Secrets Unveiled

by Mary Manners

  “I did…a long time ago.”

  “Why? Do the ladies know?”

  “You ask a lot of questions.” Difficult questions, for sure. Grant failed to form a cohesive answer—at least one a five-year-old might understand—so he settled for, “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Mama says talking things out usually makes them better. Like when I have a bad dream, and I can’t fall back to sleep.”

  “This isn’t a dream, Gemma.” Grant shook his head firmly. “So, no, I don’t want to talk about it here…like this.”

  “Well, what’re you gonna do with the locket now?” Gemma watched as the nugget of silver swung by the chain in her fingertips, sparkling beneath the overhead lights. “Maybe you should call these ladies. Maybe they want their locket back.”

  “It’s a little late for that.” Or…was it?

  “So, you’re just gonna keep it? I don’t think Mama would like that. She would say—”

  “I know what your mother would say, Gemma. Remember, she’s my sister. She’s been telling me things for…well, forever.”

  “Uh huh.” Gemma tilted her head to the side as Oscar settled on his haunches beside her. “Do you want me to put it back in the pocket, then?”

  “No. Hand it to me.”

  Gemma dropped the cool silver into Grant’s palm, and the pair of faces, frozen in glossy black-and-white photo paper, gaped up at him. For a moment, Grant found himself transported back in time. Sirens wailed and a voice shouted. His knees, skinned and bloodied from their battle with the second-story window ledge, throbbed in time to the searing scratches along his forearms as he fought his way out of the thorny rose bush and took off running. The day was hot, the sunlight a torch of fire against the back of his damp black T-shirt. Sweat dripped into his eyes, turning a shimmer of neatly-manicured grass to muddled waves. Something—someone—body-slammed him and he tripped, stumbled. The breath rushed out of him as he sledgehammered the concrete sidewalk. A weight fell on him—someone much larger and stronger—and his arms were wrenched back and pinned behind him at an impossible angle. The pain came in a hot slash as something in his shoulder tore. The day went black as his knees weakened in a wave of agony. The voice, gruff and angry, veiled over him in a condescending threat as he fought for air, for breath…for life. Darkness closed in as he began to suffocate—

  “Are you OK?” Gemma’s tug on the hem of Grant’s suit jacket coaxed him back. “You look real sick, Uncle Grant. Are you gonna throw up? Sometimes Mama does when her head hurts real bad.”

  “I’m OK.” But Grant shuddered and rubbed his shoulder as the memory faded. It had taken months for the tear in his shoulder to heal, and even now, on cold, damp days, he still experienced a slight throbbing. He sucked in a single, deep breath as his vision cleared. Sunlight streamed through the living room windows, but its warmth failed to chase away the chill that had seeped into his bones. “I’ll be fine.”

  But he wasn’t…at the moment, he was anything but fine.

  If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness. The promise from 1 John 1:9 washed over Grant to reassure him. He’d confessed to his Heavenly Father several years ago, the horrible events of that afternoon—as well as the days and nights leading up to it—and had found a sense of peace. But that peace had come before he realized he still had the locket. Now, he knew there was more work to be done before Divine calm could have any chance to be permanently his.

  He had to return the locket to its rightful owner. But, after all the time that had passed, who, exactly, might that be?

  2

  Maggie Andrews flipped through her attendance book, picturing each student fondly as she silently read his or her name. She paused at each line of the wire-bound journal, reciting a quick yet heartfelt prayer for the children she was quickly growing to love, though they were barely a month into the school year. The action had become a permanent part of her routine, and now, as always, she began the day ensconced in the solitude of her classroom at Knoxville’s Christian Day School—before a baker’s dozen of energetic kindergartners appeared to shatter the silence.

  Claire Bailey loved to color and jump rope; the blonde-haired cutie—soon-to-turn six and one of the eldest in the class—often sang at recess and proved to be meticulous while completing her work. She was a little shimmer of light for the class with her bright smile and helpful disposition.

