Grace covered her face with her hands and cried. Big gulping sobs wracked her body. Antonio held her firmly against him. She buried her face into his chest and clung to him. When she calmed down, he handed her a box of tissues. Plucking a few from the box, she blotted her eyes and blew her nose. She sucked in a big gulp of air and searched her husband's eyes.
"Are you mad at me for lying to you?"
A pained look covered his face. "No, not mad. Disappointed? Maybe. I wish you'd trusted me enough to tell me the truth. But if you're asking me if it changes how I feel about you, it doesn't." He looked down at her hands, gripped so tightly together that her knuckles were white. "Grace, I wish to God you''d grown up in a family like mine, but if you had, you wouldn't be sitting here with me now. I love you, and there's nothing you can do or say to change that."
She gave him half a smile.
"I meant what I said about your stories, and now that I know the truth about the June Crandall dreams, I'm even more convinced. You should consider publishing them. That one first, and then your Pepper O'Flannery stories. They're fantastic."
"Thanks. I'll think about it."
Rising from the sofa, she led him by the hand to their bedroom where the journals she'd selected earlier sat on her bedside table. She handed them to him.
"I want you to read them. I want you to know everything about me. All of my secrets."
Tears glistened in his eyes and he handed them back to her. "When you're ready to tell me, I'm here to listen. And if you''re never ready, that's okay, too."
She folded herself into his arms, relieved that he didn't want to read them because, in that moment, she realized she wasn't quite ready. Her heart still hurt and she couldn't completely shake the feeling of betrayal she'd felt this past week. It was all just a big misunderstanding, she knew.
Or was it? Maybe he'd been glad to get away from her, even if just for a week. Maybe he...
She pushed the thoughts from her mind. Those were the kind of thoughts that had created this whole mess. The thoughts she'd been determined only a few short days ago to let go of. Quit living like a victim. She wanted to so badly.
Now all she had to do was figure out how.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The following morning, a spray of sunlight through the blinds awakened her. She stretched lazily, climbed out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. She closed the door to the medicine cabinet and nearly shrieked at the swollen, puffy version of herself reflected in the mirror. But oddly, she felt better inside. Lighter, somehow.
Securing the tie on her bathrobe, she padded down the hallway on slippered feet. After pouring herself a cup of much-needed coffee, she sunk into the scrumptiously soft lava-red sofa and noticed that Antonio had cleaned up the remnants of her tirade the day before.
She cringed with embarrassment at her childish behavior. Sometimes she wondered how Antonio put up with her. Whenever she asked him why he loved her, he'd say he loved a good challenge, to which she'd reply by launching a pillow or whatever else she could find. But she knew it was more than that. She just wasn't sure what she'd done in her life to deserve someone like him.
Setting her coffee cup on the side table, she crossed over to the mantel and picked up one of the wedding photos she'd nailed the day before, now sitting loosely in the glassless frame. She studied her husband's face. He looked happy. They both did. And they were. She just needed to stop trying to sabotage the best thing that had ever happen to her.
Placing the picture back on the mantel, she grabbed her mug and made her way to the studio. She spent the next several hours organizing supplies, hanging sketches and photos on the walls, and setting up easels with the paintings she'd been working on for her upcoming show. Her show. She'd been working with Vinni as her mentor for seven years now, and he finally agreed she was ready.
Later that afternoon she called her editor at Redbook magazine, Tricia Collins. Surprised that Tricia answered the phone on a Sunday, Grace told her that she had an idea for a book, and wanted to meet with her to run the idea by her. They set up an appointment for the following day.
The offices for Redbook magazine were located on West 57th Street. Grace hopped on the N train to 57th and walked the few remaining blocks. Sitting across the tidy, mahogany desk, cradling a steaming cup of tea, she told Tricia about the dreams and the woman who made an appearance in each of them.
"I like it," Tricia said, "but I want to know more. Why do you think this June Crandall starred in every dream?""
Steam from the cup warmed her face and brought with it the scent of cinnamon. "I don't know. I guess she's just someone that my mind conjured up to......protect me."
"Protect you from what?"
Grace bit her lip, searching for the right words. "From things that happened before the dreams occurred."
"What kind of things?" Tricia asked.
Grace hesitated. "I spent my life in various orphanages and foster homes. Things happened."
Tricia studied her. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." She paused before asking, "How would you feel about writing about those things?"
It made perfect sense that the story would be incomplete without the reason for the dreams, but somehow it had never occurred to her that she would be asked to share the most intimate details of her life. "I...I'm not sure--"
"We could make it a work of fiction. Change the names, etc. I think it would make for a compelling story."
Grace sighed. "I don't know. I haven't talked about those things before. To anyone. I haven't even allowed myself to think about them. I need to think about it."
"Do that, and let me know what you decide. We could change the stories so they were different from your actual experiences. But I love the concept. I have a friend who is a literary agent and I'd love to pitch the idea to her, so let me know when you make a decision.""
