The Many Lives of June Crandall

by Suzanne Whitfield Vince

  Grace sighed. "Pretty good. It's hard...writing about everything that happened, but just getting it out--even on paper--makes it less scary somehow." She shrugged. "I don't know, it's hard to explain."

  Valerie took Grace's hand in hers. "I'm sorry I didn't do more. I knew things had happened, but you never talked about them so I just kind of pretended that nothing was wrong. I should've done more."

  Grace looked tenderly at her friend. "There was nothing you could've done. You were there for me whenever I needed you, and you let me work out my problems my own way. I didn't want to talk about what happened...to you or anyone. You were the best friend a person could ask for." She smiled at her friend. "Still are.""

  After dinner that night, Antonio slid an envelope across the table to Grace. She eyed the envelope suspiciously and raised an eyebrow. "The last time you slid an envelope across the table, things didn't go so well. Are you sure you want me to open it?""

  Antonio pushed the envelope a little farther toward her. "I think you'll like this one. Go ahead, open it."

  Grinning, she picked it up, slid her finger under the flap and freed the contents. She peeked inside and squealed with delight, yanking the documents from the envelope. In her hand she held two tickets to Niagara Falls.

  A look of relief washed across Antonio's face. "It's not Paris, but I remembered that you've always wanted to go there."

  She nodded, touched by his thoughtfulness. It would be a perfect place to celebrate their first anniversary. It had been a challenging year for them, but they'd survived--despite her doubts and all of her insecurities. "Who needs Paris?"

  Determined to finish the story of her time with Mike and Rose before she and Antonio left for Niagara, Grace picked up where she'd left off. As she recounted the details of the beating from Mike, she felt the sting of his slap as though he'd just struck her. She reached for her cheek, the anger still lodged inside her, and wondered whether she would ever be able to let it go. It felt even stronger now. Back then she'd been a naïve, trusting girl. But now, she was all grown up and knew better than to trust men like him. Men who preyed on women because they were smaller and weaker.

  She wrote well into the night and when she finally climbed into bed, exhausted and emotionally drained, she was surprised to see Antonio in bed already. She hadn't heard him come in.

  She tucked in beside him, careful not to wake him, and stared into the shadowy darkness. Writing this book was supposed to free her from the past, but she wondered if she would ever feel free. Free to love Antonio openly and without abandon. The way he loved her. The way Valerie loved Matt. Free enough to love a child. Her child. Hers and Antonio's.

  The past was like an anchor, mooring her to dreams that she had once believed with all her heart. Dreams of a mother who never existed. Dreams of a happily ever after that didn't exist either.

  Antonio shifted behind her. He turned over and draped an arm around her. She squeezed her eyes closed and imagined a happily ever after with him. It wasn't hard to do. She loved him, of that she was sure. Just as Carolyn had predicted.

  Someday you'll find the right one.

  And though she hadn't for one minute believed it would ever happen, it had. Carolyn had been right.

  And that love might even help heal you.

  Antonio had rescued her from a life of loneliness, taught her about trust, shown her how to love. Had done everything but heal her. That she needed to do herself.

  Tell him.

  She needed to share herself with him. Every scrap of herself, and then maybe, just maybe she would be free.

  Antonio tucked in closer. "You alright?"

  She nodded.

  "Did I do the right thing suggesting you write this book?"

  Again, she nodded.

  He kissed her neck, wet with tears. "I love you," he whispered.

  "Me, too."

  The Falls were unlike anything they'd ever seen, and the festival of lights was truly amazing. They slept in, ordered room service, and took long walks. They ice-skated, went sledding, and shopped for gifts for family and friends for Christmas. It was exactly what they both needed, time to relax and reconnect.

  On their last night, which was their actual anniversary, Antonio arranged a special dinner at the Top of the Falls restaurant, which boasted spectacular views of the Falls at night. They ordered champagne and after placing their orders, he lifted his glass for a toast.

