Absence of Grace

by Ann Warner

  “Keep it. As a thank-you for dinner.”

  He considered it a poor thank-you when she turned down dessert, gathered her things, and collected Kody, leaving as if she were fleeing something unpleasant.

  It thoroughly unsettled Clen to discover Hailey misled her and Gerrum was the one who’d bought Thomasina’s portrait.

  Beloved enemy. Why had she said that? She couldn’t still be grieving the ending of that relationship, could she? But apparently she was. Grieving in a quiet, steady way that had no correlate in the sharp regret she felt over the failure of her marriage.

  The other surprise was the discovery Gerrum was an author. She’d asked to borrow his book in order to change the subject from Thomasina, but now she was stuck. She’d have to return the book, and that meant seeing him again when what she should be doing was cutting this off. Now.

  Unbidden, a single moment from the evening replayed itself—when she’d turned to find Gerrum in the doorway, watching her. In the instant before she noticed Thomasina’s portrait, she’d wondered what it would be like to give up worrying about either past or future and simply lean into that solid strength, although no way was she succumbing to such an impulse. Not given her history with relationships.

  She laid the book on the dresser and stood looking out at Wrangell’s tiny harbor. The windowpanes were crisscrossed with the lines of antennas, net booms, and masts, all lit softly by the lingering twilight of an Alaskan summer night. In the exact center was the single straight line she knew belonged to the radio mast of the Ever Joyful. She traced it with a finger then leaned her forehead against the window. Her breath fogged the pane, smudging the line that had become a companion of sorts on nights when the past kept her awake.

  She rubbed the mist from the window to find a luminous night fog had begun to obscure the harbor.

  The next time Clen encountered Gerrum, he invited her to join a tour group he was taking to Anan to see bears feasting on migrating salmon. She opened her mouth to decline, but found herself accepting instead. She offered to run the galley. He said it wasn’t necessary but he’d appreciate it.

  The group included two elderly couples, two middle-aged women traveling together, and a young family with boys who looked to be about seven and nine. Even before they cast off, the two boys were jostling each other, and shortly after the Joyful cleared the harbor, the boys initiated a game of tag that ended abruptly when one of them knocked a cup of coffee out of another passenger’s hand. Clen stepped in with a towel as Gerrum put the engine in neutral and gestured to the parents to join him in the wheelhouse. Clen maneuvered close enough to overhear what he had to say.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Cole, this is a small boat, and your boys can’t run around without knocking into other passengers. And when we get to Anan, it will be essential they behave with decorum, or they’ll put themselves at risk. Bears are unpredictable, you know.”

  Clen watched the two think this over. Finally, they glanced at each other, then marched out on deck. Each grabbed a boy by the arm. Gerrum leaned in the doorway to watch as the parents escorted the boys to the stern where their dad made a number of emphatic points and their mom backed him up.

  Clen shared a look of amused relief with Gerrum, who then walked over to the woman who’d had her coffee spilled. “Mrs. Davis, I’m sorry you were inconvenienced. Ms. McClendon,” he nodded toward her, “will be serving you and Mr. Davis at no charge today.”

  Clen took a sweater over to the woman. “I can lend you this if you’d like me to rinse the stain out of your jacket.”

  “That would be lovely, dear. Always best to rinse stains out immediately.”

  Gerrum got back underway and, once Clen served everyone coffee and rolls and dealt with the stain, she took him a cup of coffee. She stood next to him, braced against the slight movement of the boat. “Does that sort of thing happen often?”

  “Often enough to keep things interesting.”

  “Would the boys be in danger?”

  “We have to hike to the observatory. Nothing says the bears can’t use the same trail.”

  “Well, they’re behaving, at least for now. You handled the Coles perfectly.”

  “You helped smooth the situation too. You’ve earned a trip to Anan any time you want to tag along.” He pointed ahead. “We’re almost there. Moment of truth. Now to see how Brandon and Billy do with the bears.”

  Brandon and Billy did very well indeed. They came back aboard chattering with excitement about what they’d seen, and Gerrum rewarded their good behavior with a brief, highly supervised opportunity to steer the boat.

  Clen had left Gerrum’s book sitting on her dresser, but after the Anan trip, she finally carried it over to the easy chair and curled up to read it. The writing was good and the plot intriguing, but what pulled her in was the emotional honesty of the main character, Gabe Skyler. His vulnerabilities and his willingness to admit when he was hurting rubbed at her sore places.

  When hours later she turned the last page, there were tears on her cheeks. She had no idea how she was going to face Gerrum and hand back this book. No matter what words she used, it would be awkward. Because reading about Gabe Skyler, part Tlingit and ex-attorney, disoriented her. What else in the story was autobiographical? That horrible scene with the girlfriend?

