Joel smiled when he thought about how some from his time might have viewed these decidedly domestic acts of kindness. Many would have dismissed Grace as a love-struck lightweight, a submissive and even obsessive throwback who had sacrificed her individuality on the altar of her man. But he knew better. Grace was laying the groundwork for what she hoped would be a long and happy relationship, a relationship that would include not only a successful marriage and children but also a teaching career and separate interests. She was tending to her investment. Having forfeited much, including several friendships, to bring him into her life, she was not about to lose him through neglect. They had not spent a single day apart since returning from Seaside.
Joel knew, of course, that there was more to consider than whether they could make it work. Much more. He had influenced and altered lives he was never supposed to touch. He could not imagine life without Grace, but he wondered whether he had made the right decision in pursuing her and wondered how it would all play out. If their commitment to each other was crystal clear, the impact that a rapidly approaching December morning might have on their relationship was not. Things could get complicated very fast. Recognizing the futility of worrying and speculating about events he could not control, he pushed the thoughts aside. They could wait for another day.
His introspection, however, had not gone unnoticed. While he was studying his guests, one of his guests was studying him. Upon finishing her dinner, Grace got off the couch and walked to the fireplace. She sat next to her host and put a hand on his knee.
"You've been kind of quiet. Is something wrong?"
"No. I'm fine."
"It doesn't appear that way. I saw you staring at Tom and Ginny," Grace said, eyes focused on his. "You're thinking about them, all of us, and how you fit in. Am I right?"
Joel considered the question but only after considering the questioner. In just a few weeks, she had become remarkably adept at deciphering his facial expressions and responding accordingly. Jana had had the same gift, but she rarely put it to use. As preposterous as it sounded, Grace knew him better than he knew himself.
"That's part of it. I've really been lucky. Had I not bumped into Tom and met all of you, my life would be much different. I think about that a lot."
Grace grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and gave him a reassuring smile.
"We're not all that different, you and I. This is my family too."
The gesture snapped Joel out of his funk but not off the topic. He kissed her on the head and walked to a table in the back of the room and a half-empty bottle of champagne. He pulled it out of a bucket of ice and filled six flutes before returning to the warmth of the fireplace. After topping off his own glass, he turned to face his guests.
"Thank you all for coming to our housewarming. I feel a bit strange, given that this fine-looking couple over here will kick me out in a few months and put me back on the street," he said, drawing laughter. "But that's OK. I feel privileged just to be here. It feels good to be surrounded by people who care. If I haven't said it before, I'm saying it now. Thank you. Thank you for making me a part of your family and giving me a home."
Joel raised his glass in a toast and acknowledged the warm smiles in the room. He pondered the beauty of the moment and the unique opportunity it had given him to square his accounts. He loved these people, all of them, and he wanted to tell them.
He knew he might never have the chance to tell them again.
CHAPTER 52
He was a ripple in a sea of humanity but not a lot more. Every time Stanford came to the line late in the second quarter and the noise in the stadium began to rise, Joel Smith stood up and threw his hands to the sky. But no one stood with him, at least in a fashion designed to achieve the desired result.
"What are you doing, passing gas?" Tom asked, laughing. "It will take more than that to disrupt their offense."
"I'm trying to start a wave. Come on. Help me out."
"Tom has a point," Ginny said. "You're just annoying the people behind us."
"I don't believe it. You two have a chance to be forty years ahead of your time, and you're sitting on your cans."
"I'll tell you what. I'll stand up the next series, but I'll do it only once," Tom said, smiling. "I have a professional reputation to uphold."
"Never mind."
Joel sat down and lamented the missed opportunity. Seated near the top of the north grandstands, he surveyed the horseshoe-shaped arena on the shore of the lake and looked for anything familiar. The capacity crowd of 43,000 was sufficiently noisy but surprisingly tame. Cheerful cheerleaders in knee-length skirts worked the student section with pompoms and megaphones, but none availed themselves to a body pass or flashed the flesh in ways that might trigger alumni coronaries. No one batted around a beach ball or held up derisive signs. Even the fraternity rows along the fifty-yard line seemed sedate.
"Does the band ever play 'Tequila'?" Joel asked, knowing that a stupid question was sometimes the best way to stir conversation.
"What?" Tom asked, looking at his friend like he had arrived from another planet. "I think you had a little too much coffee this morning."
Ginny smiled at Joel and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm enjoying myself, if that is any consolation," she said. "I love homecoming."
She did too. For Virginia Gillette, the past week had meant more than a football game. It had meant academic receptions, a dedicated series of articles for the Barker, pep rallies, bonfires, and dances. It had meant spending quality time with her alumnus fiancé and pondering her post-graduate future. For Joel, homecoming had always meant frat parties, tailgaters, and a Saturday watching his school tee off on Cal or Oregon State.
"It is pretty nice," Joel said, returning to the action.
