Saving Gracie

by Kristen Ethridge

  Which would knock Jake off his feet?

  She giggled like a high schooler picking out a formal for a school dance, then realized she’d better watch herself. It was a casual church picnic with a friend. She’d attended hundreds of social events at the church—no need to treat this as anything other than what it really was.

  Gracie decided on the teal dress with the flirty skirt, largely because she loved the chunky jewelry she could pair with it. Because accessories cost money she’d never had much of, she didn’t own a lot of jewelry—but this set was a gift from Tía Elena, her mother’s sister back in Mexico.

  Made of close to fifty pieces of deep blue turquoise about the size of quarters, each minimally finished so that no two looked alike, the necklace made a statement. The sterling silver and red coral accents only added to the exclamation factor. She threaded the matching earrings through her ears, then added the bracelet and a ring that covered half her right ring finger.

  “Ah, qué bella. Perfecto.” Gracie stood back from the full-length antique mirror in the corner and let the wide grin on her face become the final accessory. She twirled on one sandal-clad toe, letting the dress swirl around her.

  The outfit looked beautiful. It had come together perfectly. Now all she needed was a phone call from Jake’s secretary, telling her when he would arrive.

  In the bathroom, Gracie touched and retouched her lipstick until she wore a deep crimson-and-rose hybrid created from multiple tubes of color. She brushed her hair seemingly a hundred times, then decided to plug in her curling iron. She rolled each segment and styled the curls simply by running her fingers through them, finishing with a light squirt of hair spray.

  What else could she do while she waited? She expected Jake’s phone call by now, and the nervous excitement began to overtake her body.

  She twitched.

  She fidgeted.

  She paced.

  And then she heard a thump-thump-thump from the heavy brass knocker at her front door.

  Gracie raced down the stairs so fast the clatter of her sandals on the wooden stairs echoed throughout the entire house, from upstairs living quarters to downstairs school rooms.

  “Jake! I thought you were going to call!” In spite of her earlier admonitions to herself, she couldn’t keep the smile off her face or out of her voice when she opened the door.

  The tiny bubbles of carbonated excitement that had been percolating inside her at a feverish pitch for the past hour all popped in rapid staccato as she took in the state of his expression.

  She searched for the emerald sparkle that always drew her in like a magnet. Instead, only a dull, mossy haze glazed over his eyes.

  “Jake? What’s the matter?” She pulled the door fully open and stepped aside. “Come in.”

  Wordlessly, Jake shuffled through the door. His shoulders slumped, obviously weighed down by far more than his cotton button-down shirt.

  Gracie stopped, reached out and grabbed his shoulders. “Jake, say something. What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.”

  The few remaining bubbles inside Gracie fizzled.

  “I don’t understand, Jake.” She couldn’t let go. She now needed him to steady her as much as she’d originally thought he needed her. “Did your father’s friend vote against you?”

  “There wasn’t a vote.” His voice sounded flatter than the surf on a hot morning.

  “What about your presentation?” She needed to know what he meant. Gracie couldn’t translate what Jake now said into anything that made sense.

  “There wasn’t a presentation. There couldn’t be a presentation or a vote because the bylaws state that a direct descendant of the company founder must be CEO.” His vacant stare darted down and locked with hers for a brief pause, then pulled up and connected idly with the corner at the back of the hallway ceiling. “There isn’t even really a Jake Peoples.”

  Gracie grabbed the collar on his shirt. Her fingernails slid across the starchy sheen. The cool slickness of the fabric contrasted with the white-hot need she had to shake the information out of him. “You’re speaking in riddles, Jake.”

  “I’m not my father’s son and I will never be the CEO of Peoples Property Group. Sam Pennington saw to it that in death, my father dealt the blow he never could in life.” His cadence picked up speed and his tone increased in volume. “I told you last night your family wasn’t like mine. It’s because my family lived a lie. Every day for the last thirty-four years. A lie. My father hated me not because he thought I was lazy or because I didn’t do what he thought was proper, as he always told me. He hated me because my mother made him claim someone else’s son as his own.”

  He ripped his gaze from the faraway corner and shook off Gracie’s hands with one pounding step backward.

  “I don’t even know who I am, Gracie!” Jake roared. Each syllable sounded less like the utterance of a heartbroken man and more like that of a bleeding animal.

  Gracie had longed for Jake’s explanation, but finally hearing it took away all her own speech. What could she say?

  No condolence seemed appropriate to give for being robbed of one’s birthright.

  Maybe words weren’t necessary.

  Gracie knew she couldn’t erase his past, but she could provide a soft landing for his present. Her arms went around his neck, and she pulled tightly, trying to signal that he could lean on her.

  There were no butterflies in her stomach, no feelings of excitement as there had been just a few minutes before when she’d heard Jake’s knock at the door. This wasn’t a hug of emotion. It was a wordless statement of friendship and support.

  And the gift felt completely natural to give, with no further expectation.

  What kind of father would be so cruel to a boy he raised? Parenthood wasn’t just genetics. When Jake deepened the embrace, the shared connection caused tears to well up in Gracie’s own eyes.