  In contrast, Jeremy Seager had squeaked into the class with a late-August birthday that fell only days before the required age cut-off. The youngest of the class, his dark hair was a bit too long, and he had a habit of continually swiping the unruly locks from his blue eyes. He often sneaked miniature cars from his Matchbox collection to school in his pants pockets and more often than not deciphered simple addition worksheets while engaged in engine-roaring sound-effects…much to the chagrin of his table-mates.

  Ty Patterson, was a transfer student who’d arrived recently from Nashville. The boy seemed to be obsessed with video games. His first week here, Ty had gotten into the awful habit of stomping his feet in angry protest each morning when Maggie bade him to stash his handheld gaming device in the small cubby along with his superhero lunch box. If left unsupervised for mere moments, Maggie knew she’d find him with his hands stuffed in the cubby, manipulating the game controls as he became immersed in the rapid-fire visual effects. Keeping Ty engaged during the daily lessons and periods of seatwork proved to be a tough challenge.

  Then there was Gemma Stuart…ah, sweet Gemma. She stood out among the others with her tumble of burnished hair that fell in a halo of corkscrew curls around a face smattered with freckles. Her blue eyes twinkled like smiling candles when she laughed. With her birthday smack-dab in the middle of the others, Gemma had entered the kindergarten program already reading on a second-grade level and counting way beyond one hundred. She understood the concepts of addition and subtraction and could complete most simple arithmetic in her head. Challenging the child proved to be a welcome and refreshing task for Maggie. Gemma worked hard and played hard, as well. She spent the better part of each recess rummaging through a crate of clothes and costume jewelry Maggie had purchased from the local thrift store along with an assortment of plastic crowns, feather boas, and shoes from a costume shop in West Knoxville. Playing princess dress-up was the name of the game for Gemma. Maggie knew the child’s father had been killed in action two winters ago during his deployment overseas and that her mom worked long hours as an ER trauma nurse at Mercy General.

  Maggie bowed her head, whispering a special prayer for Gemma and her mom. She knew the prayer was sorely needed. She was certain the two had a long, trying road ahead.

  “Miss Andrews?”

  Maggie lifted her head to find school secretary Angie Edwards, in the doorway. A few years younger than Maggie, Angie’s light brown hair was pulled into a sleek, sensible ponytail, revealing a thin brow furrowed with worry.

  “What’s the matter?” Maggie unfolded her hands and stood from the rolling desk chair, stretching the kinks from her spine before settling back into the vinyl seat. “You look…perplexed.”

  “Mrs. Jarvis just phoned to say she and Mr. Jarvis won’t be able to make it today to chaperone the field trip to the zoo complex. Kevin was playing fetch with the neighbor’s dog yesterday after school when he stumbled over a hole in the ground. His foot got stuck and his ankle twisted. At first they thought it was just a bad sprain, but after a miserable night they’re back at the emergency room, having the ankle X-rayed.”

  “Oh, no.” Kevin played peewee football, T-ball, and goalie for the Upwards soccer team that met each Saturday for round-robin tournaments. At six, and the second-eldest in the class, he was big for his age and already pegged by his parents as a future first round Hall-of-Famer. The only glitch in the plan was that Kevin proved to be just a tad-bit…clumsy. “That’s terrible. Either way, the foot is going to take time to
heal and has to be awfully painful.”

  “I’ll say.” Angie adjusted wire-framed glasses over the bridge of her narrow, upturned nose. “They send their regrets and hope you’ll be able to find a replacement to chaperone in time to keep to the trip’s schedule. They don’t want to let the kids down.”

  “A replacement…” Maggie’s heart sank. “But our departure time is just an hour away. The bus is scheduled to pull out at nine this morning, and you know as well as I do that the Jarvis’s were my last resort. All of the other parents are working or”—Maggie scrunched her nose as she considered the other options—”not interested in traipsing around the zoo with a posse of energetic five-year-olds—especially with the threat of chilly rain looming on the horizon.”

  “My mom’s not working today.” Angie eased into the room, pulling the glasses from her face and swinging them by one wire arm as she often did when troubled or worried. Now, her green eyes were shadowed with concern. Fresh out of junior college, she’d snagged the secretarial position at the school when it came open just a few months ago, and fretted when things didn’t run smoothly. “You know she likes to volunteer here whenever she can. Maybe she’d be willing to stop by and help out. I can call her and—”

  “Miss Andrews, Miss Andrews, look!”