When Grace returned to the loft, she dragged her trunk from the closet and sifted through the contents, organizing everything into neat piles. One stack contained the journals she'd tried to give Antonio the other night, the other one the children's stories she''d written as a child. She picked up one of the Pepper O'Flannery detective stories and smiled at the memory.
Despite all the years that had passed since then, she still felt a tug at her heart thinking about her imaginary friend. It seemed odd now that such a friend could actually provide comfort, but Fiona had done just that.
She read through the story and picked up another. Considering she'd been ten when she wrote them, she found the writing surprisingly good. She liked the idea of publishing these children's stories, but first she needed to make a decision about the June Crandall book idea.
She set the Pepper O'Flannery stories aside and searched through the other pile until she found the journal she was looking for. It began the day Robert Sampson arrived at St. Andrews. She flipped to the first page and read.
When she finished, she slapped the journal shut, her whole body quaking with rage. Tears puddled in her eyes, but she forced them away. She would not give him that satisfaction. Not anymore.
"Bastard," she whispered.
"What'd I do now?"
She spun around, cheeks flushed, and laughed at the sight of her husband leaning in the doorway. "It wasn't you...this time.""
"Well, thank God for that." He slung his suit jacket over his shoulder and bent down to kiss her. "Dare I ask what you''re doing?" He pointed to the journal in her hands.
Tossing the journal onto the floor, she reached her hand to him in a help-me-up gesture. "Let's have a glass of wine. I have something I want to discuss with you."
"So, what's up?" He nestled into the sofa beside her.
Grace sat with her legs tucked underneath her and swirled the red wine in her glass. "I went to see Tricia Collins today, my editor at Redbook, to discuss the June Crandall story with her.""
"Oh? What'd she think?"
"She loves the idea, but...she wants me to write about the events that led to the dreams. Says i
t would make the story more intriguing. She said we could change the names and the events, make it a work of fiction."
"And what do you think?"
She took a deep breath and pushed it out. "I want to do it. After telling you about Sister Maggie last night, I feel better today. It's time I put the past behind me." She knew that before she shared her story with the world--even in fiction form--she would first need to share her past with her husband. It sounded easy enough, but she knew that actually telling him would be very difficult. "I know that means I need to...I want to--"
"When you're ready, sweetheart."
Soon, she promised herself. Soon.
Grace submitted the three-chapter book proposal to Mindy Shafer, the literary agent Tricia had referred her to, and shifted her focus back to painting. Her gallery show was only two months away and she had a lot of work yet to do.
Vinni insisted she work on her paintings at the gallery so that she wouldn't be distracted. He'd been fussing more than usual lately, driving everyone around him crazy, and when the big day finally arrived, Grace was a nervous wreck.
Her hands shook while she tried to put on her necklace. It was a heart-shaped diamond pendant from Antonio in honor of her special night. He took the tiny chain from her fingers and fastened it around her neck. She wore a fun, flirty cocktail dress that she thought would fit well with the eclectic crowd that typically attended gallery showings.
"You look stunning, sweetheart. And don't be nervous. People are going to love your work."
She gave him a tight smile. "Thanks."
The full moon hung low in the sky as they walked, arm in arm, to the gallery. The crisp fall air helped soothe her nerves. When they reached the gallery, she looked through the window at her paintings displayed on the walls, and she was overcome. She clung to Antonio's arm and gazed up at him. She could see the pride in his eyes, but she couldn''t help wondering what it would be like to see that pride in her mother's eyes. Antonio patted her hand and led her to the door. As she stepped across the threshold, all thoughts of what might've been vanished.
"There you are, Principessa!" Vinni's voice was running an octave higher than usual. "Come with me. I have some people you've just got to meet."
Grace smiled sheepishly at Antonio, who waved her off with a smile.
The evening was an overwhelming success. They sold six of the eight paintings they'd chosen for the show. They'd originally planned to show nine pieces, but one sold the day before to a man who walked by the gallery as they were setting up the display. He insisted he wanted one piece in particular, and he offered far more than the asking price. Francesca said she didn't think Grace would mind, so she sold it to him.
When they left the gallery, they were both too wound up to sleep, so Antonio took her to Luigi's for some pasta and Chianti to celebrate.
"Whew, glad that's over," she said as they clinked glasses.
"So what do you plan to do with all your free time now?" he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why, you got something in mind?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do." He shifted nervously in his seat. "What do you say we start a family?"
The room spun and she broke out in a clammy sweat. Though they'd talked about having children someday, she hadn't expected the subject to come up so soon. Not that she hadn't thought about it--she'd thought about it plenty--and the thought of it terrified her beyond reason.
What if being a lousy mother was in her blood? What if she ended up resenting her child for having the kind of life she had been denied? What if she gave in to the ever-present desire to push those she loved away? Even now, as she and Antonio were getting closer, she couldn't help but feel the incessant need to push him away. To strike first, before he rejected her. No, she would not take that chance with an innocent child. She refused to do to her child what her mother had done to her.
"Sweetheart?" Antonio reached for her hand. "Are you okay?"
