desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  I summon the energy to put on a blank face, then look down at the laptop, ignoring the heat building in my cheeks. I’m about to grab my earbuds when I catch movement in my peripheral vision. I look up and see MJ marching in my direction.

  “Hey,” she greets with a wide grin. She stops at my booth. “I’m Mary-Jane, but you can call me MJ.”

  I know who you are. That’s what I want to say, but I’m still trying to process the fact that she’s here, talking to me.

  “Grace, right?” She reaches down and takes my hand, shaking it in greeting.

  “Um . . . yes.” I return her handshake, then take my hand back. “Sorry. I’m just a little shocked.”

  “May I?” She points at the seat across from me, and I nod, then watch her as she scoots in. “I just thought I’d come by and introduce myself. Maybe we could hang out sometime.”

  Wait, what’s going on?

  My heart is beating fast now. “Yeah . . . sure. I’d love that.”

  “Great!” She digs out a flyer from her pocket, leans forward, and grabs the pen I was using, then scribbles something on the paper. She slides it forward and taps her finger on it. “Sublime Chaos will be playing downtown on the Fourth of July. And that’s my number in case you want to join us or just, you know, hang out or whatever. Just think about it, okay?”

  I nod, watching her face for any signs of . . . I don’t know. Insincerity, maybe? But I’m met with genuine interest and kindness.

  I don’t know what’s happening. First Sol came over to talk to me, then MJ.

  Feeling curious, I glance at the booth where the two boys are sitting. Ivan smiles and waves at me as if we’re long-lost friends. I want to look behind me just to make sure he’s not waving at someone else, but I don’t. Instead, I give him a small, hesitant wave and face MJ.

  “Thank you. This is very sweet of you.”

  She stands up and surprises me again when she gives me a hug. “We’re practically friends now. Call me, okay?”

  I nod again and then watch as she heads back to where the two boys are sitting. Then it hits me. She didn’t ask me for my number in return. I’m not sure what to think of that. And I’m feeling overly emotional at the moment. Given the fact that I’m seriously lacking in the friendship department, I’m suspicious and hopeful at the same time. But mostly hopeful and it’s terrifying.

  Before I can overanalyze everything, I rip a piece of paper from my notebook, then quickly scribble today’s date. I write MJ’s and Sol’s names under it, then add “Dare to hope. Here’s to new friendships.”

  I fold it and slip it inside my shorts pocket to put in my Beautiful Memories Jar. Then I plug the earbuds into my ears. Scrolling through my Play It Loud playlist mindlessly, I select a random song, and then “Sweet Child O’ Mine” by Guns N’ Roses streams through my ears, and I get lost in my work.

  By the time we stop working on the gazebo, it’s almost nine o’clock at night. It’s fully repaired and looks just as good as it did before the storm ripped it apart two days ago. My uncle has been a bit fussy about getting it ready as soon as possible because he’ll be officiating Beverly’s wedding on Saturday. The celebrations are to take place under it, so I took two days off my summer job at Joe’s Auto Body Shop to help.

  After the catastrophe, Beverly had been considering changing the venue, stressed we wouldn’t be done in time for the wedding. So we had to hustle, our small group of guys coming together to tackle the mess. Luke was adamant that we inform Beverly the second the gazebo was rebuilt and ready so that the anxious bride could cross one stressful thing off her list.

  So when we’re done, I try calling Beverly on the phone, but it just keeps ringing. Doesn’t she have voicemail?

  “Why don’t you head to the diner to check if she’s there?” Ivan asks.

  “Uh. . .” That’s all I’ve got because Grace.

  Even though I plan to ease her into friendship, I wasn’t counting on seeing her again today. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. My nerves are still raw from earlier today. Her words still haunt me and make me sick to my stomach. I know she didn’t mean what she said, given the contrite look on her face after those words left her mouth, but still.

  Ivan looks up from his cell phone, his eyebrows shooting up. “What? I can’t go. MJ and I have a thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Not suitable for priestly ears.” He smirks, and Seth barks out a laugh.