  Maggie turned toward the doorway as Gemma skipped through in a flurry of unbridled energy. A piece of paper fluttered in her hand, the signature orange color indicating it was one of the permission slips for the zoo that Maggie had run through the photocopier. Maggie knew it was the second copy issued since the first had, according to a wild tale related by Gemma, been reduced to a sloppy mess of drool-splattered fibers by a mischievous mutt named Oscar.

  “Well, hi there, Gemma.” Maggie forgot about the most recent dilemma concerning the field trip long enough to plaster on a welcoming smile. Worry was not an option with Gemma’s larger-than-life personality in the room. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

  “I remembered.” Gemma rushed over, her curls bouncing as she placed the signed form in Maggie’s upturned palm. “Just like you said I should. It’s not too late to give you the paper, is it? Can I still go?”

  “May I still go,” Maggie corrected. “And yes, you may still go with the class to the zoo today.”

  If the trip remains viable…if some miracle occurs.

  “I’m sorry…” Grant Anderson rushed through the doorway on Gemma’s heels. His navy suit jacket was impeccably buttoned, his power-red tie a perfect complement to the crisp, white cotton shirt beneath. “Please forgive the intrusion. I told Gemma not to interrupt your conversation, but she’s so excited about going to the zoo today…the elephants, tigers, and giraffes you know. She was afraid she’d miss out because Oscar made an afternoon snack out of the permission slip.”

  Maggie laughed. “No. It’s fine.” She found it suddenly difficult to speak while Grant’s commanding gaze linked with hers. He filled the doorway, so much taller than she remembered from their days together at Valley High School. Back then he’d been lanky and dark…almost brooding. They’d barely shared two words though they sat through many classes together. His family came from the proverbial right side of the tracks with their sprawling three-story brick house and polished BMW’s; her family, residing in a house wrapped in faded clapboard siding and cracked concrete stairs…not so much.

  “Oscar has been punished, by the way.” Grant’s chocolate hair fell across his forehead, framing eyes that held no sign of the brooding angst Maggie recalled from days gone by. He propped one hip against the corner of the wall that flanked a neat row of cubed student storage cubbies. “No bones for a week is the rendered sentence. He’s heartbroken, but I have to stand firm, nonetheless. He shouldn’t have used Gemma’s permission slip as a chew toy. It was simply bad manners.”

  “Oh, that’s…sad. I’m sure he meant no harm.”

  “Well, I’m just here to make sure the slip gets into your hands this time, and now that I see it has I’ll just—”

  “Wait.” Maggie held up one palm as she rounded the desk to face him. In another ten minutes or so the wooden cubbies would fill with lunchboxes and jackets that belonged to eager students. A short sunflower-yellow bus would pull up to the curb outside the classroom windows, ready to drive thirteen—well, now twelve since Kevin sat at the emergency room—eager and starry-eyed students to the Knoxville Zoo. If something didn’t happen here—and quick—it seemed as if Maggie would have to shoo the driver and answer to a pack of disappointed children.

  Unless…

  “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Grant’s gaze slipped over her, causing Maggie to shiver slightly despite the cozy warmth of the room. His attire stood as a sharp contrast to the faded jeans and black—always black—T-shirts emblazoned with skulls and crossbones that Maggie remembered from high school. She wondered what had elicited the change in him over the years, but she was certainly glad for it. Perhaps his responsibilities with Gemma…? Maggie cupped a hand to her mouth and cleared her throat.

  “Perhaps I have.” She lowered her gaze and noted that Grant’s dress shoes were polished to a spit-shine and most likely hot off the store shelf. The fact caused a slight prickle of guilt, though not strong enough to keep her from asking, “Do you still like the thrill of an unexpected adventure?”

  “A…what kind of thrill?” Grant’s eyes widened as he pushed away from the wall, clasping his hands together. He took a few steps toward her, his gaze questioning. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand your meaning.”