  The nastiness in Elmer’s tone whenever he spoke of Gerrum disturbed Clen, but the words Gerrum put in that woman’s mouth—calling Gabe an Eskimo in a three-piece suit. Words that were both vicious and cruel. The thought someone might have said it to Gerrum made her furious.

  And what about the rest? Was it Gabe who mourned the loss of his father, or Gerrum? Was Gerrum beaten by bullies at school or was that Gabe? Yet, even if the specifics weren’t pulled from Gerrum’s life, the clarity and vigor of his fictional character made it clear Gerrum was deeply aware of others and attuned to what they might be thinking and feeling.

  So how much had he seen of what she was trying to hide?

  She snapped off the light and looked out the window. The mast of the Ever Joyful was missing from its usual place. She stared at that blankness, thinking of other nights she’d stood tracing that delicate line with her finger.

  Damn the man, anyway. Wrangell was a rest stop. One didn’t establish relationships at rest stops. No point to it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  1965-1966

  Marymead College- Mead, Kansas

  Thomasina returned to Marymead by the time Clen’s senior year began.

  Clen managed to avoid the nun for the first two weeks, but then Thomasina summoned her. “Clen, we need to talk.”

  God, she hated those words. “Sure. Talk. Fine.”

  “You didn’t answer my letter.”

  “You sent the letter to Betty Knox, not me.” Betty came to the cafeteria to pass out the notes Thomasina had written.

  “You’re angry with me.”

  Clen tightened her lips.

  “Are you willing to listen to an explanation?”

  “I’m going to be late for class.”

  “You don’t have a class this hour.”

  “Okay. Explain.” Clen knew she was acting like a five-year-old brat, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

  Thomasina walked over to the window and stood staring out. “This last year and a half I let myself get overwhelmed. With the work. With...” She paused, apparently searching for words. “Sister Gladys was a very dear friend. When she died...it depleted me. I think you may understand what I mean.”

  Depleted. A good word for what Clen felt, as well.

  “I want to apologize to you for my behavior. I knew it was a difficult time for you, with your brother’s death, but I had nothing left to offer you, or anyone else.”

  “You could at least have said goodbye.”

  “You’re right, of course. I should have.”

  Dammit, Thomasina wasn’t giving her anything to vent her anger on. “Did it work? Going away?”

  “Not entirely.”


  “Did you at least figure out what good God is?”

  “I think the gift of life comes from God with the possibility for both joy and pain. None of us escapes without drinking a full measure of both.”

  “Well, we don’t all seem to get the same measure of good stuff.”

  “No. It’s hard being human.”

  “I need to go...”

  “Come see me again, Clen.”

  But she didn’t, and whenever she encountered Thomasina she hurried through the interaction, escaping before the need to confess overwhelmed her.

  “If you won’t go to a mixer, how do you expect to meet someone?” Maxine asked.

  “I tried it once. You saw what happened. Or maybe you didn’t. You were so busy dancing, while guys were practically falling over themselves to beat a path around me.”

  “That is a huge exaggeration. I saw you dancing.”

  “Did you happen to get a look at the guy?”

  “Well, he was a little short.”

  “You think?” Clen sighed. The man’s stature hadn’t been the problem. He’d even been a halfway decent dancer. “Would you believe? He’s a bodybuilder.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. I now know more details about building up pecs than I can bear to think about.”

  “We’re girls. We don’t do pecs.”

  “Yeah. You know that and I know that, but it seems to have escaped Mr. Bodybuilder’s attention.”

  “There were lots of other guys.”

  “None of whom gave me a second look.”

  “You need to give it another chance.”

  “No thanks. I have a philosophy paper due Monday. I think working on that is a much better use of my time.”

  A week later, Maxine went downstairs to meet the man who’d made a date with her at the mixer. In five minutes, she was back.

  “Come on.” She grabbed Clen’s arm and pulled. “You’ve got to help me out. He brought a couple of extra guys. We’re going bowling.”

  “I need to change.”

  “Into what?”

  “Well, at least let me comb my hair.”

  “It’s fine. Come on.”

  Clen gave in. It was bowling, after all, and she liked to bowl. With six of them, how bad could it be?

  The guy designated as her date, Samuel Saint Burke, was good-looking enough he didn’t need to be fixed up with someone like her. She liked him for being a good sport about it.

  Several days later, he dropped by and invited her to a movie. After that, he came by every few days to take her for a walk or for pizza. Eventually, she asked if she could draw his portrait. When he arrived for the session, she had him sit on a stool at the front of the empty art classroom, and she set up her drawing board a few feet away.