  As her tears freed, Jake pulled back ever so slightly. He leaned his forehead against Gracie’s and linked his fingers through hers.

  With her head tilted just slightly, she could watch the wet drops fall on the scuffed wooden floor that had supported the weight of broken hearts for so many years.

  * * *

  The boisterous sounds coming from the church lawn scratched at Gracie’s eardrums like a cat going after a carpeted post. After the silence in the car and the strained syllables at the house, it took her a moment to adjust to the fact that not everyone was dealing with the extreme emotions Jake faced.

  For most people, this was just an ordinary Friday night with friends.

  Gracie held on to Jake’s hand as they walked down the sidewalk toward the rows of tables covered with food and silent auction items. Looking out toward the far corner of the church’s property, Gracie could see a group of people holding Save El Centro signs and waving at oncoming traffic. Parked nearby was the same white TV van that had brought the news crew to El Centro earlier in the week.

  She needed to find out what this was all about, but she didn’t want to drag Jake over there and make him feel even worse about today’s turn of events. A news crew might put a camera in Jake’s face and take no prisoners. She had to spare him that further indignity.

  Gracie stole a glance at Jake’s profile. The tension made the muscle at the back of his jaw curl up. Maybe the other churchgoers wouldn’t notice that Jake’s usual smooth lines had been chiseled into hard edges, but she did.

  But, in typical Jake fashion, not even a single hair was out of place. Nothing spoke to the turmoil within. Well, nothing but the silence between them.

  “Jake! Graciela! It’s good to see you both tonight.” Marco Ruiz’s face lit up when he saw them walk into the part of the yard cordoned off for the fund-raiser. Jake nodded.

  Gracie decided to speak for them both. “Holá, Pastor. J
ake even helped Mamí and Papí make the tamales for tonight.” She gestured at the tables in the distance already covered with food.

  “Bien. That means you’re one of the family, Jake. Juanita doesn’t let just anyone into her kitchen.” He gave Jake a knowing wink.

  Gracie felt certain Pastor Ruiz couldn’t possibly know why Jake flinched a little at the mention of the word family. But if he did, maybe he could help. She needed to find an excuse to give them a few moments together. She didn’t know if Jake would open up, but the pastor always amazed her with his perception. It couldn’t hurt to try.

  “There’s Gloria.” She spotted her sister setting up the table for the tamales. The perfect opportunity. “She looks like she might need some help. Be right back.”

  She squeezed Jake’s hand before releasing her fingers from between his.

  Please, God, speak through Pastor Ruiz. Bring Jake some comfort.

  * * *

  Jake couldn’t get comfortable in his own skin. Ever since Sam Pennington’s explosive allegations this afternoon, Jake hadn’t felt like himself.

  Whoever that was, anyway.

  What if he never knew? His so-called father was in the grave. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since he left Port Provident for college—when she, too, had left town. Jake sure didn’t plan to degrade himself in front of Sam Pennington any further by asking for the dirty truth.

  “Jake.” Pastor Ruiz waved a hand in front of his face. “You’re right here in front of me, but I can tell your thoughts are miles away. Do you need to get something off your chest?”

  If he couldn’t be honest with a man of the cloth, to whom could he come clean? He knew Nana’s etiquette books never would advocate unburdening oneself to a stranger, but he needed to talk to someone who didn’t know him or his family, and wouldn’t judge.

  “Today should have been a good day. It should have been the day when I stepped up to the plate and finally took responsibility for my role in my family’s legacy. I should have been named CEO of Peoples Property Group this afternoon. Instead, my late father’s best friend used the opportunity to separate me from my family and my company.”

  The day’s shame tasted bitter on his tongue.

  “You never knew any of this before this afternoon?”

  “I always knew my father didn’t treat me like other fathers treated their sons. We definitely weren’t Ward and Beaver Cleaver. I suspected something wasn’t right, but I was always afraid to put a name on it.” Jake couldn’t hold the big question inside any longer. “If I’m not a part of my own family, Pastor Ruiz, where do I belong?”

  Jake could hear the sounds of happy families in the distance, but the laughter couldn’t fill the silent pause that lay between him and the pastor.

  “Well, that’s a question with an answer that is both simple and difficult.” He stopped with deliberate thoughtfulness. “Your earthly family may have let you down. But your Heavenly Father knows you inside and out. He calls you His child, and He will not let you down.” Pastor Ruiz’s dark mustache wiggled like a broom as he spoke. His words swept at the cobwebs of neglect and loneliness in Jake’s heart.

  He should have known this pep talk would come down to the same old tired Sunday school lesson. He decided to be blunt. “Of course a preacher would say that. I know that’s how you see all this, but that’s just not the God I grew up knowing.”

  Acknowledgment came in the form of a knowing nod. “Maybe so, Jake. But there’s only one God. Not one for preachers and another for the people in the pews.”

  “Marco!” A slim blonde raised her voice above the din as she walked toward the grassy confessional.

  Pastor Ruiz craned his head around to see the owner of the voice. “Holá, Tía Angela.” He extended a beefy arm and waved.

  Jake looked more closely at the impending visitor.

  “Jake, do you know my aunt?”

