I was amazed to the point of disbelief.
Unbeknownst to any of us Doran had gone back the day after he gave her the blessing to confess his love to Lucy. He claimed that the only reason the heavens had told him to pursue Grace was so that he would be around to find Lucy. He had seen her every day since. I just couldn’t believe how much Lucy had changed. The girl I had dated all those years ago would have been too busy listing Doran’s faults to ever take him seriously—not to mention the remarks she would have made about his truck. But now she seemed to hang onto him, amazed by his devotion to her, and she was so relaxed about life that her entire being seemed almost unrecognizable. Mixed with my amazement was a huge pile of honest happiness for the two of them. It was also nice not to have him hanging around Grace anymore.
Young Leon Treat probably would still have had his mind set on Grace if it hadn’t been for the accident that had occurred during the flood. I guess Leon had gotten his natural disasters mixed up, mistaking a flood for a fire. When his mother started panicking over the heavy rain he ran up to the attic and jumped out of the window, landing on top of his father’s old van. He had broken one leg and one wrist. While recovering in the hospital he developed a crush on a candy striper named Nicole. She was ten years his senior, but the way she dispensed magazines and pillows made age seem so trivial.
The elders had finished their lessons with Grace, and in doing so had really hooked Wendy. Wendy had sat in on most of them, and had begun to see some things that just might fit in her lifestyle. She had already asked them if they would teach her again, promising that this time she wouldn’t keep saying things like, “What kind of fool could swallow that.” The elders agreed, seeing how they both had just received word that they were going to be transferred out of Southdale next week. They would leave Wendy to whomever replaced them.
So with everyone out of the picture only I was left to fumble over Grace. Unless of course you were to count my father’s newfound fatherly interest in her. He still had not told us where he had been, claiming the experience was too personal to talk about just yet. He promised, however, that in time he would fill us all in. Whatever the story was, it had caused him to see Grace in a completely different light than he once had. He asked her constantly about her hometown, and about each and every person there. He was most interested in her father and all he had been through in his life. I was rather impressed with how fast my dad memorized everyone’s names, and how respectfully he spoke of them. He had even suggested that we take a trip back there someday.
I was all for that.
I missed Thelma’s Way horribly. I was glad that Grace had come here, but deep down I hoped that she would beg me to take her home soon. I missed the meadow, the mountains, the people, and the problems. I thought of the two Christmases I had spent there, and how I had ached to be back in Southdale. I can’t believe I could have ever been so naïve.
My mind moved to the present.
“What are you thinking about?” Grace whispered, her lips next to my ear.
“Home,” I replied, kissing her on the eye and then the cheek and then the mouth.
I put my hands on her back and pulled Grace toward me. I could hear her breathe and felt her eyes close. My fingers became tangled in her long red hair as she moved to get even closer.
I was just about to confess my love again when I noticed Leonard crouched down about six inches away. He was staring right at us. We both jumped.
“Looks like things are good for you two,” he commented, raising his bushy eyebrows.
“Leonard,” I protested.
“Don’t let me bother you,” he insisted. “I just had a little something I wanted to drop off for the both of you.”
“Leonard, you didn’t have to,” Grace said kindly.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I gave it to Opal. I hope you don’t mind.”
Grace smiled before I could. My father pushed open the back porch door and called us in for cake and cider.
“Want to join us, Leonard?” I asked.
“Well I did need to . . . sure,” he said with excitement.
We walked inside, passing the Christmas tree in the living room on the way to where my family was gathered. Leonard broke away, leaving Grace and me alone again. We looked down and noticed that there wasn’t a single present under the tree.
I could think of nothing that bothered me less.
My family broke out in song in the other room, their voices mixing with the smell of the Christmas tree. I felt Grace shudder under the weight of how perfect this was. It didn’t matter that our carpets were still damp, or that no presents had been purchased. God had stocked us up with more than we could ever possibly rotate. Once again He had moved me around until I stood where I was supposed to. I lifted my face to the ceiling, almost expecting Him to be there.
“What are you thinking about?” Grace whispered.
There were no words to properly describe it.
Acknowledgments
I like to thank people. It’s easy. “Hey, thanks,” is all it usually takes. Of course, there are moments when words so simple not only don’t cut it, but they’re insulting. I’m sure that Superman would have been quite unsatisfied if the citizens of the world had just thrown out a casual, “Appreciate ya,” after he had saved them from complete destruction. I forgot where I’m going with this. Oh, yes, the importance of proportionate gratitude. I am hugely thankful to, and for, everyone at Deseret Book. This series would never have taken root without the help of so many amazing people: Richard Peterson, Kent Ware, Bronwyn Evans, Sheri Dew, Ron Millett, my longtime friend Richard Erickson, and, of course, Emily Watts. Roger Toone, who has been more of a support and help than he could possibly know. Timothy Robinson, who has cheered and challenged me across lines I was previously comfortably ignoring. And to all the people who have sold and bought my books with such enthusiasm and kindness—this would have been impossible without you. So, these few words may be simple, but they couldn’t be more sincere. Thank you all! Finally, I would like to publicly declare (to those of you who didn’t tune out sentences ago) that my life would be completely two-dimensional and tiny without the strength and love of my father, Farrell Smith. Dad, you’re the best. Thanks for giving your children such spectacular vision.
About the Author
Robert Farrell Smith lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with his wife, Krista, his daughters, Kindred Anne and Phoebe Hope, and his son, Bennett Williams. He is the owner of Sunrise Bookstore in Albuquerque. Robert is a man with few hobbies. He played the drums for one and a half weeks when he was ten and took two tennis lessons back in 1996. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on whom you ask, writing is the one thing he stuck with. As a result, Robert is the author of several funny books, including All Is Swell: Trust in Thelma’s Way, book one of the Trust Williams Trilogy.
If for any reason you wish to scold, criticize, compliment, or bother Robert, please do so by writing to:
Robert Farrell Smith
P.O. Box 37050
Albuquerque, New Mexico 87176
Or on the web at:
www.robertfarrellsmith.com
Falling for Grace Page 24