  "To my beautiful wife on our first anniversary--a day that reminds me of how blessed I am to have you in my life. Now, in keeping with tradition of the first anniversary being paper, I decided to write you a love letter. However, not being the gifted writer that my lovely wife is, the letter ended up sounding more like a legal brief, so I scrapped that idea and went to plan B--writing you a love song--"

  "Oh no, please don't tell me you're going to serenade me again. The first time was lovely, but really, once was enough."" She slathered butter on a warm dinner roll.

  Antonio frowned and hung his head, trying his best to look wounded. "Hey, if it weren't for my serenade, you never would've agreed to go out with me.""

  She bit into the roll and grinned. "It was emotional blackmail, you know."

  He smiled. "I was willing to do whatever it took. I knew from the very first time I saw you that we were meant to be. You just needed some convincing. Okay, a lot of convincing, but you were worth it. When you opened the door on our first 'official'' date, I knew I was a goner."

  "I think I knew then, too."

  "Oh yeah? Was it my boyish looks or my charm that won you over?"

  She sipped her champagne and considered the question. "It was the flowers. Nobody had ever brought me flowers before. That and your boyish looks."

  He leaned back in his chair and gave her a victorious smile.

  The waiter cleared their plates and left the dessert menu.

  "So, getting back to my gift," she said.

  "Oh, right. So, recognizing that I am not a literary genius but fancying myself a romantic at heart, I wanted to find a way to express my love, so I got you this." He handed her a package wrapped in brown paper with a red ribbon.

  She tore off the paper, revealing a book entitled The 50 Greatest Love Letters of All Time. Grace laughed. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out the gift she'd gotten for him and pushed it across the table.

  He eyed it suspiciously and slowly peeled off the paper, revealing a duplicate copy of the book he'd chosen for her.

  "I guess we were on the same wavelength," she said.

  "I guess so." He arched an eyebrow and gave her a sexy smile. "What do you say we order the dessert to go?"

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A week after returning from their trip, Antonio came home early from work and surprised Grace with a Lombardi's pizza and a bottle of Chianti. She sat on the sofa, her old bear on her lap, staring into the distance.

  "Hey," he said.

  Startled, she looked up. "Oh, hi, I didn't hear you come in."

  He opened the wine, sat down next to her and handed her a glass. "I gathered as much. Everything okay?"

  She accepted the glass and took a long pull. Then she reached behind her and removed the journal she'd stowed there earlier.

  "Grace, I told you, I don't want to read--"

  "I know. I'm going to read it to you. It's about a boy named Robert Sampson." She lifted her wineglass to her lips, slugged down the remainder of the wine and refilled her glass. Then she opened to page one and read.

  The following morning, Grace awoke with a start. She sprung out of bed and glanced at the clock. It was almost noon. She started out of the bedroom, then stopped. Something was wrong. Turning back, she noticed that Antonio's side of the bed was still neatly made. He had never come to bed.

  She raced to the living room, calling his name. No answer. The throbbing in her head reminded her of what had happened the night before. At least, she remembered most of it--Robbie...Rose......and Mike--she'd finally told him everything. And h
e had...he had, what? He had cried, and he''d been angry. At Robbie, at Mike...at her? Pressing her palms to her temples she squeezed, trying desperately to remember. Had he been okay? She needed to find out.

  She padded into the bathroom and extracted two aspirin from the bottle. Turning on the spigot, she sucked down the pills. Then she slipped into a pair of jeans and a sweater, grabbed her coat and stepped out into the frigid winter afternoon.

  Her head pounded with every step but she pressed on, determined to see Antonio face to face. She had to make sure he was okay. That they were okay.

  When she arrived at her destination, she marched down the hall toward his office.

  "You look like hell," the voice behind her called.

  She spun around and came face to face with Valerie. "Where is he? Where's Antonio?" she asked.

  Valerie blinked. "He's not here. He called in sick. I just assumed you--"

  Grace turned on her heels and ran out the way she'd come in.