  I glare at them while rubbing the back of my neck with my hand. Seth’s mom is picking him up any second now, so he’s out of the picture.

  I bite my cheek to stop myself from thinking or saying something that will have me asking God for forgiveness.

  “Fine. Go do your thing.” I head to the parking lot with Seth in tow.

  “No hug? Come on, darlin’,” Ivan says with a pouty voice.

  I chuckle and shake my head, my irritation fading away fast. I can’t even hold a grudge against my best friend. That’s Ivan for you.

  I shove my hands in my shorts pockets and glance at Seth. He’s been a little more quiet than usual since arriving at the gazebo this afternoon, but I didn’t have a chance to ask him what’s wrong. He’s come a long way from the broken boy he was when he arrived in Portland five years ago.

  He kicks the gravel with his big-sneakered toe, his hands inside his pockets.

  “You okay there, kid?” I ask, reaching over and ruffling his straight blond hair.

  He jerks his head and scowls up at me. “You realize you’re only two years older than me, right?”

  “Yeah. Still older than you, kid.” I grab him in a headlock. He wiggles and tries to slip away.

  “Ugh. You stink, asshole.”

  I laugh, releasing him after letting him struggle for a few more seconds. He tries to swipe my foot with his, but I side-step, causing him to stumble forward. He laughs and mutters something about one day kicking my ass. At least he doesn’t look sad anymore.

  “So what’s up?”

  He scratches his head and looks away as we head to the parking lot. “Mom wants us to drive to Baltimore for my brother’s memorial. I don’t want . . . I can’t go back there.”

  I study his hunched shoulders and the frown on his face. “Have you told her how you feel?”

  He nods, then sighs. “My grandparents still live in Baltimore. I haven’t seen them in a while. They are too old to travel, so they couldn’t fly here.”

  His shoulders fall, and he lifts a hand to wipe his cheeks. “What do I do? I don’t want to tell her I can’t go back there . . .”

  This sucks. I don’t even know what to say to make things better. I clear my throat and give his shoulder a comforting squeeze with my hand, then drop it back to my side

  “Sometimes we have to do things that make us uncomfortable and we’re forced to face them head-on. It’s okay not to want to go back there, Seth, but you know what you can do? Remember why you loved Baltimore before all the bad things happened. Remember the good things.”

  He looks away, staring off in the distance. “That could work, I guess.”

  The sound of a car horn interrupts us, and we both look up. Seth’s mom, Beth, waves at us with a smile, then signals her son over. Seth sighs again, and he starts moving toward the car. He stops abruptly and swivels to face me.

  “You’re kinda awesome.” He smiles, his eyes shining bright.

  Ivan’s words come flooding back. It’s very humbling and terrifying at the same time to have someone put so much respect and trust in you, to be honest. I want to be worthy of these gifts he’s giving me so freely. I want to do what I promised him five years ago and make people believe in the Catholic Church again.

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” I give him a two-finger salute as he turns and jogs to the car.

  “Hey, Beth.” I greet his mom with a wave.

  She smiles back. “Thanks for letting him hang out with you and the other guys.”

  “We had fun, right, kid?”

 
; Seth scowls. I smirk, and Beth laughs. She knows how much her son hates being called kid.

  “Have a great evening, Sol.”

  I watch his mom pull away, then head toward Deb’s Diner across the street, my head brimming with thoughts of Seth, his brother, and his mom.

  I’m a few feet away from the diner when my heartbeat accelerates at the thought of seeing Grace. I don’t know what it is about her that hijacks my brain and shoves any other thoughts in the background. I need to rein it in. Maybe I can see Grace and talk to her without making a fool of myself.

  Talk to Beverly, give her the news, and head out, Callan.

  Easier said than done.

  The closer I get to the diner, the shakier my legs grow. I know I’m being ridiculous about the whole thing, but I can’t seem to help how my stupid body reacts to Grace.

  Please, God. My heart and body are yours to use as an instrument. Nothing has changed since I chose this path. I knew what I was getting into when I made this decision. Help me uphold the promise I made to you and to myself. And to Seth. Give me the power to resist.