  “It’s simple. I need—”

  “Give me a minute, here.” Angie stepped in between them, startling Maggie. She’d forgotten all about the younger assistant standing there. Angie reached for Gemma’s hand. She flashed a warm smile at the child. “Honey, I brought biscuits and gravy from the drive-thru down the street this morning. There’s enough for two. Would you like to come with me to the office, and we’ll share breakfast before the others arrive?”

  “Oh, I love biscuits and gravy. Yes.” Gemma circled a palm over her belly before she shrugged from her backpack and sidestepped Grant to hang it on the hook beneath her cubby. She paused and turned back to glance up at him with the innocence of an angel. “Is that OK, Uncle Grant?”

  “Sure, princess.” He tapped her nose, drawing his gaze from Maggie long enough to flash the cherub a mega-watt smile. “You go on while Miss Andrews and I talk. I’ll see you when you’re done with your biscuits.”

  “Soon?”

  “Yes…soon.”

  When they’d gone, Maggie turned her attention fully to Grant. “I need you.”

  “That’s…flattering.” He chuckled softly. “How badly?”

  Maggie’s pulse skittered as his gaze skimmed over her. His eyes had always enthralled her with their flash of blue, clear as a summer sky. “Please, Grant…won’t you help me out here…help the kids?”

  “I suppose I might be persuaded.” His grin spoke volumes, and the low murmur of his voice set Maggie’s universe slightly off-kilter. “Give me the run-down on what you need. Don’t leave out any details.”

  “I need a chaperone for the zoo--now--today.”

  “I can manage that. Count me in.”

  “So, you’ll do it? You’ll go with us?”

  “I suppose the office can survive a few hours without me today.”

  “Oh, Grant…” Maggie stepped forward to place a hand on his. The warmth of his skin calmed the thrum of her heart. “You’ll never know how much this means to me…to the kids.”

  “I think I already do. It’s evident in your eyes…and that sweet voice of yours.” He nodded and flashed her a playful smile. “Just give me a minute to make a call and I’m all yours.”

  3

  “I have to say, I haven’t ridden on a school bus in…” Grant shook his head as he gazed through finger-smudged glass to the landscape rushing by in a blur of autumn hues. “Well, since I got my first car at sixteen.”


  “Yeah, I remember that sporty red thing.” Maggie rested her chin in her upturned palm as the bus scuttled over a pothole. “It was so flashy, it nearly blinded me. You came within feet of running me over in the school parking lot one afternoon.”

  “I remember.” She’d had him mesmerized with her waterfall of glossy black hair and faded jeans that hugged her curves in all the right places. “And I’m sorry about that near-death experience, truly.”

  “Apology accepted. You’re fortunate to have had a car as a teenager. I didn’t get my first set of wheels until I graduated college, and even then it was a second-hand beater with no radio and what barely passed for air conditioning that ran iffy at best. I’ve just recently upgraded to something a bit more dependable. Teaching isn’t the most…” Maggie shrugged, her reflection muted in the window glass. “…lucrative occupation, but it suits me. It’s always been my dream to work with kids.”

  “It shows. The kids love you.” Grant turned to face her, nestled in the seat across the aisle. “That much, at least, is more than obvious.”

  “Yes, I am blessed beyond measure.” She glanced down at the rambunctious kid named Ty that was currently sprawled beside her in the seat. In an unexpected departure from his usual hi-octane energy level, his head lolled along Maggie’s forearm, his damp hair draped in a matted crown of curls as he slept. Grant wasn’t sure if Ty’s apparent exhaustion was a side effect of all the walking they’d done or the afterglow of the full-blown lay-on-the-ground-kicking-and-screaming tantrum he’d thrown when it was time for the class to leave the snake exhibit. The kid had a set of lungs; that was for sure. Grant had to hand it to Maggie, though; she’d quickly talked down the unruly kindergartner from his fit of temper, and they’d somehow all managed to finish the guided tour with no further incidents.

  Well…no further incidents if he didn’t count little Joanie’s stumble and subsequent scraped knees coupled with her crying jag as they were leaving the Red Panda Village—or Logan’s belly ache that Grant had a hunch resulted from cramming his face with way too much soda and chips. Or—