  She worked laboriously, trying to get the proportions right. Trying to also capture her sense of him—masculine and strong, but tempered by something softer.

  “It’s nice getting away from the barracks,” he said. “Always something going on. Banging doors, loud music. People yelling down the hall. Wears a person down, but I expect you know what I mean.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “Living in a dormitory,” he said. “It can’t be a whole lot different from a barracks.”

  “Oh, I think you’ve got it wrong. We have rules. We bang a door, yell, or play music too loud, we get demerits.”

  “Then what?”

  “We can’t leave campus. Or have visitors.”

  “Exactly like the military.”

  Did he realize how appealing he was when he grinned? Clen looked back at her paper and erased yet another line. “It’s not so bad. Guess I’m used to it. I’ve been on my best behavior for, oh, a couple of years now.”

  He shifted, and she waited for him to settle before she continued to draw.

  “There’s something you need to know about me,” he said. “Don’t want you to go getting the wrong idea or anything. You see...I’m engaged.”

  She steadied her pencil and continued making random marks on the page in front of her. Marks that no longer had anything to do with capturing the planes and angles of his face, the suppleness of his mouth, the humor in his eyes.

  “I joined the group because my buddies gave me a really hard time.” He clenched and unclenched his hands. “But I like you. Being with you. It’s peaceful. A break. I thought, we could just be friends. You know, nothing romantic or anything.”

  Of course he wasn’t interested in a romantic relationship. How could she have thought he was? It would take a lot more than a name change and a haircut to transform the awkward girl nobody ever asked out.

  “Is that okay with you?” he asked. “Because I know it’s kind of weird, and I’ll understand if you don’t think we should.”

  “No.” The word croaked out.

  At the one syllable, his face fell.

  “No, I mean, no problem. It’s okay. Sure. Friends. Works for me.” A practice boyfriend. She would have laughed except it got caught in her throat.

  That night she had a shaking spell. The first in months.

  She began calling him Saint as a reminder of how they needed to behave, and the friendship worked. At least for him. Clen, though, was quickly in way over her head, and she was barely managing to hide that from him when he learned about the Marymead ball.

  “How about it? Would you like me to take you?” he asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Because you don’t know how to dance?”

  “Of course, I know how to dance. I’ll have you know I spent years being pushed around dance classes like I was a large cardboard carton. Although, I do know the steps.”

  He grinned. “You must let me take you, then. To see what dancing’s supposed to be like. After all, that’s what a friend is for.”

  “I don’t have a dress.”

  “Rumor has it Mead has stores. Come on, Clen. Please? I love to dance. It’s no different from going for a walk or to a movie with me.”

  She suspected that was a lie, but she gave in anyway. She made Maxine go shopping with her although likely it would have been impossible to keep Maxie away. When she pulled the slim, dark green dress that reminded her of a Chinese cheongsam off the rack, Maxine made a face. “I get that you don’t want pastel, but that dress is too...plain.”

  But plain was her goal. The dresses Maxine was pushing, although conservative by Maxine’s standards, would still make Clen feel like an overdecorated cake.

  She came out of the changing room in the green dress, and Maxine caught her breath and bit her lip. “Oh. Well, it’s not as bad as I thought, but you won’t get past the dress police with that.” Maxine pointed at the deep slit up the side of the narrow skirt.

  “They check bosoms, Maxie, and I don’t have any.” Clen knew she was going to buy the dress as soon as she saw the look on her friend’s face.

  On the big night, when she walked toward Saint, he got a similar look. And that set something roughly the size of a kangaroo bounding around Clen’s stomach.

  He took her hand. “C-Clen?” He cleared his throat. “You look...amazing.”

  What was most amazing, he seemed to mean it, although he was the beautiful one—in dress blues that matched his eyes. He continued to stare at her with that new look that was admiring and something more. A something that made whatever was lurching around inside Clen’s stomach land with a thump.

  They walked over to the Fine Arts Building and she introduced Saint to Thomasina, who, if she noticed the slit, refrained from commenting on it. Then they entered the dimly lit ballroom, and Saint took her in his arms. Clen laid her cheek against his, breathing in the good scent of soap, aftershave, and warm skin as he began to guide her around the room, moving with an ease and competent authority that made her feel delicate and graceful for the first time in her life. For a brief, magical time, she allowed herself to forget he was engaged.

  On the way back to the dorm after the dance, he led her off t
he path into the shadows and took her once again into his arms, holding her even closer than when they were dancing. She knew she should pull away. Should stop him before she knew what it felt like to kiss him.

  Such a simple thing, a kiss. The touch of his lips on hers. Causing such upheaval. Such a yearning to press against him, until there was no more Clen separate from Saint.