  Oh, God, he's never called in sick a day in his life. What have I done?

  She clutched her head with one hand and her stomach with the other as she hopped on the subway toward Central Park.

  God, let me find him, please.

  She searched all the familiar places, all of their places, and nothing. It was dark outside before she made her way back to the apartment. She closed the door behind her and hung her coat on the rack. When she turned toward the kitchen, she stopped cold.

  Antonio stood before her, still wearing his coat and hat. He looked tired, disheveled, but it was more than that. He looked...different.

  Her eyes bore into his and the sadness she saw was more than she could bear. She wanted so badly to go to him, comfort him, but something held her in place. What if he didn't want her anymore? Could she survive without him? Did she even want to?

  "Oh, Antonio, I'm so...so sorry...I should''ve told you everything before--"

  A tear rolled down Antonio's cheek and he opened his arms. Grace flew into them and clung to him as if he were a life preserver.

  "I'm sorry for leaving, sweetheart," he whispered. "It was a lot to take in. I just needed time to sort things out." He drew back and held her face in his hands. "You didn't do anything wrong, and I don''t blame you for not telling me. I had no idea the hardships you've endured. It sickens me, and it angers me, and it makes me want to hurt someone. Robert, Mike, but most of all your mother for abandoning you. I mean, she could have placed you up for adoption, given you a chance at a normal life."" Brushing a wisp of hair from her face, he kissed her tenderly. "I love you more than you'll ever know, Grace, and I will never let anyone hurt you again." And then he pulled her into his arms and wept.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  2004

  It was the first day of spring, and Antonio arrived home early for dinner, sweeping a kiss across his wife's lips. "What smells so good?" he asked.

  "I'm making risotto with scallops and asparagus in a saffron cream sauce. Oh, and garlic bread."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "You've been holding out on me. I never knew you could actually cook anything besides canned soup and toast."

  "That's not true. I've made lasagna before."

  "Yeah, once. And now that I think about it, that lasagna tasted suspiciously like Luigi's."

  She grinned sheepishly. It was true--she'd let him think she couldn't cook because she preferred his cooking to hers. Now the cat was out of the bag, but it didn''t matter. She would soon have more time on her hands for such things. "A girl has to have some secrets," she said.

  They both laughed at the irony of her statement.

  "You've had no shortage of those, I'll give you that." He popped a scallop into his mouth.

  She swatted him with a dish towel and ordered him to go change his clothes while she finished the risotto.

  After dinner they settled into the living room and Antonio lit a fire. Grace excused herself for a moment and returned with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  He popped the cork. "What are we celebrating?"

  She reached behind her and removed a copy of her manuscript from behind the sofa cushion. She'd tied it together with a yellow ribbon. "All done, Hollywood ending and all."

  He pulled her into his arms and whispered softly in her ear, "Congratulations, sweetheart."

  She raised her glass to his. She felt like she'd given birth to her first child. What she'd really done was give birth to a new kind of freedom. Freedom from the chains of her past. She no longer needed to protect herself with her secrets. She trusted Antonio----and even more--she trusted herself. She knew she would never have the one thing she most yearned for, but Antonio's parents had been wonderful, and they loved her like she was their own daughter. It was good enough. Life was good enough.

  Grace spent the next several months revising and editing the manuscript prior to publication, and on the first day of autumn, she received the news she'd been waiting for. The book, which had been retitled The Many Lives of June Crandall, would be released on February 10th and her publicist, Beth Roland, had scheduled her first book signing for April 17th at a large bookseller in downtown Manhattan.

  The day of her book release, she was at the bookstore ten minutes before it opened to see it in print. She already had a box of author copies at home, but she wanted to see them on the shelves. They were every bit as beautiful as she'd imagined.

  For some reason, she felt compelled to buy one. She put the book on the counter and reached into her purse for her wallet.

  The clerk picked up the book and scanned it. "Interesting title."