Joel saw Stanford line up in a T formation and wondered if it was only a matter of time before the Indians' all-American quarterback provided grist for history's highlight reel. He hadn't seen a Statue of Liberty play in ages or a flea flicker since Westlake stunned Tacoma Central in the quarterfinals his senior year. He marveled too at the uniforms, particularly the retro wool jerseys, skimpy pads, and bulky leather helmets that turned every player into an aviator. By halftime, more than half the gridders were caked with mud. It was football as it was meant to be.
"It's too bad Grace couldn't join us," Ginny said. "She needs to get out more. But she didn't have a choice. A lot of people called in sick at the library today."
Joel grinned as he took in the comment. He had called in sick from his work-study job at the recreation center on more than one football Saturday. It seemed that some things had not changed in fifty-nine years.
"Where's Katie?"
"She's here at the game. But she's spending the day with the Hasu Club. I think they're over by the visitors' end zone."
When the last whistle of the first half signaled intermission, Tom reached for his wallet, counted the bills, and asked if anyone wanted something to eat. Having skipped breakfast, he seemed eager to hit the concession stands.
"Just tell me what you want. I'll get it. There's no sense in all of us standing in line."
Ginny requested a drink but passed on any food. Joel declined both. He put on his jacket and said he had to run but insisted he would return before the end of the game.
"Where do you think you're going?" Tom asked. "It's only 13-0. We can come back and win this thing. Have some faith, buddy."
"I have a lot of faith," Joel said. "I just want to stretch my legs and check out the sights. It's been a while since I've been a part of something like this."
"Suit yourself," Tom said. "I'm out."
When Thomas Carter reached the aisle and began to work his way down the stairs to the exit, Joel turned to Ginny and gave her his program and a knowing glance.
"I'll try to be back," he said. "I mean it."
"I know you do," Ginny said with a smile. "Give our worker bee a hug."
CHAPTER 53
Grace looked at the bo
ok and shook her head. Five times she had tried to squeeze the oversized tome on Northwest plant species into its designated space. Five times she had failed. The crumbling volume, published during the McKinley administration, was too big for the shelf but apparently too valuable to be weeded.
She wondered, and not for the first time, why the library kept books that no one touched except spiders and mice. But she loved her work and so readily answered the call when Mrs. Lois Peabody, her supervisor in the rare books section of the library, asked her to come in on a Saturday when two regulars had suddenly fallen ill with the flu.
Grace reported at two, found a wooden cart full of books, and pushed it past the front desk to a door and a ramp that led to a dark chamber in the bowels of the building. Open only to staff, the musty room was the final resting place for once prominent publications that time and even catalogers had forgotten. Senior staff called the storage area the library's soul. Students called it the Crypt.
Giving up on the book on plants, Grace glanced at the spine of another volume, flicked on a dim light in the stacks, and pushed the cart toward another shelf. She was about to put The Minutes of the Privy Council of Scotland in its rightful place when a sudden sound made her scream and drop the massive book on her foot.
"Boo!"
Joel popped his head through the space officially reserved for seventeenth century British documents and greeted the startled information specialist.
"Happy Halloween!"
"Don't ever do that again!" she snapped. "You scared me."
Grace watched a silly grin vanish from his face. Her flash of anger had apparently taken him as much by surprise as his unannounced visit had taken her.
"I'm sorry," a sorry-sounding Joel Smith said. "I couldn't resist."
"How did you get in here? Only library staff can enter this room."
Mr. Apologetic stepped out from behind the stacks and held out his hands. He addressed Grace only after she could see that he posed no threat to public safety.
"I followed you in. I watched you push a cart through the door and, when Miss Pointy Nose left the desk, I snuck through the door," he said.
Attired in a white, short-sleeved sweater and a crisp plaid skirt, the student worker stared at the roguish intruder. He sported an unshaven face and looked a lot like the varmint she had once seen on a bench. Grace wondered how many other unauthorized visitors had entered the Crypt on her watch.
"Well, you shouldn't have done that. It's against library rules."
Joel grinned.
"I'm sorry. Truly. Next time I'll make an appointment with Miss Pointy Nose."
"Peabody. Her name is Mrs. Peabody."
"Got it. Mrs. Peabody. I'll have my secretary call hers. There has to be at least one or two openings next week," Joel said. "Now, tell me, Grace, and be honest, what's a princess like you doing in a dungeon like this?"
Grace suppressed a smile. She was still a little angry with him but realized that she had no answer for a repentant young man who chummed the waters with flattery.
"I'm putting away rare and valuable books, so that less committed individuals can watch grown men in restrictive pants play in the mud for three hours."
* * * * *
Joel laughed at the slam and wondered what Grace would think of less worthy pursuits, like monster truck rallies, steel cage matches, tractor pulls, and mud wrestling. He knew the answer. She would want season tickets and front-row seats.
"Why aren't you at the game? I thought you liked football," she said.
"I do. But I like rare books better."
"Well, I doubt that you will find anything of interest in here."
"That's rather presumptuous of you, Miss Vandenberg. Do you really know my tastes in literature? I'm serious now. I'm a well-rounded individual."