  I repeat these words three more times until I feel a sense of peacefulness rest over me.

  As I approach the door, I frown, remembering the look that had crossed Grace’s features when her mom had approached her. I’ve been feeling like something is wrong ever since. And the way Beverly took charge of the situation, despite her anxiousness concerning the wedding, tipped me off some more. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the sheer sadness on Grace’s face as she watched Beverly steering her mother away in a gentle embrace.

  What was that all about? Grace’s mom is one of the strongest women I’ve ever met. She’d looked so unlike herself, hunched over, stumbling. Almost as though she was . . . drunk?

  I take off my cap and run my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair, then put it back on, tugging it down my forehead. My hands are growing sweaty, and it’s not from the work I’ve done all day.

  Calm down. I need to calm down.

  I climb the three steps leading to the door, grip the handle, and pull. Nothing happens. I glance up and notice the blinds are down and a piece of paper is taped to the glass door.

  Closed for business. We will be back as usual tomorrow morning.

  I sigh, but whether from relief or disappointment, I don’t know. I’m totally not in the right headspace today.

  I turn to leave, pulling my phone out of my pocket to try Beverly’s number again. She picks up on the third ring.

  “Please tell me the gazebo is ready,” she prompts, bypassing greetings.

  “It’s ready.” I smile when she squeals in excitement.

  “Oh, thank goodness. Have you boys already left? You should come over to the diner, free food to celebrate as my thank you.”

  “Everyone already left.”

  I glance at the closed door and scratch my head, suddenly feeling even more exhausted. I need to go home, take a shower, and get some sleep, but the thought of being in the same space as Ivan and MJ as they paw at each other isn’t very appealing.

  Laughter sounds in the background. I hear Debra’s voice, but the words are barely decipherable. Then I hear Grace speak up. And just like that, my body fires back to life. “I’m actually standing outside—” What the heck, Callan?

  The door flies open, and within seconds, Beverly’s dragging me inside the diner, her phone still pressed to her ear. She flings her arms around me and hugs me tight.

  “Mark, we’re getting married!” she yells as she tosses her phone on top of the closest table, then turns around to face her fiancé, who’s walking in from behind the counter, grinning.

  He claps my shoulder and mutters, “Thanks, kid,” but I’m too busy scanning the room for Grace.

  I swallow hard when I see her standing behind the counter crammed with a variety of alcohol and snacks, enough to feed a small army. She’s staring back at me with a blank look on her face. Her hair is pulled on top of her head in a ponytail, highlighting her cheekbones and neck. We gaze at each other for a few seconds longer, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, Debra appears from the back room.

  Her eyes light up as soon as she sees me. “Sol, hi!” She splits a glance between her daughter and me and says, “Grace invited you too?”

  I have no clue what she’s talking about, so I shove my phone inside my shorts pocket and look at Debra.

  “No, I—”

  “I did!” Beverly yells as she disappears through the door Debra just walked out of. “Grace. Get the poor boy a drink, will you?”

  Within seconds, the guitar riff of “Satisfaction” by The Rolling Stones throbs through the diner’s speakers, the lights turning considerably dimmer. That’s when I notice a small disco ball attached to the ceiling spinning in eternal circles as it casts shiny dots all over the room.

  Beverly returns and joins her fiancé. The three adults start their celebration, chatting and dancing together. I stand there awkwardly, watching them laugh and throw their heads back and forth. Grace’s mom looks much better than she did earlier today.

  Mentally, my fingers caress the guitar strings, and my foot taps to the beat. The Rolling Stones are the shit.

  “You play guitar?” Grace’s voice is so low, so soft, I would have missed the question if my senses weren’t so attuned to her every move.

  I give her a sidelong glance, and I can’t help it as my eyes take in her white Chucks and the way her blue shorts frame her thighs to perfection. When my gaze reaches her off-the-shoulder polka-dot top, it stays a little too long on the soft swell of her breasts. When I catch myself, I quickly jerk my gaze away, guilty and appalled by my inability to keep my eyes in check.

