Devlin lived in a rear apartment in an old house near the corner of East Division and Summit Avenue. He parked his bike in a small space beside a beat-up old Ford Taurus and led her up two steps into his apartment. They entered into a narrow living room and it led into a kitchen, larger than she expected and cozy. A 1950’s vintage fridge hummed against one wall and a narrow door led into a bedroom furnished with one double bed with metal bars for both head and foot boards. A bathroom smaller than hers opened to the left. She tossed her purse down on the kitchen counter. No dirty socks littered the floor and there weren’t any dishes waiting to be washed in the kitchen sink. Everything appeared to be in order, tidy and neat.
A long old couch faced the windows looking out over the backyard and a television, old but newer than the one she owned. Beside the TV, a three tiered shelf held DVD movies, many of them. “Have a seat,” Devlin said. “I’ll be right there.”
He headed into the bathroom so Gracie scanned the movies, eager to find out what he liked. His eclectic collection included several of Elvis’ movies, not the singing, dancing romps but Love Me Tender, Flaming Star, and King Creole, Billy Bob Thornton’s Monster’s Ball, Astronaut Farmer, and Slingblade, a few modern Westerns, all of M. Night Shyamalan’s films plus more. Unlike the video libraries some men collected, she didn’t see any X-rated movies among the shelves and nothing with violence or war scenes.
When Devlin returned, they worked with the new phone until he could use it and Gracie programmed her number into it. “Do you want me to put any other numbers in?”
“No, that’s good for now. I’ll probably put Lauren’s in later. Now what?”
“We could watch a movie,” she suggested.
So they did, King Creole, and ate frozen pizza. Gracie cuddled against Devlin afterward and roused, reluctant when the time came to take her home.
“You work tomorrow,” he said as he dropped her off at her place. “So do I, so I guess I’ll see you Monday night at class. Call me, though, anytime, if you need me.”
“I will,” she said and he kissed her.
Six-thirty on Monday evening seemed so far away.
Chapter Five
On Mondays Gracie’s last class ended at two in the afternoon. With her watercolor evening class coming up, she didn’t bother to walk home then back, so she settled in the library. Her favorite spot, a comfortable chair tucked away behind some stacks where few students bothered to go, faced a window and as she struggled to read a textbook, she grew drowsy. Her Sunday shift at the bookstore seemed longer than usual and some of her muscles, unaccustomed to moving with a motorcycle, remained stiff. Although she’d wanted to phone Devlin, she didn’t, self-conscious and worried about being an annoyance.
Around four, just when she thought about wandering over to the student union for a soft drink and snack, Lauren Devlin-Marks tapped her on the shoulder. Gracie jumped, startled enough to drop her textbook to the floor.
“Hi,” Lauren said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m about to take a break and I wanted to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Gracie said. She gathered up her book bag and followed Devlin’s cousin out of the building. They ended up at a table near some vending machines in a different location and as Gracie nibbled at a package of peanut butter crackers, Lauren launched into conversation.
“I’m not trying to be nosey but I’m so glad Robert, I mean, Dev has a friend,” she said. She opened her bag of peanut M&M’s and popped several into her mouth. “We grew up together, close as brother and sister, but he’s never been the same since he came home from the Marines. He’s been a lone wolf and refuses to let anyone get close. He must think a lot of you and I can see you’re good for him.”
“Am I?” Gracie would like to think she meant something to Devlin.
“Oh, my God, yes,” Lauren said. “He talks to you, doesn’t he?”
“Well, yeah, he does.”
“And I saw you two holding hands. I couldn’t believe it, but it makes me happy. Whatever happened to him over in Iraq must have been terrible, because when he came home, he kept to himself. He doesn’t talk to anyone and he’s almost untouchable. I think it’s because he’s still wounded inside. You probably don’t know, but Dev got severely burned over there.”
In a quiet voice, Gracie said, “I’ve seen the scars.”
Lauren’s shock wasn’t feigned. “He showed them to you? His own mother never even saw them.”
“Yes,” Gracie said. And I touched them and kissed them, too.
