Graced: A Love Letters Novel

by Kristen Blakely

  Her head felt heavy with thoughts—mostly unformed, all unfinished. The fog of grief was so thick—

  Anger sliced right through it.

  Connor stood at the entrance of the cemetery, carrying Hope in one arm. His other hand rested on Grace’s shoulder.

  Where had he been when she’d needed him? Other than the first day when he’d stayed to coordinate with the EMTs who arrived to take her father’s body away, she had not seen him in days. He had called frequently, but the conversations were usually cut short by some pressing matter Noelle had to deal with—decisions and preparations for the wake and the funeral, a neighbor at the door, or a call from the lawyer’s office.

  Where had he been, and why had he kept his children away? Didn’t he know that hugging Grace would have helped her? Didn’t he know that cuddling Hope would have consoled her?

  Of course he did. His children had helped him survive the loss of Millie.

  He simply hadn’t loved Noelle enough to share his children with her to help her survive her loss.

  She stopped in front of him. “What are you doing here? The funeral ended an hour ago.”

  “I’m sorry; it was the soonest I could get away.”

  “People make time for things that matter.”

  He inclined his head, accepting the rebuke in silence. His hand tightened on Grace’s shoulder.

  The little girl looked up at Noelle. “I’m sorry about your father.” She said the words in a tune-like lilt that told Noelle it was practiced and recited under protest. Her lips clammed shut, and the glare she gave her father was mutinous. Even so, she huddled close to him, probably for protection from the rain.

  Hope cooed and reached out to Noelle.

  Noelle stared at the toddler, her heart shattering beneath the weight of guilt and regret. Connor was obviously neither as ready for a new relationship as he had seemed, nor wanted her as much as he had appeared.

  Swallowing hard against the lump of tears in her throat, Noelle shouldered past Connor and his daughters. She drove away, the rain on the windscreen obscuring her view as much as the tears in her eyes.

  “Why did she leave?” Grace asked, her voice filled with the bewildered pain of a rejected child.

  Connor’s fist clenched. Because I couldn’t get away. Because I couldn’t juggle work and parenting well enough to be there for someone who means everything to me.

  Noelle was right, of course. People made time for the things that mattered.

  And he hadn’t.

  Jason had been out all week, and the clinic filled to overflowing with patients suffering from a particularly nasty flu season. As for Grace—Connor frowned as he stared down at his daughter. Something was wrong. She was clingy and moody, fluctuating between the flush of anger and a quiet cocoon of deep depression. She was too young for Prozac, and probably too young to be suicidal, but he did not dare leave her alone. She had woken multiple times each night, screaming for him.

  He had scarcely slept all week.

  Phone calls to Noelle had been the best he could manage. A few days earlier, when he had a half-hour break for lunch, he had visited Noelle, but she had not been at home.

  “Why did she leave?” Grace repeated.

  Connor shook his head. “She’s angry with me.”

  Grace’s eyes narrowed. Her lips pursed into a frown. “Why?”

  “Because when her father died, Noelle probably needed me to be there for her. I wasn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I was busy. The clinic. The babysitters—”

  “I hate the babysitter. I don’t want a babysitter.”

  Connor pressed his fingers against his persistent headache. “I know.” Grace had been vehemently set against all the babysitters he had tried to bring in that week to free up an hour for him to see Noelle. The last thing Noelle needed on top of her grief was the chaos of rowdy children—especially Grace, who was so brutally frank, even tactless, on the topic of death—but in the end, the only way he had been able to see Noelle at all was to bring both Grace and Hope along.

  And look how that worked out.

  He gently turned Grace around to usher her back to the car.

  “I like Noelle,” Grace said.

  “I know.”

  “I don’t like it when you’re busy.”

  “Damn it, Grace. There are things I have to do. Whether or not you like it isn’t going to stop me from doing it, like working to provide a roof over your head, and putting a healthy dinner on the table, and insisting that you brush your teeth before bedtime.”

  Her lower lip quivered. “I hate bedtime.”

  He lost his tenuous grip on his temper. “And that’s the other thing about life. Sometimes, the things we hate are the things we need to do anyway, like eat dinner and sleep.”

  “I hate—”

  “That’s enough!”

  The roar of his voice blasted a look of utter shock on Grace’s face. A moment later, tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  Guilt speared through him. “Damn it.” He ground his teeth and strode away, leaving Grace to follow in her own time. He tucked Hope into her car seat and glanced over his shoulder; Grace was several feet away, dragging her feet. At that rate, it would be a half hour before she reached the car.

  His anger simmering over, he walked back to her, grabbed her off her feet, and carried her, kicking and screaming, back to the car. He buckled her into her booster seat and shut the door. Grace’s flustered, tear-streaked face stared up at him, breaking his heart. His hands curled into fists that he pressed against the cold, wet window. Damn it all to hell.

  The surge of frustration, of pain, slammed his fist into the side of the car.

  His curse and the sound of flesh smashing against steel rattled the car. Both Hope and Grace jerked, startled by the auditory slap of violence, and began crying. Connor stared down at his knuckles. Physical pain shot through his entire arm. His fingers were not broken, but they would be bruised black and blue by tomorrow.