  "Thank you," she said. "I wrote it."

  "Oh, hey, congratulations."

  She left feeling giddy with excitement. It was late morning, and she decided to go to a bakery she'd passed on her way there to celebrate with a latte and a cannoli.

  The moment she set foot into Mama C's, the aromas dominated all other senses. Her mouth watered as she looked through the display case and pointed to the chocolate cannoli.

  The man handed her the cannoli, and while she waited for her latte, she took a bite. Then another. It was the most amazing pastry she'd ever eaten. The velvety chocolate cream was just sweet enough, and the shell was perfectly crisp. She savored every delicious bite, and before her latte was even ready, she'd finished the cannoli.

  She sat in a booth and pulled out the book. A shiver of excitement ran through her as she sipped the frothy latte and thumbed through the thick, crisp pages of the book.

  Her book.

  Antonio hadn't said anything about her book release before he left that morning, and that had hurt a bit. When he called her at six o'clock that evening and asked her to meet him at Luigi's for a drink, he still hadn't said anything, and she almost decided not to go. But she was feeling restless, and she thought it would do her good to get out of the house and spend some time around other people.

  She debated whether or not to say anything when she saw him. But when she arrived, she was greeted by a large crowd of friends who each raised a copy of her book in the air and shouted congratulations. She felt silly for having doubted him.

  Antonio kissed her and handed her a Sharpie and a copy of the book.

  "Make that out to the sexiest man alive," he said, and winked.

  The morning of the book signing, Grace awoke with a pit of dread in her stomach. She tossed back the covers, donned her bathrobe and slippers and padded down the hall to the kitchen for a cup of mint tea. Antonio stood at the center island eating a donut. The newspaper was spread open on the counter, the announcement for her book signing circled in bright red marker.

  "This is the big day, sweetheart." He handed her a cup of coffee, which she declined. "How are you feeling?""

  "Like a swarm of angry protestors has taken up residence in my stomach. I think I'll stay home and hideout instead." She turned on the microwave to heat the water for her tea.

  Antonio gave her a knowing smile. "Public speaking can undo the best of us, bu
t you're going to do fine. Your book made the New York Times top ten list, sweetheart. Trust me, people will be lined up to see you speak. But if you get nervous, just focus on me while you're giving your talk. I'll be the guy in the middle wearing only my underwear."

  She grabbed a donut from the plate on the counter and launched it at him. "Ha ha."

  He snatched the donut out of mid-air and took a bite.

  "Nice toss," he said, spraying crumbs. After he finished chewing, he spoke in a soft but serious tone. "You don't have to do this, you know. You wrote the book as a work of fiction for a reason. You have no obligation to share any part of yourself beyond that."

  She gave him a feeble smile. "I know, but I need to do it for myself."

  Grace met her publicist at the bookstore to go over the schedule for the afternoon. Beth would introduce her at three o'clock. Grace would speak for about thirty minutes, followed by a question-and-answer period. After that, she would sign books for one hour.

  Fifteen minutes before she was due to speak, Beth ushered her into the store manager's office and pulled the door closed on her way out. Grace paced the length of the small office, grateful for the privacy. She closed her eyes and drew in a long, slow breath, trying without success to steady her nerves. She could still change her mind, she knew, but she was determined not to. She needed to do this. Needed to put the past behind her once and for all. And just maybe, in the process, her words would help someone else who grew up lost and afraid to know that they are not alone. To know that their secrets do not define them.

  No, she would not run from this moment. This was her moment. A defining moment. One that would make her who she'd always wanted to be. A survivor. All she had to do was walk through the door and embrace it. But something held her back.

  Fear.

  Being a survivor carried with it certain expectations. Being a survivor meant that she could no longer cling to the past for protection. The walls she'd built to protect herself from all that had happened had served her. But she didn't need them anymore. Writing the book had changed her. Had lessened the emotional scars. Had, in a way, healed her. At least as much as was possible without ever having known the love of her mother.