“That’s a miracle. Do you care about him, Devlin?”
“I do, very much.” I think I love him and it’s crazy because I’ve known him a week today. She wasn’t going to share her private thought with Devlin or his cousin, not yet.
“Don’t let him run you off,” Lauren advised. “He did everyone else, Gracie. No matter what happens, don’t quit on him. He needs you, more than he’ll ever admit.”
Emotion burned a hole in her heart until it was almost a physical pain. “If he does, I won’t,” Gracie vowed.
Their conversation shifted to lighter topics and the two women parted close to friends. As six-thirty approached, Gracie headed over to wait for Devlin outside Ellis Hall. She almost gave up before he roared up on the motorcycle minutes before class and rushed toward the entrance.
“Hey,” she said.
Devlin whirled in her direction. “Hi, Gracie,” he replied. “I missed you.”
He opened his arms and she walked into them, hungry for his embrace, but although he held her for a moment, something wasn’t right with Dev. His haggard face evoked her concern. The dark shadows under his eyes seemed deeper and although he smiled, he appeared to hurt. He wasn’t shaven either, the first time she’d seen him with bristles.
“I missed you, too,” she said. “Dev, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said in a tone meant to repel any further questions. “Come on or we’ll be late.”
Mr. Zeller put them to work drawing preliminary sketches of what they might paint in a few weeks and for the first time Gracie got to see Dev’s sketch book. His pencil drawings were good, far better than anything she could draw. She sketched cute kittens and pretty puppies or blooming flowers, but he’d drawn character sketches, interesting buildings, and old cars.
She held up a drawing of a huge old building and asked him, “Where’s this?”
“Oh,” he said, with a flat tone in his voice. “It’s the Pythian Castle, here in Springfield. It used to be an orphans and old folks home then part of an Army hospital. I’ll take you there sometime if you want.”
Devlin shifted position as he sketched and he winced. His frown of pain didn’t last long, but she saw it. Gracie put her hand on his arm. “I know you’re hurting, somewhere. Tell me what’s wrong with you. Please don’t shut me out.”
He shook his head. “It’s all right.”
Gracie persisted. “No, it’s not. Don’t you feel good?”
A flicker of a smile lightened his sober features for a split second and faded. “Don’t worry. I’m not sick. I’ve got a piece of shrapnel working out and it hurts like hell. I’m not one to bitch, but its hurt all damn day.”
“Where is it?”
Dropping his voice to a near whisper, he told her, “Left side, just below my ribs.”
Her fingers slipped beneath this shirt and touched the hard pocket. Gracie felt the sharper edge of something metal emerging, too. Devlin grimaced. “Don’t,” he said. “It’s worse when you touch it.”
“Shouldn’t it come out?”
His grunt bordered on a groan. “Yeah, it should, but I’m not going to pay some doctor to cut it out. It’ll come out anyway, sooner or later. Just forget it.”
“I can’t,” Gracie said. “If you won’t go to the doctor, I suppose I can get it out.”
Both his eyes widened. “Shit! You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am.” She was determined, too. “It’s almost class break so let’s go.�
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“Go where?”
“My place,” she said. “I’ve got first aid stuff there.”
When he said nothing, Gracie thought he might be about to explode and braced herself to deal with anger, but after a couple of long moments, he nodded. “All right but if we’re going, let’s do it now.”
Five minutes later, despite his pain, they headed for her apartment. Neither one of them might ever learn to paint water colors at this rate, leaving halfway through class, but some things were more important.
“Take off your shirt and let me see it,” Gracie said.
Devlin obeyed and shifted his arm so she could examine the lump. Surrounded by scar tissue, it’d be harder to do, but she knew she could cut it. Even though it was red and puffy, she saw the thin silver edge of metal sticking through and touched it.
“Damn,” he cried.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It feels like it’s as big as my thumb. It’s going to hurt even more to get it out.”
Through gritted teeth, he said, “Do it.”
White-lipped with pain, she saw the lines in his face deepen as he hurt. “Haven’t you taken anything to help?”
“I don’t do any of that shit.”