Grateful that Grace's moment of anger had passed, Joel jumped on the opening she had given him. He shifted the cart to get a better look at the titles.
"I doubt your tastes extend to the Privy Council of Scotland."
"Probably not. But what about this?"
Joel pulled a book from the shelf and flipped to the title page.
"Hmm. Meandering Streams and Their Seasonal Impact on Vegetation in Coastal Lowlands. Clearly this has no business hiding in a cave. And what about that?"
Joel pulled a book out of Grace's hands.
"Looks like Darwin left us a gift: The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex. You know, Grace, I've given the descent of man and sex a lot of thought over the years. I believe the concepts are closely related. What say you?"
"I say you've been reading something else."
"No. I've been reading only the good stuff, like this here. I think Darwin was on to something. But his research was incomplete. Sex can never be studied too extensively. I may have to pursue some field experiments this afternoon."
"Don't even think about it."
Joel grinned and tried to step around the cart, but Grace pushed it in his path. He placed Darwin on top of the cart and ran around the lighted stacks in an attempt to flank his prey. But she had already moved to the other side.
"You're pretty quick for a librarian."
He pushed the cart forward, but she stopped it with her foot and shoved it back. So he ran around the darkened stacks and managed to grab her hand before she screamed loudly, broke free, and again barricaded herself behind the books that no one read.
"You stay right there, Mr. Smith. You have sin on your mind."
The two stared at each other and smiled – he scarily, she warily – for ten seconds before Miss Pointy Nose interrupted their cat-and-mouse moment.
"Is everything all right down there, Grace? I heard a scream."
"I'm fine, Mrs. Peabody. I thought I saw a mouse, but it was nothing."
"OK. I'm going to take a break now. I'd like you to come up and watch the desk."
"I'll be right there."
Joel put a hand to his chin, as if pondering something profound, and then turned his attention to Grace. He frowned and shook his head.
"You really ought to hire more security in this building. I'm serious. Any Johnny Come Lately could sneak down here and harass the help," he said. He held his hands up as he walked backward toward a second exit. "I'll leave you alone now."
"You do that, and take a very cold shower when you get home. Or, better yet, stop by the police station and turn yourself in."
Joel laughed, turned around, and continued toward a flight of stairs that led to an emergency door. When he reached the top, he heard a soft voice and looked back.
"Thank you for coming, Joel. Next time I'll go to the game."
Grace stepped around the cart and tiptoed over several books that had spilled onto the cement floor, including a work on meandering streams that had meandered ten feet. She walked closer to the intruder and gave him the smile he had come for.
"Will I see you tonight?"
"You'll see me tonight."
"Joel?"
"Yeah."
"I love you."
CHAPTER 54
When Joel returned to Fifty-Second Street from an unusually long day at work, he found two things: Tom slumped in a chair and mail scattered on the wooden floor. Picking up the scraps of paper, he noticed a flyer from a nearby market, a utility bill, a postcard from the alumni association, and an opened letter from a local draft board. Joel sat on the couch, kicked off his shoes, and began reading the letter. Dated November 10, or two days earlier, it bore the official seal of the United States.
"I'll save you the trouble," Tom said matter-of-factly. He stared blankly out the living room window. "It's an order to report for induction. I have twelve days."
Joel examined the typed form letter and noted a date, November 24, and a place, the National Guard armory. The order instructed Tom to appear at eight o'clock. From the armory, he would be transported to an induction station in Tacoma, examined, and, "if accepted for training and service," be inducted into the Army. That branch o
f the service was circled in pen.
"It says here that you still have to pass a physical."
"Yeah, some test. I have to be taller than Mickey Rooney, have half my teeth, and not have bad eyes, flat feet, or the clap," Tom said bitterly. "I'll pass."
"Have you told Ginny and your folks?"
"I just got off the phone with Ginny. Mom and Dad don't know. I'll drive over tonight. But they won't be surprised. They knew this was coming."
Settling into the corner of the couch, Joel tried to find comforting words. But he could not think of any. He had never been in Tom's position or anything like it.
As a courtesy to his father, Joel had met with a representative of the Naval ROTC program his freshman year in college. But that was as close as he had ever come to the United States military. He had never served or been drafted, much less drafted against his will during a global conflagration.
"I'm really sorry, Tom. I wish I could help."
Joel pondered what the news meant for him as well. Barring a failed physical, he would soon be without a housemate, a colleague, and a best friend – a friend who had taken him off the streets, found him a job, and introduced him to two women who were now the center of his life. He thought about Ginny, the wedding that would never happen, and how she would cope with a loss that was all but written in the stars.
"You know what really bothers me," Tom said, finally turning toward his friend. "I had no choice in the matter. I'm as ready to defend this country as the next guy. But we're not at war, are we? It's not right, I tell you. It's not right."
"No, it's not."
Joel glanced at a chalet-style cuckoo clock on the roomy mantle of the fireplace and noticed ornate hands in a straight vertical line. He got off the couch, walked over to his chum, and put a hand on his shoulder.
The Mine (Northwest Passage Book 1) Page 20