  Better me than them, he thought with grim satisfaction. His head was no clearer, his heart no less aching, when he got into the car and drove his broken family home for an unwanted dinner and bedtime.

  Noelle pushed the scarcely tasted bowl of chicken soup aside. The freezer was once again overflowing with trays of lasagna and containers of soup. The kindness and generosity of the people of Havre de Grace was the sole balm against the screaming pain of losing her father.

  “Do you want anything else?” Holly asked, standing up to clear the table.

  Noelle shook her head.

  “What about you, Mom?” Holly glanced at the white-haired woman who shared the table with them.

  “No, thank you.”

  Noelle’s cell phone rang. A flicker of hope and anticipation surged through her until she glanced at the number and realized it was not Connor. She accepted the call. “Hello, Rick.”

  “Hi, Noelle. I got your message. It sounded urgent, or I might have waited until morning. Is everything all right?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about listing Daddy’s pet store for sale.”

  Rick Riordan, formerly of Havre de Grace, was a business broker who ran a successful business in Maryland and Washington, D.C., matching up sellers and buyers. He was silent for several moments. “Are you sure you want to make a decision so quickly?”

  “Absolutely. I never wanted the pet store, but Daddy left it to me entirely. The sooner it’s sold, the faster we can all move on with our lives.”

  “I do know several people who are interested in owning small-town businesses. The fact that it’s in Havre de Grace will be a huge selling point. Do you have the financial records—revenue, operating costs—for the past three years?”

  “They’re at the store.”

  “I can swing by tomorrow afternoon to pick them up.”

  “They’re electronic. I can just send them to you.”

  “I have papers you’ll need to sign if you’d
like me to represent you on the sale. You’d also need a lawyer; I can recommend some if you don’t already have one in mind.”

  Noelle nodded. “Tomorrow’s fine.”

  After she hung up, she met her sister’s quizzical gaze with a defiant stare. “What?”

  “You’re selling the pet store?”

  “Yes.”

  “And leaving Havre de Grace?”

  “Yes.”

  “But just last week, you were talking about moving back to see if things could work out with Connor.”

  “They won’t.”

  “But what happened?”

  “Nothing happened, and that’s precisely the problem.” Noelle stood. “I don’t think there’s any space for me in his life.”

  “That’s absurd,” Holly objected. “He’s obviously in love with you.”

  “Maybe some obstacles are just too big for love.” Noelle pressed her lips together. “I needed him. Last week, when I needed him, he just wasn’t there.”

  “Oh, Noelle.” Holly walked around the table and threw her arms around Noelle’s shoulders.

  “I really thought I meant something to him.”

  “I know you do.”

  “But not enough. You know what hurt the most? The fact that he kept his children away from me. He’s so protective of them, so desperate to shield them from death. He won’t even let Grace find out that her goldfish are dying. Goes to figure he’d run in the opposite direction from a death in my family.”

  Holly sighed. “Normal things just get…crazy…when something huge happens. Don’t you think you should give it time to get back to normal?”

  Noelle shook her head. “I don’t want a love that functions well under normal circumstances, and falls apart under stress. Life is full of stress. Life is full of crap that you don’t want to happen but happens anyway. I want a man who will love me when life is normal, and love me even more when life is not.”

  And apparently, it’s not Connor.

  Grief kept Noelle awake late into the night and into the early hours of the morning, but the red and blue flicker of emergency vehicle lights drew her from her bed. She slipped from under her warm covers to look out of the window, in time to see a police car and an ambulance turn the corner and stop in front of Connor’s house.

  Her heart thumping, she flung a jacket over her pajamas, slid her feet into her sneakers, and raced out of her house. She stopped in front of Connor’s home, but a policeman barred her from entering. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out, ma’am. Can you please stand aside?”

  “Is Connor all right? The girls?” She peered past the policeman’s bulky shoulder and saw Grace stumble down the stairs, escorted by a female medic. The little girl was crying. “Grace!”

  Grace looked up, her face tear-streaked. “Noelle!” She dashed past the policeman and flung herself into Noelle’s open arms. “Daddy won’t wake up!”

  “What?” Noelle froze. Panic overrode coherent thought.

  “Don’t worry.” The medic’s voice was calm. “He’ll be all right. His breathing is regular and strong. It just looks like he took some sleeping pills.”

  “He overdosed?”

  “No. The bottle is practically full, and there are no empty bottles that we’ve found. A powerful sleeping aid combined with an abnormal sleeping cycle and massive sleep deprivation can result in really deep sleep. My partner’s working on rousing him; it’ll just take awhile, and he’ll likely be extremely disoriented when he wakes.”

  Noelle’s shoulders sagged with relief.

  “I don’t want him to die!” Grace sobbed.

  Noelle squatted down in front of Grace. “Your daddy’s going to be all right. He’s just tired and he needs to sleep.”

  “I don’t want him to sleep. I don’t want him to die. I wake him up all the time.”

  Well, that explained the sleep deprivation.

  Grace continued, “He said your daddy died when he was sleeping.”

  Noelle winced. “Yes, my daddy did, but he was sick.”