Grace caught the worried look in her husband's eyes. "I...yes. I'm fine. I guess I'm just exhausted from all the late nights at the gallery recently. Can we talk about this another time?" Like next year? Or never? "Maybe we can talk about it after I finish working on the book. We're in no hurry, right?"
She could see the disappointment in his eyes, but he nodded anyway. "Okay. I understand." An awkward silence followed, and the rest of the night was filled with forced conversation. Despite the cold outside, she felt her cheeks flush as they walked home in silence, the excitement of her big night now forgotten.
The awkwardness continued for the next several weeks. Though he tried to sound cheerful, Grace could hear the disappointment in his voice every time he spoke. Or was it the sound of her own guilt? Either way, she once again found herself pulling away from him, and she hated herself for it. He didn't deserve it. He deserved a wife who was capable of giving him everything he wanted. And really, he didn't want much. A wife who trusted him, and wanted to raise a family with him.
Rather than dealing with the issue head-on, Grace did what she always did. She threw herself into her work. Just before the gallery show, she'd received the good news from Mindy Shafer that the June Crandall book was a go. They hadn't yet agreed on the ending of the book--Mindy wanted a happy, Hollywood ending where the heroine finally meets her real mother and all her mortal wounds are healed--but she could write the rest of the book while she continued to mull over the ending.
She hadn't written in a while, so she read through the pages she'd written previously to get herself up to speed, and after pouring another mug of coffee, she settled in for a long day of writing.
She'd gotten as far as the rape, and the dream in which she'd been the Japanese prostitute, Hiroko Yamamoto. After consulting the outline she'd prepared, she touched her fingers to the keyboard and typed.
The ringing of the phone startled Grace and she snatched it up on the first ring.
"Hello, is this Ramos Real Estate? I'm looking for a mansion by the sea for me and my sixty-seven cats," the caller said.
Grace laughed, a welcome relief from the sadness that had gripped her heart. She'd just written about her time with the Smiths and thinking about Rose was bittersweet. "Twenty-seven cats," she said.
"Excuse me, but I think I know how many cats I have. Hold on, let me count them." A short pause, and then, "You were right, there are only twenty-seven. My bad.""
Grace laughed harder. "I know just the place. Will there be anyone besides you and your cats living in the home?"
"Oh yes, my best friend will be living there, too."
"Very good, dahling."
They giggled like the schoolgirls they once were. "So, let me guess. You're busy working on the next Great American Novel?"
"Antonio told you about the book?"
"Yeah. I'm proud of you for doing it."
"It's no big deal," Grace said, except they both knew it was. "What about you? Working on getting the next Charles Manson out of prison? Oh, wait, he was guilty. Make that the next Charles Stratford." He was the last client Antonio had successfully helped to free, thanks to DNA evidence.
"We lead such predictable lives, don't we?" Valerie chuckled. "Hey listen, I was wondering if you were free on Saturday. I want to go shopping for wedding dresses and I need you with me. What do you say, lunch and dress shopping?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world."
After deciding on a meeting place and time, Grace returned to writing. She'd just learned that Rose had cancer. She drew a bolstering breath and continued.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Grace was in the zone when she felt something graze her cheek and land on her keyboard. It was a jelly bean. She spun around and saw a white flag--a yardstick with a pair of Antonio's boxer briefs attached to the end----being waved from the hallway.
"I come in peace. I come bearing pizza. And wine. Your favorite." He reached the offerings around the doorframe and into the room. When he got no response, he poked his head into the room and was greeted with a s
haky, lopsided grin. He set the goodies on the floor, covered the short distance to where she sat and pulled her up into his arms. "Tough day of writing?" he asked.
She pressed her face into his neck. "Uh huh."
He held her close and kissed the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you for deciding to write this book. It takes amazing courage to bare one's soul.""
Courage. He gave her courage. With his strong arms and trusting heart. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him. It was exactly what she needed. "Is that a wine opener in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"
"Both," he said. "Hungry?"
"Famished." She glanced at the time. It was after ten o'clock--she''d worked through dinner again.
While they ate pizza and sipped the Rombauer Zinfandel, she brought up the subject of children again. "I'm sorry about how I reacted. I want to want children. I'm just afraid.""
"That you'll be a lousy mother?"
She gazed into the comfort of his warm brown eyes. "Yes."
She waited for him to tell her that she was wrong, that she'd make a wonderful mother, but he didn't.
Instead, he nodded. "I understand. I might feel the same if my...if I grew up without a mother. There's no rush, like you said.""
"And what if I decide I don't want any kids?"
He rubbed his forefinger over his chin, considering the question. "Would a puppy be out of the question?"
Grace laughed. "No, a puppy would not be out of the question."
He grinned. "All right then. No worries."
"So, how's the book coming along?" Valerie asked over lunch Saturday.
They'd met at the bridal boutique on West 21st Street and spent the morning trying on dresses. Unlike Grace's silky, slim-fitting gown, Valerie selected a strapless dress with a full skirt and a long train. A gown even Scarlett O'Hara would approve of, Valerie said.
The Many Lives of June Crandall Page 14
