Absence of Grace

by Ann Warner

  “No. Not always.” In fact lately, uncertainty had been causing him a great deal of difficulty.

  “You mustn’t let Pam bully you while you make up your mind.”

  “Grannie, what a thing to say.”

  Adelaide reached for her great-granddaughter’s hand, the one with the diamond ring he’d so recently placed there, and rubbed her thumb across the stone. “Dear Pam, you remind me so much of your grandfather. That’s why you’re my favorite. But constant certainty can sometimes be difficult to live with.”

  “Indecision can be every bit as annoying.” Pam’s tone held that sharp note he’d learned to be wary of.

  “Yes, of course it can.” Adelaide nodded at him with what looked like collaboration. Thick as thieves, the two of them. No question, he was going to enjoy being related to this woman.

  Adelaide released Pam’s hand and sat back, smiling. “I suppose I’d best speak to the other guests, otherwise your mother will be annoyed with me. Come back and see me later, Gerrum. There are things you need to know about this young woman that only I can tell you.” Once again, the eyes were twinkling.

  Pam laughed, but to his ears, it sounded a touch off. Or perhaps he was projecting the unease he was feeling.

  He’d known the Palmer family was, to put it in the vernacular, filthy rich. But full comprehension had eluded him until he walked into this gigantic room with its angles and curves of white, chrome, and glass.

  Random color was provided by the two huge paintings that looked like framed drop cloths that bookended the room. No doubt they were worth more money than he could hope to make in three lifetimes. But nowhere was there a cozy nook where a person could flop onto a slightly rumpled chair and dip into a book.

  “I like your grandmother,” he told Pam as they walked over to the bar set up next to a fireplace large enough to roast a cow.

  “She likes you, too, but she was teasing, you know. About having things she could tell you. About me.”

  “Oh, is that so. And here I thought you two were close.”

  “We are, and she would never tattle on me.”

  “I may have to take Grannie Adelaide to lunch sometime.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She punched him lightly on the arm, but she was smiling. So maybe he’d misread that slight hint of annoyance earlier. Usually, he had the opposite problem, that of missing Pam’s storm warnings.

  The bartender handed a glass of champagne to Pam and a rum and tonic to him, and they stood for a moment, out of the flow of guests, sipping their drinks. It was rather like standing on the sidelines of a scene from a Cary Grant movie, Gerrum thought. Uniformed maids passing trays of intricate hors d’oeuvres, freely flowing liquor, the women in elegant gowns and glittering jewels, the men in formal black and white.

  In a flurry of peach silk, Pam’s sister came over and leaned in to whisper dramatically, “Mother wants us.”

  With a look of apology and a brief touch on his arm, Pam left him. He continued to sip his drink, watching Adelaide receiving birthday greetings, thinking about what one of his colleagues said when he learned of the engagement. If you want to know how a girl will turn out, look at her mother.

  What he hoped was that Pam would turn out like Grannie Adelaide with her twinkly eyes, good humor, and forthright manner. If that happened, he’d be a lucky man indeed.

  He finished the drink and turned to the bartender. “Tonic and a twist, please.”

  “No rum?”

  “Not this time. Thanks.” Not that he wouldn’t enjoy another drink. But one was his normal limit even when he wasn’t just off-center of everyone’s attention as Pam’s newly intended.

  Pam still hadn’t returned, and he was about to mingle on his own, when her brother approached and gestured with his glass toward the door to the terrace. “Shall we?”

  Gerrum followed Winston Palmer the Third into the cool of the Seattle evening. Below the terrace, a perfect swath of lawn stretched to the water’s edge where an elegant yacht lay twinned by its reflection in the still waters of Lake Washington. The onset of twilight had turned the overarching sky a deep and lovely rose, and the distant peaks of the Cascades floated like clouds in the clear air.

  “You looked like you needed rescuing.” Winston’s tone was patronizing, his gaze assessing.

  “Not at all. I was perfectly content in my corner.”

  Winston raised an eyebrow and fished out a pack of cigarettes and a gold lighter. “Pamela tells us your father was a commercial fisherman.”

  “That’s right.” Gerrum declined the proffered cigarette.

  Winston lit up, inhaled, and blew a cloud of smoke he waved away from his face. “Good money in it?”

  “It rather depends on your definition of good.” And no doubt Winston’s definition would vary considerably from Gerrum’s.

  “Is that why you chose the law?”

  He chose the law after a day spent in his underwear on the Seattle docks shivering his way through an Army physical. Which he’d passed with flying colors. A no-brainer after that. Maintaining his student deferment as long as possible was vastly preferable to becoming intimately acquainted with a Vietnamese rice paddy.

  “Commercial fishing’s a hard life. Uncertain,” he said, instead.

  “Well, I certainly understand why you’d prefer the law,” Winston said.