  Of course he did. The wild card on the City Council who had staged that rally on the news and was likely responsible for the signs and TV camera he’d noticed in the distance tonight. He needed to keep his distance from that corner—and from Angela Ruiz’s PR machine. “Hello, Councilwoman Ruiz. You’re the pastor’s aunt?”

  Jake watched as Angela gave her nephew a quick peck of greeting on the cheek. Did everyone else have an open and loving family except him? So many friendly people surrounded him here—but he couldn’t remember a time when he felt more in need of a friend.

  “Sí. His younger aunt. Marco’s father is my oldest brother. I’m the youngest of seven children. Marco here is five years older than me—it’s been the running joke in our family for my entire life.” She smiled. Her relaxed joking and the happiness on the faces of friends and neighbors all around made Jake want to go home and sit in a corner.

  He didn’t belong here.

  He didn’t belong to his own family.

  And he didn’t belong to this “Heavenly Father” Pastor Ruiz talked about. If God did care about him, He wouldn’t have let Jake live a lie for almost three-and-a-half decades.

  The numbness inside his mind slid away, replaced by the scarring lava flow of white-hot anger. The muscles in his jaw clenched with a force that ground his back molars tightly together.

  “If you’ll excuse me, councilwoman, I need to go find Gracie. Pastor Ruiz, thanks for your time.”

  Jake ducked around them and set out in search of Gracie. He knew he’d been abrupt, but if he didn’t get out of here, he knew he was far too likely to explode on someone who wouldn’t deserve that kind of treatment and the presence of the TV cameras scared him. He didn’t want to talk to the media—he didn’t even have the words to talk to Gracie. Jake needed to make his excuses to her. Her sister or parents would be able to take her home. He wasn’t running away, but he knew she’d be better off without his baggage tonight.

  * * *

  Gracie perched the last bag of tamales for the fund-raiser precariously on top of the pile covering the entire rectangular table. Although a small mountain of bags faced her now, at a price of only $10 for a dozen, Gracie knew the bags would sell faster than snow cones at the height of summer.

  Stepping back to admire her handiwork, she raised her eyes to scan the crowd but didn’t see Jake anywhere.

  “Oh, hermana—while I was at the post office today, I used my extra key and checked your mail for you. I think you’ve been waiting for this.” Gloria lifted her purse off the ground and pulled out a slim envelope.

  The faint nubbiness of heavy linen paper rubbed across Gracie’s fingertips as she took the dove-gray envelope from her sister. Printed in a small black typeface in the upper left-hand corner were the words The Gulf Coast Educational Foundation paired with a downtown Houston address. She held its promise carefully in her hands.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Gloria prodded. “You’ve talked about this letter for weeks. Don’t you want to know what it says?”

  Gracie slid a finger in the space at the edge of the sealed flap, then stopped abruptly. “But, Gloria, what if it’s bad news?”

  “It’s not going to be, silly. You’ve said all along how El Centro is the perfect candidate for this grant. It’s going to be great news, and we’re going to celebrate it here with everyone. Open it up or I will.”

  Gloria lunged forward, playfully reaching for the letter. Gracie ducked slightly out of her sister’s reach and swiped her finger down the length of the flap, then up, popping it open.

  Gracie pulled out the letter, unfolding it with a slight tremble that she couldn’t quite identify as fear or excitement. She could see right away that below all the formal salutations, only a short paragraph made up the body of the letter. The Gulf Coast Educational Foundation got straight to the point of thanking her for her time in applying for the grant, but another recipient would receive this year’s funding.
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br />   The letter fell from Gracie’s hand. It tumbled downward, blown by the breeze like a lifeline bobbing away on the tide.

  She could see so many of her students across the churchyard—talking with friends, eating with family, playing with children. None realized the American dream had just become a little more difficult for them.

  “What am I going to do, Gloria?” The worry on her sister’s face compounded Gracie’s hopelessness. “It’s all over. I’m through.”

  “Through with what?” A deep voice broke through Gracie’s melancholy.

  “El Centro. I didn’t get the grant, Jake.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m the reason you’re in this mess.”

  “You’re not on the foundation’s selection committee. You didn’t do this,” Gracie said flatly.

  “No, but if I hadn’t started everything in motion to get rid of nonprofits on Gulfview, you’d still have a building for a school and a home. You might not have your GED program, but it wouldn’t matter that you didn’t get the grant because you wouldn’t need the money to move to a new location. This is all my fault, Gracie.”

  Less than twenty-four hours before, Jake had stood in her parents’ kitchen and laughed and joked with her whole family. Now, she couldn’t see even the smallest flicker of light in his eyes.

  “Jake, you don’t need to blame yourself.”

  “I do.” He left no room for debate. “Gracie, I can’t stay for the dinner. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Maybe if they worked together, they could sort it all out. She wanted to hold on to the hope that not everything was lost.

  “No. I just need to be alone. In fact, it’s probably better for both of us if I just stay out of your life so I don’t ruin anything else.”

  He let go and gave her one last look with hollow eyes.

  The first time he’d walked away from Gracie—when he notified her of the upcoming City Council vote—she’d been so sure she could change him. She remembered praying for the scales of judgment to drop from his eyes.