Gracie gawked at him. “You don’t take aspirin or ibuprofen or anything? Why not?”
“I don’t because I was on too many pain killers in the service,” he grunted. “I got where I needed them and I decided never again.”
His warm breath wafted against her face and she caught the unmistakable scent of whiskey. “But I guess booze is okay?”
Her question surprised him. “Huh? Oh, yeah I had a drink earlier. It didn’t help much. I didn’t think a nice girl like you would know what cheap whiskey smells like.”
Now it was Gracie’s turn to snort. “My dad uses it for his rheumatism,” she said. “If you’ll take a drink, I don’t see why you won’t take a couple of over the counter tablets. You’re stubborn, Devlin.”
“No shit.” His buckeye brown eyes stared at his side. “How’re you going to get it out?”
Gracie met his gaze without blinking. “I’m going to cut it with a razor blade and pop it out. It’ll bleed like crazy and hurt, but then it’ll start to heal.”
“Jesus!”
“I know what I’m doing,” she said and hoped so. Old-fashioned farm folks did a lot of their own doctoring, and she’d been raised the same way. Gracie lanced her own infected hand when she was fourteen, but she’d never forgotten the intense pain.
“Then do it,” he said.
She swabbed his side with alcohol and got her supplies ready. Gracie sterilized the blade with rubbing alcohol too and asked Dev to sit still. With one swift motion, she sliced open the pocket of shrapnel. Blood issued from the gash, but she blotted it with a clean towel and used tweezers to get ahold of the metal fragment. With a triumphant cry, she jerked it free and held it up to show Devlin.
“I got it!”
Paler than white bread, he nodded. “Good. Now if I don’t bleed to death or pass out, I’ll be great.”
He wasn’t joking so Gracie pushed his head down between his knees. “Don’t faint, Devlin.”
Under her hands, the towel soaked crimson with his blood. The cut bled more than she’d expected, but after a few minutes, it slacked down to a trickle. Her hands, steady earlier, trembled now and Devlin, white faced but alert, noticed.
“Scared you, didn’t it?”
“The blood did,” she admitted. “I worried it wasn’t going to quit. Does it hurt?”
“Not as much. It will, though, when you clean it out with some alcohol and peroxide.”
His voice sounded better now, more like himself and her nerves eased a little. “Are you okay, Devlin?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been through a lot worse than what you just did.”
Despite his blood on her hands, Gracie touched his face. “I know, honey.”
The endearment slipped out, unplanned, but his eyes lit up when she spoke. Devlin cradled his hand around hers and kissed her palm. “Thanks, babe. You did a good job.”
“I’m not finished yet.”
Gracie wiped away the last of the blood and bandaged his torn flesh. She coated it with antibiotic cream first and after she washed her hands, she brought him some ibuprofen along with a glass of water. “Here, take these or you’ll hurt worse.”
“Gracie, I don’t want them.” Devlin tried to push her hand back, but she stuck her face in his.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It won’t hurt you.”
His tone took any sting out of his words, gentle and soft. “I guess you won’t take no for an answer, you stubborn woman?”
She shook her head and he downed the tablets. Without hesitation, she helped him pull his shirt back over his head then asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten supper?”
“No, I haven’t eaten anything today,” Devlin admitted.
“Are you hungry?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then I’ll fix you something. How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”
Devlin nodded. “I could eat one.”
Anticipating he’d be hungrier, she made him two and he devoured them both with speed. Gracie ate hers and offered him a couple of store cookies for dessert. Devlin ate those, too. Afterward he flopped back on her sofa and sighed. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
“Then take a nap while I clean up the kitchen.”
He shook his head. “I don’t sleep much. I told you so.”
Feeling almost maternal, Gracie said, “You need some rest. If you don’t want to sleep just stretch out and shut your eyes for a few minutes.”
His heavy eyes stared at her as he sighed. “I think I will. Thanks, Gracie.”
“Sure.” She figured he’d go to sleep if he would lie down, and she vowed she wouldn’t wake him. Devlin’s fatigue concerned her and he could use the rest. By the time she filled the sink with hot, soapy water and washed the few dishes his soft snores were audible. Gracie paused in her domestic chore with a smile.