  I clear my throat and ask huskily, “What gave me away?”

  Unaware of my wayward thoughts, she looks at my hands, and sure enough, my fingers are strumming an imaginary guitar. There’s a faint smile on her lips as she says, “You look like you’re dying to play the song.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize I was doing it,” I say, curling my hand into a loose fist. “I love this song.”

  We fall into this weird silence as we both scramble for something to say.

  Eventually, she breaks it. “So I was a bitch to you earlier today.”

  I raise a brow at her. “Is that your way of apologizing?”

  “Sort of.” She looks down at the floor, then at the three adults dancing a few feet away, avoiding my eyes as usual. “Yes.”

  “You could at least look at me, Grace. It’s only fair when apologizing for trying to run me off,” I tease.

  She rolls her eyes at that and looks up at me with a smile. I smile back, pretending her eyes aren’t shredding me to pieces from the inside.

  “Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have pushed you the way I did. I’m so sorry.”

  Her eyes widen as though she’s surprised before she nods and smiles. “Apology accepted.”

  The song ends and another one picks up with a faster beat, worthy of a good hip shake. I’m definitely out of the loop with this song. Her mom waves us over, but I shake my head.

  “She’ll eventually come for you,” Grace says with a laugh. “She can be very persistent.”

  The thought alone terrifies me because I don’t have any moves to brag about. I’ve been to a few parties with Ivan over the years, but I always end up standing next to a wall somewhere, far enough away that it’s clear to everyone I have no intentions of dancing.

  “So, want a beer? Vodka?”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline, but the mischievous twinkle in her eyes says she’s trying to shock me. Grace walks to the counter, and I force my eyes to stay firmly on the ceiling to keep from staring at her ass, my fists tightly closed with the effort.

  She returns and hands me a can of Coke. In her other hand, she’s holding a white mug, and I catch a waft of alcohol as she brushes past me to sit in a booth to our right.

  “I guess that’s not Coke.”

  “Nope.” She
pops the ‘p’ and drinks deeply from her mug.

  “Does your mom know?”

  “Well, hello there, Mr. Good Boy.” She swallows another sip, shrugging as her gaze drops to the dark liquid in her cup. “She’s otherwise preoccupied.”

  Staring at her closely, I see moisture gather in the corners of her eyes. She wipes it away abruptly with the back of her hand, then gulps down more of whatever she’s drinking.

  I was right. Something’s going on. And I’d be lying if I said the look on her face, pain and sadness mixing in her big eyes, didn’t feel like a kick to my stomach.

  What’s upsetting you so much, Grace?

  “Hey, is everything okay?” I ask her in a low voice, hands twitching to reach out and touch hers to soothe her pain. I doubt she’d appreciate my touch, even if it was meant to comfort her.

  “It’s going to rain tonight. I can feel it.”

  I’m so confused at the abrupt shift of conversation that it has me wondering if I’ve imagined her words altogether. Is she drunk already?

  “What?” I squint at her, trying to gauge where she’s going with this.

  “I love it when it rains in the summertime. There’s something so magical about it.” She tips the mug against her lips once more, throat bobbing as she empties it into her mouth, then sets it on the table. “Have you ever kissed someone in the rain? Like in the movies?”

  Holy queen of randomness—

  She jumps to her feet, all thoughts of kisses and rain forgotten, and grabs my hand. “Come on, Sol. Let’s dance.”

  Still reeling from the unexpected turn of conversation, I need a few seconds to catch my breath. Plus, my head is still stuck on the ‘Have you ever kissed someone in the rain?’ part of her question because now I can’t stop imagining her full lips on mine and wondering how they’d feel.

  She seems to sense my confusion. She stops tugging my hand, seeing as she can’t move my big body with her tiny hands. She curves a finger in the hoop of her earring instead. “What? Is the offer of friendship no longer on the table?”

  I have a feeling if I open my mouth, I might end up saying something highly inappropriate, so I just nod, hoping she understands the offer is still on the table.