  “Like my mama was sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “But Daddy’s sick too.”

  “He’s not sick, honey; he’s just tired.”

  “But he’s sick. Last night, he sat in the chair in his room and stared out at nothing, just like when Mama died. And he hurt his hand.”

  “How did he hurt his hand?”

  Grace’s lip quivered. “He got mad at me. He yelled at me, and then he hit…”

  “He hit you?” No way. Noelle would never believe it of Connor.

  “He hit the car, and he said a bad word.”

  “Grace.” Connor’s quiet voice cut through that damning conversation. He stood inside the doorway, a medic beside him. He looked haggard, and his eyes betrayed deep exhaustion.

  Grace raced out of Noelle’s arms and flung herself at her father. “I tried to wake you.” She sobbed against his chest. “You didn’t wake up.”

  “I’m sorry. I—” His voice cracked. “I was tired and I needed to sleep. Why don’t you go on in and get back to bed? I’ll come in in a few minutes.”

  After Grace trotted into the house, Connor straightened. His gaze met Noelle’s for a fraction of a second. She thought she saw despair and shame in his eyes, but he averted his gaze before she could fully grasp his emotions. “I’m sorry about that,” he addressed the medics and the cops. “As the only adult in the house, I know I shouldn’t have taken a sleeping pill, but she’d gone to sleep, and I thought she’d be all right for a couple of hours.”

  The female medic tapped him gently on the shoulder. “You’re too hard on yourself. You need sleep too. No harm done.”

  You’re wrong about that, Noelle thought. Grace is a wreck when it comes to sleep and death.

  She glanced at Connor. The shadows in his eyes confirmed that he knew it too, and worse, he blamed himself for it.

  Chapter 15

  “Grace!” Connor shouted up the stairs the next morning. “Breakfast is ready.” He returned to the table and spooned Cheerios dipped in peach yogurt into Hope’s mouth. “Starving, huh?” He smiled at his younger daughter.

  She cooed back at him, displaying eight pearly white teeth.

  Connor glanced over his shoulder. Where was Grace? If she delayed much longer, she would miss her school bus. He set the yogurt down and climbed up the stairs to her bedroom.

  The low murmur of her voice carried through the threshold of the open door. “I’m doing good, aren’t I?”

  Somehow, he didn’t think she was speaking to him. He peeked in through the open door and saw her seated by the fish tank, her entire arm immersed in the water. The goldfish shied away from her touch, but she was surprisingly persistent and agile in stroking its fins and tail as it darted past.

  “Grace, what are you doing?”

  “I’m petting the fish.”

  “The fish?”

  “It’s my pet, and we pet pets, right? Like the kitten in the store.”

  Connor’s heart sank. “Not fish, Grace.” No wonder they were dying.

  “But why not? They need love too.”

  “Yes, but fish are a little different. They—”

  “They say I’m different too,” Grace said.

  “Who does?”

  “My friends. They say I’m different because I don’t have a family.”

  Connor inhaled sharply. “You have a family. I’m your family. Hope is your family. And you have Grandma and Grandpa in Orlando. We’ll visit them soon and go to Disney World. You’d like that, won’t you?”

  “I don’t want to go to Disney World. I want to see Noelle.”

  A low sigh tore out of him. “Grace, I don’t know if Noelle wants to see us.”

  “But she saw me last night.”

  Right, she saw how screwed up I am, and how badly I screwed up my family in the one year since Millie died. Why would she want anything to do with us? This isn’t her mess to clean u
p. “It was good of Noelle to come when you needed her, but Grace, it’s not her job.”

  “Why not? You’re always here when I need you.”

  “I’m your father. I will always be here when you need me, and even when you don’t. Noelle’s just a friend, and she has other important things she needs to do.”

  “Like be there for her family?”

  “Yeah.”

  Grace frowned. “Can Noelle be part of our family?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Can you ask her?”

  He drew a shaky breath. “Grace, I don’t think—”

  “Please.” Grace stared at him, her eyes large and vulnerable in her pale face. “It’s all I want for Christmas.”

  Connor’s watch showed a quarter past one when he pushed open the door and walked into the pet store. Noelle was deep in conversation with a man at the counter. Both paused when he strode in. Recognition flashed over the man’s face. He straightened and extended his hand. “Rick Riordan. I was four years behind you in school. You’re Connor Bradley, right?”

  “Yeah. Good to see you, Rick. I remember you. What brings you back to town?”

  “Some business with this lovely lady here, which we’ve just wrapped up.” He gathered the papers on the counter and placed them in his briefcase. “I expect I’ll be in and out of Havre de Grace over the next few months. I’ll give you a call; perhaps we can grab lunch.”

  “Certainly.”

  Rick grinned. “Great. Did you take over your dad’s clinic?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know how to contact you, then. I think your clinic number is still programmed into the speed dial on my mom’s cell phone. Four boys, all accident-prone. She’s proud of the fact that her hair only turned gray after we left home.”

  Connor laughed and stepped aside for Rick to leave. The door slammed as Rick departed, ushering in an awkward silence.

  He looked at Noelle. “You’re selling the place?”