In repose, Devlin’s features softened and he looked much younger asleep. The troubles he wore daily, the ones living behind his eyes receded as he slept, and she marveled at how carefree he seemed for the moment. After drying her hands and rubbing a little Jergen’s hand lotion into her skin, she settled down in her rocker beside Devlin.
Just watching Dev at rest tickled her and Gracie almost dozed as she relaxed, too. Having a man sprawled out in her apartment might’ve seemed shocking at one time, but it didn’t now. She liked it. There wasn’t any strangeness about it and it felt like a home for the first time. Maybe she’d been lonelier than she knew, Gracie mused, then Devlin began talking in his sleep. At first she couldn’t make out the words, just heard the mumbles, but he became restless, shifting first his legs then waving his arms. Roused from her own somnolent state, she leaned over and touched his face.
“Devlin?”
He erupted off the couch and hit the floor with his feet. Devlin stood on her braided rug, then crouched as if he held a weapon. “Get out of the way!” He yelled with frantic volume. Then he screamed, making a harsh and terrible noise. “Oh, God, no,” he shouted. “Christ, no. Not the fucking kids.”
Devlin choked and began to weep, still babbling, swearing and praying all at once. Gracie stared, shock delaying her reaction. Now she understood why he didn’t sleep much and she stood up. “Devlin,” she said, “Wake up.”
“They’re dead,” he said, still caught in the anguished nightmare. “Oh, Jesus.”
Gracie caught his hands in hers and held them. “Devlin, it’s a bad dream. It’s not happening now. Come on, wake up.”
When he stood erect, he seemed to tower over her. As she held his hands, he struggled against her and lunged at her. Afraid he might hit her while dreaming, something Gracie knew he’d regret, she raised her voice and used his name, the one he said he didn’t like. “Robert! Robert, listen to me. Wake up. It’s
me, it’s Gracie. Devlin, come on, wake up!”
Matching dark eyes riveted on her face and all the pain absent when he slept filled them, brimming over as he awoke. His torment existed, almost tangible enough to touch, and he stared at Gracie. As cognizance returned, his face shifted from agony to shame and he dropped her hands.
“I’m sorry,” Devlin said in a voice hoarse from shouting. “Whatever I did or said, Gracie, I’m sorry and I’ll go.” He turned away from her, groping to find the shoes he shed earlier and sat down to put them onto his feet. As soon as they were in place, he stood and moved toward the door, avoiding eye contact with her.
Within her chest, her heart shattered, broke the way a dropped china cup does when it hits a hardwood floor. “Dev, don’t leave,” Gracie said. She moved across the room with speed to stand in front of the door and put her hand on his right arm. A little blood seeped through the bandage on his left. “I don’t want you to go. And, you don’t need to apologize.”
As if storm winds buffeted his body, Devlin shook. He trembled from his head and shoulders down to his feet. His face worked as he struggled to maintain control and misery turned his face into a tragic mask. “Gracie, oh, Gracie, I’m an asshole, a fucked up mess. I don’t deserve to be around someone like you and you deserve better. Let me go.”
Sorrow wreaked havoc on her emotions, destroyed her inner calm and yet in the dark depths of despair, Gracie wanted Devlin. Somehow she knew if he left, she’d lose him forever and she valued him enough to fight. “I can’t,” she said, simply. “I won’t.”
His ragged breath echoed in her ears as he struggled to be rational. “You should’ve let me leave,” Devlin said. “I need you. I can’t stop, Gracie. I can’t.”
His unconscious echo of her words reached her, but she paid no mind as his arms grasped her with such force she gasped. Devlin’s fingers bit hard into her flesh, holding her prisoner with an amazing strength, but she didn’t resist or even want to oppose. As he drew her into his rough embrace, Gracie wrapped her arms around him and held tight. She gripped him and sensed the shudders rocking him as they slowed. One of his hands caught the back of her head and held, his fingers tangled in her curls, but despite his fierce hold, she knew no fear.
Devlin's Grace Page 5