  And Gerrum had, in the beginning. After he graduated from law school, Vietnam was still looming, so he signed on with the Air Force. The four years of trial work as a judge advocate had been interesting, although he’d ended up mostly prosecuting kids who’d gotten smashed and done some smashing.

  After his discharge, he returned to Seattle to Pierson and Potter. The first years there had been good. Only lately had the constant pressure to increase billable hours and the demands of clients who needed a will changed the day before yesterday begun to wear on his spirit.

  Although he still found the logic of the law satisfying, when he did look up from yet another trust document or will, it was to stare out at Puget Sound, missing the other thing he’d stayed in school to avoid—standing at the helm of the Ever Joyful heading out to open ocean.

  A sudden imagining of the fishing boat tied alongside the Palmers’ sleek yacht made him smile, although that coupling was no more incongruous than his with Pam—her blonde delicacy contrasted by his dark coloring and solid build.

  “Pamela tells us you’re doing extremely well at Pierson and Potter. That you were named partner in record time.” Winston blew a smoke ring. “Of course, it works to your advantage they’re taking a modern attitude about race.”

  Gerrum’s gut tightened. He took a sip of tonic, making a conscious effort to relax or at least to appear that way.

  “I met your sister,” Winston continued. “Attractive girl. Adopted, is she?”

  “No. Actually, not.”

  “Odd. She doesn’t look Eskimo.”

  “We’re Tlingit.” And he and Jeannie had faced thoughtless comments about their dissimilarities for as long as either of them could remember.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Our mother is a member of the Tlingit people.” And when she learned he was marrying into a wealthy Seattle family, she’d had reservations. Not without reason, it now appeared.

  “Is she joining us today?”

  “No. She’s not.” She’d been invited, but despite his pleading the case, had declined.

  “Well, I don’t have to tell you, I suppose, we’re concerned about the age difference. But we’re more concerned about the mixed marriage aspect.”

  Gerrum took a gulp of tonic, wishing for the first time it contained the absent rum.

  “The parents hoped this was a passing fancy of Pamela’s, but given that rock on her finger, I’m guessing it’s a done deal. Although, seeing your sister...perhaps they’ll feel reassured.”

  A good thing Gerrum’s glass wasn’t a delicate champagne flute. Carefully, he loosened his grip. He knew how to deal with this. Had been deal
ing with it since he was six. But damn, he didn’t expect to get hit with it today, and did Grannie Adelaide share the primitive views of her family? He’d hate to think that of her.

  “Jeannie will be pleased she’s served as a reassurance for you.” A struggle, but he managed to keep his tone civil.

  Winston blew another smoke ring and squinted through the haze, not even having the grace to look uncomfortable. “I love Pamela. A mixed marriage is a risk. Not sure society is quite ready for it.”

  “Not to mention present company?”

  Winston shrugged. “I want what’s best for my little sister.”

  “Last time I checked, she gets to choose, not you.”

  Winston took a deep drag of his cigarette and eyed Gerrum as he let the smoke trickle out. “Guess you’re right.” He stubbed the cigarette in an urn of sand provided for that purpose—as if this were the hotel it resembled rather than a private home. “No hard feelings, I hope?”

  “Absolutely.” Gerrum kept his voice even, his expression bland, and Winston nodded before going inside.

  Gerrum remained on the terrace, feeling the same tightness in his chest he always felt when someone displayed their prejudice. It was a feeling he’d first had when he was six years old, the day the older kids cut him away from the other first graders and surrounded him chanting, Gerrum the Jap. Gerrum the Jap.

  As the chant had risen louder and faster, others ran to join in, until his sister pushed through the crowd, grabbed his hand, and pulled him out of the circle, kicking the shins of the ones stupid enough to stand in her way. As Jeannie stomped away with him bobbing in her wake, a blast from a teacher’s whistle ended recess.

  He’d pulled on her hand, to make her stop. “Jeannie, why are they calling me a Jap?”

  She turned and glared at him. “Don’t use that word. It isn’t nice. You’re Tlingit.”

  The teacher blew another blast, waving her arm to urge on stragglers as the afternoon drizzle settled into a steady beat of rain. He lifted his face, letting the rain disguise the tears that had filled his eyes without permission.

  With an annoyed click of her tongue, the teacher ushered them inside. “Quickly now, Jeannie, Gerrum. You should have come as soon as I whistled.”

  His throat burned with the unfairness of it. Was she both blind and deaf?

  That year, the chant picked up whenever Jeannie wasn’t around. Its singsong cadence, accompanied by unpleasant laughter, was the discordant music of that time. It trapped him in misery, but the chanters were too many and too big for him to fight, although Jeannie would have tried.

  Eventually, he came to understand the teasing was prompted by his darker skin and vaguely Asiatic features—,Tlingit gifts—,while Jeannie, who took after their father, was exempt.

  Sticks and stones...he’d always thought they would have hurt less than the words.

