak Spanish. Jean Sebastian knew enough to keep up a conversation, and after he told her they were discussing sports, she could not have cared less. The world could be ending and men would still be talking sports. She just wanted to get to the apartment and find Jake. She had this horrible feeling that he wasn’t there. Again, there was no way he would have ever left her on a bathroom floor. If he too had been drugged, where did he end up? They were going to have to call the cops, but the apartment was the first step. The cops. Probably not the slang used for Spanish police. What a nightmare it was going to be, working with police from a different country. Would they care about a missing American tourist? Well, Grace would make them care. Oh, God. She was going to miss another call with her mother. This was just a nightmare. Her mom might be out of it, but her dad would probably catch on that something was wrong.
When the cab drew up as close as it could get, Grace threw the money at Jean Sebastian and started to run to the apartment.
“Wait,” Jean Sebastian yelled. “I don’t know where it is.”
Right. Grace stopped, already breathing heavy, and waited for Jean Sebastian to catch up. Luckily, he was smart enough to make it fast. “Sorry.”
“What if they’re not there?” he said as they ran toward the building. They. He was worried about Carrie Ann too. Possibly Rafael. All she could think about was Jake. Was it wrong to blame Carrie Ann? She was just a magnet for trouble. Could Stan have pulled this off all by himself? She supposed it was easy enough to drug a bunch of drinks, but wouldn’t he have needed help in getting the others wherever he had taken them? Wait. Hadn’t Carrie Ann said something about Stan’s being friends with Rafael? Her memory of last night was too fuzzy for Grace to be sure. If only she’d warned Jake! This is what she deserved for keeping things from him.
“These are nice,” Jean Sebastian said as they went under the archway leading to the apartment building’s entrance.
“Rafael’s parents own it, I guess,” Grace said.
“You guess?”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve ever met them.” And I take everything Carrie Ann says with a boatload of salt. Grace raced into the lobby. Stefano wasn’t at the desk. Great. The one time he could actually be useful, and he was gone. Grace flew up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Her hands shook as she inserted the key and threw the door open. “Jake?” She was immediately hit by a feeling of stillness. Emptiness. “Jake.” She tore through the place, looking for any signs that he’d at least come home after the club. As far as she remembered, things looked exactly the way they had when they’d left for the evening. Jake’s comb and toothbrush were even in the same spot in the bathroom. He’d never made it home from the club. That reality was like a slap to the face. Where were they? What was happening to them?
“Anything?” Jean Sebastian stood in the doorway. Tears invading, Grace shook her head.
“Carrie Ann’s apartment is directly above,” Grace said. Jean Sebastian nodded and turned toward the stairs. Grace was about to follow when the computer began to ring. She stopped. Her mother. She turned to Jake’s laptop, expecting to find it password protected as before. Instead, the screen was open and available. Had Jake been able to get in and remove the password requirement? She knew her mother would be anxious to hear from her. And Grace didn’t want to miss out on a single conversation with her mother. Not a single one! She had to bite down hard on the side of her mouth to stop the flow of tears. She sat in the chair in front of the computer and answered the call.
“Gracie?” There was always a few-second delay until the picture came in. But she could tell just from her mother’s voice that Jody was coherent. These rare times were little gifts. Actually getting to speak to her mother, the one that remembered.
“Hi, Mom. Hi there. How are you?”
“Oh honey, it’s so good to hear your voice. Can you see me?”
“Not yet.” And then the picture came in. Jody Sawyer was sitting up in her bed. Her hair looked like it had recently been done, and she was wearing makeup and a regular top. In other words, she had dressed up for this phone call. “There you are,” Grace said. “Oh, Mom. You look beautiful.”
“So do you, darling. Although you look a bit tired.”
“We went to a dance club last night.”
Jody clasped her hands together and opened her mouth in an O. “A dance club. I love it.”
“It was really fun.” You know. Except for being drugged and left overnight on the bathroom floor and waking up to find that Jake has probably been kidnapped. “It was right on the ocean.” Grace could feel someone in the doorway. Jean Sebastian was standing there. Grace held her index finger up. “Can you hold one sec, Ma? There’s a neighbor at the door.”
“A neighbor,” Jody said. “How intriguing.”
“Hold on.” Grace ran to the door. “Sorry—my mom.”
“You have to talk now?” Jean Sebastian said.
“Yes. I have to. It’s a long story.” Grace glanced upstairs. “Anything?”
“I knocked. Over and over. No answer, and I couldn’t hear anything coming from inside,” Jean Sebastian said.
“Okay. You can sit at the counter, but don’t make a peep, okay?” Jean Sebastian nodded. Grace went back to the call. “Sorry about that, Mom. So tell me how it’s going.”
“Oh, fair to middling. My tumor shrunk a little bit, honey. Isn’t that great?”
“Oh my God. That’s so great. And you’re feeling better?”
“I think your adventure is reviving me. So tell me. What else have you lovebirds been doing?” Grace managed to tell her about Casa Batlló and
Sagrada Família and the Miró Museum without giving away that anything was wrong. “Where’s my future son-in-law?” Jody asked.
“He’s actually out at the market,” Grace said. “Getting a little something for our lunch.”
“That sounds wonderful. Will you drink wine with it?”
“Oh, yes.” No. I’m never drinking ever again.
“Hey, Graceful.” Her father’s head popped onto the screen.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How’s our traveler today?”
“I’m good, Dad.”
“You look tired.”
“She was out dancing, James. All night long. Remember when we used to do that?” It had been a long time since Grace had heard her mother call him James. Grace bit her lip to keep from crying.
“Did we ever do that?” Jody swatted Jim and smiled at Grace. All the time, she mouthed. Grace smiled.
“Have you seen Stella, Dad?”
“As a matter of fact, Dan brought her by just the other day.”
Dan. It was partly his fault they were in this mess. Grace was going to strangle him when they got back. “How is she?”
“Feisty. She’s a hoot on that skateboard.”
“Cats don’t skateboard,” Jody said.
“Stella’s a dog, Mom. Our bulldog.”
“We don’t have a dog,” Jody said. She sounded irritated. “We had a cat, Brady.”
“Yes, we had a cat. But that was a long time ago. I have a dog now.” Grace knew better, but sometimes she just wanted to puncture that veneer of forgetting.
“Brady,” Jody said. She looked at the camera. She looked frail and vulnerable. Then her face hardened; her lips pursed. “Carrie Ann strangled Brady,” she said.
Grace heard the squeal of a chair behind her. Jean Sebastian had almost fallen off it. “What?” Grace said. “No. Brady just died. I found him on the steps.”
“I found him on the steps,” Jody said. “I had just enough time to remove the scarf wrapped around his poor neck before you saw him.”
“Dad?” Grace said. This had to be her mother forgetting things again. “Dad?”