  When he was once again calm, Gerrum returned to the party. Pam was still missing, so he looked for Jeannie. He found his sister in a corner, a familial trait it seemed. She, at least, was being social, conversing with an elderly man parked next to her in a wheelchair. It was Jeannie’s gift. To seek out the strays everyone else ignored and to discover what made them unique. Then some of that would find its way into one of her stories.

  Jeannie had been writing for years, and her novels had a devoted fan base, but whether the story he’d recently begun to write was any good, he had no idea. He just knew the writing of it was providing him with more satisfaction than the endless drafting of legal documents that filled his other hours.

  He made his way to Jeannie’s side, thinking about how to discuss that with Pam. Whenever he’d attempted to bring it up, she’d put him off, but after his encounter with Winston, he and Pam had to talk as soon as possible. And his future as an attorney was only one of the topics they needed to address.

  Gerrum put his arm around Pam and pulled her tight against his body. He loved holding her after they made love. Loved touching her skin, which was as smooth and soft as fine suede.

  She sighed. “It was a terrific party, wasn’t it.”

  Well, he certainly could have skipped the revelation his soon-to-be inlaws were bigots, but why dim Pam’s pleasure in the day. “A wee bit of a blather and a folderol.”

  Pam giggled. “Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man.”

  He nipped her neck. “Not even close.”

  “Guess I’ll have to pay the penalty.” She twisted around to kiss him then snuggled back in his arms.

  “We need to talk.”

  She yawned. “About?”

  He should probably let it go until morning, except he’d already let it go too long. Besides, Pam was nicely relaxed. He pulled in a breath and took the leap. “I’m planning to ask for a leave this summer.”

  Pam pulled out of his arms and turned to face him. “You have got to be kidding. You are kidding, aren’t you?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “You’ve just decided this. Without discussing it with me?”

  “I am discussing it with you.”

  “It sounds to me like you’ve decided.”

  “You know I’ve been trying to figure out what to do about my career.”

  “Oh, that again. Surely, it’s a momentary blip. It happens to everyone. You’ll get over it.” She reached out and smoothed the hair off his forehead.

  She’d used similar words to derail this subject before, but if he continued to let her brush him off, he’d end up a forty-year man at Pierson and Potter. The thought made him shiver, the shiver accompanied by the vision of a cold white world, gray sky, bare trees, and in the foreground, an animal caught in a trap, gnawing at its leg. His chest tightened. “It’s not a blip.”

  “A phase, then. You’re a successful man, Gerrum, and now is hardly the time to make changes.”

  “I’ve been saving and I’ve paid down this house, so we’ll do fine with a decrease in sala—”

  “But this house is inadequate. You can’t possibly think I’d live here long term.”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” Obviously, wishful thinking on his part.

  She moved further away. “So what do you expect me to do? Be the breadwinner? Or perhaps you think Daddy will support us? Marry a rich girl, live a life of leisure.”

  Pam, who’d been interning at Pierson and Potter, planned to join her father’s firm in the legal department after she graduated this spring, and she’d always sounded excited and pleased about her chosen career path.

  “Of course not. I intend to support you. Support us. But I make a lot less than your father. We’ll have to live more simply. I thought you understood that.”

  “What do you plan to do with this leave, anyway?”

  “I want to take the Joyful up the inland waterway. Do some writing. See how I get on with it.” He pictured himself floating on quiet blue waters, surrounded by mountains, working on a story, the image so vivid it was difficult to pull away from.

  “But writing’s just a hobby.”

  “If I can figure out a way to combine it with the law, I think I’ll be a happier person. A better husband.”

  “And while you’re gallivanting around Alaska, I’ll be...?” She sat up covering herself with the sheet and flapped her free hand.

  “Since you’re taking the summer off, you can come along.” Although that vision of a moment ago hadn’t included her. A thought he immediately banished.

  “I’m taking it off to plan the wedding.”

  “Surely the wedding can’t take all your time. You’ll like Alaska, and we’ll be together.”

  “I’m sorry, Gerrum. I have no interest in spending the summer living on a smelly old fishing boat, and it isn’t fair of you to spring this on me.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her clothes.

  He sat up, disturbed by the distress in her tone, then turned to watch her. “I’m not springing it on you.” At least not exactly. “I told you before I wasn’t completely satisfied with the law
.”

  She located her underwear and proceeded to put it on with quick, jerky motions. “Not completely satisfied? Who is? But adults make the best of things.” After delivering that barb, she moved to the end of the bed and collected the rest of her clothes, then she made a wide berth around him as she headed for the bathroom.

  “Well, I think making the best of things for me includes an annual leave. I’ll still make good money.”

  “Oh, come on, Gerrum. If you think Pierson and Potter will go along with you taking a big chunk of time off, you’re dreaming. You may as well resign.” She disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door with a snap.