Falling From Grace (Grace Series)

by S. L. Naeole

Christmas time in my house was never so lively—or so decorated. Janice had gone to great lengths to set up as many baubles, knick knacks, and wreaths as one could possibly fit into our little house, with wrapping papered doors, and garland draped over windows. Every table had a green and red something or other. This was also the first year since mom had died that we had a tree in the house. It was fake, cost three times as much as the real one Graham wanted to chop down, and came with built-in lights that did not blink, and were all white. Oh. And it spun around, slow and lazily, like a drunken, demented top. This, of course, made Janice very happy, and so Dad made sure I said nothing.

  The most noticeable difference this Christmas, however, wasn’t the abundance of faux greenery bedecked with ribbons and glass around the house, or the white fiberfill blankets beneath miniature towns that graced the only bookshelf in the living room. It was the fact that Janice was with us, as was her very prominent belly. It seemed impossible that it had grown so large in just a few days, but there was no denying that she now fit the description of rotund quite nicely.

  Robert, Lark, and Ameila were once again invited to the house for the holiday meal, and they brought with them this time a bright red jell-o mold in the shape of a wreath. Ameila held the jiggling form up proudly and announced that it was the first time she had ever made one; her impossibly white teeth poised in the perfect smile while I shuddered as I recalled the images of what she could do with that smile. Janice thanked her as she took the mold, and placed it in the refrigerator.

  They had brought with them more gifts than we’d had under the fake, spinning tree to begin with, which made me feel wholly inadequate, but Dad and Janice were very gracious as we sat around and opened gifts, Robert and I seated on the floor near the tree, passing them to each recipient. Janice marveled at the teardrop shaped crystals that adorned the earrings that she received from them, while Dad seemed to be quite pleased with his authentic writing quill.

  “I can’t believe how perfect this feather is. Look at its color. What a gorgeous shade of ebony. That gloss is a sign of a very healthy bird. I’m thinking Ostrich,” he said to me, while I nodded knowingly, trying very hard not to laugh.

  I received a skirt from Janice in the same style as the one she had lent me. “It’s perfect for your figure, and I thought that if you were willing to borrow one, maybe you’d be willing to own one as well,” she said when I thanked her for it, a genuine smile on both of our faces. Of all the changes that have occurred in my life these past few months, this was the one that I still felt the least comfortable with, but that was my problem and not Janice’s; she was a good person with a good heart, and she loved my dad. That was more than enough.

  Dad had done his usual thing and simply gotten me a gift certificate to my favorite thrift store. I thanked him profusely. I was in need of some new—okay, so not exactly new—shirts after the past few months.

  I glanced over to Robert to see his face, and knew that he was trying not to think about that almost as much as I was. I just wasn’t sure if it was for the same reasons.

  I handed Dad and Janice their gifts; Dad’s was a stopwatch—for counting the contractions, I told him—while Janice’s gift was a scrapbook for the baby. “I figured you’d want to start doing that whole collecting of memories thing that so many parents do now,” I told her, shrugging my shoulders when she held it up with a puzzled look on her face. “You know, this was your first Easter, first Halloween, or first hangover. The stuff that parents like to remember.”

  She smiled and hugged me, “Thank you, Grace. I wouldn’t have thought about that. I’m going to put some of the wrapping paper that this came in here for the baby’s first Christmas.”

  I had given Lark a CD from some foppish boy band that she had taken to, and she gave me an old copy of Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane, and Minor Poems, which made me speechless because I knew that old meant first edition. They didn’t even print this book anymore, so I knew that when I told her that I would treasure it, it wasn’t because I had no choice—rather, it was because I meant it.

  Ameila handed us all gift cards to some outrageously expensive department store and Janice gave her an antique brooch that she had found while out shopping for the baby.

  Robert, knowing that I had nearly destroyed my favorite shirt during the fight with Sam, had bought a few to replace it. “I think these will fit you better, too,” he added when I tried to find reasons why my old shirt was still in wearable condition, not wanting to part with what had always felt like an old friend. He kissed my hair and silently thanked me for the pillow I had made from the front of my favorite shirt—the only part to have remained unscathed, which made him smile at my feigned difficulty earlier. You’d make a bad angel; you lie too well.

  “I think I’m going to go and check on the bird and see if we can get started on eating because this little guy is getting hungry.” Janice said, patting her belly.

  My jaw dropped. “Little guy?” I crawled on the floor over to her, quickly putting my hand on her stomach. It was the first time I had touched her pregnant belly, having never accepted any of the prior invitations given so many times to feel the baby squirm and kick; I pulled my hand back immediately. I looked up at her, apologetic at my rude behavior. She grabbed my hand and placed it back on the rounded mound, patting it as she did so.

  “Yes, it’s a little guy. We found out last week but didn’t want to tell you until tomorrow, it being your birthday and everything.”

  I had completely forgotten that it was my birthday. So many things had happened these past few months, let alone these past few days that it had completely slipped my mind. Turning my attention back to the amazing belly that contained my baby brother, I stared at it in awe; this large, round mound draped in red jersey fabric held within it a tiny person who would be half Dad, half Janice, and 100% Shelley.

  “What’s his name?” I asked, feeling the slight movements beneath my hands.

  “Your dad and I have settled on Matthew James,” she answered, proudly smiling down at my hand. “He likes your voice. I can tell already that you’re going to be an amazing big sister, Grace.” She pulled something out from underneath the couch cushions and gave it to me. “Happy Birthday from your Dad and me.”

  It was a little red box. I looked at Janice, unsure, but she nodded her head reassuringly. “Go on. Open it.”

  I removed the lid from the box; nestled within the red satin lining lay a small silver object. I lifted it out with nervous fingers, a long, silver chain attached to it. It was a pendant in the shape of a wing. An angel’s wing.

  “We have one for Matthew when he gets older. Your dad and I both thought that if you two had the wings, maybe the guardian angel who belongs to them will always be there to keep you two together long after we’re gone,” Janice said, her eyes glassy with the tears she couldn’t stop from overflowing. “Oh these darn hormones. Now I’m really going to go and check on that bird.” She got up, dabbing her eyes with the back of one hand, the other resting on her belly, patting it reassuringly, and headed into the kitchen.

  I sat on the floor staring at the silver wing in my hand. I held it up to examine it. It was almost a miniature replica of the wings that were owned by my very own guardian angel, the lines just as delicate, although they’d never come close to matching his graceful beauty.

  I was just about to say the same thing about you. He came to sit beside me on the floor to admire the gift, his hand at the small of my back. Now that Robert and I had resolved the issue between us regarding what exactly his calling had been, what he was, whenever he was around me he always had to touch me in some way: a physical connection that complimented the mental one. It was, he had said, the only way he could feel life flowing through him, especially after the first time he had had to take the life of someone just two days after the fight in the park.

  I never asked who it had been—I didn’t want to know—but I knew that he had returned to me in need. In a reversal of roles, it had been I who had
comforted him as he lay in my arms. I couldn’t help but imagine a lifetime ahead of me comforting Robert as I got older. After all, my life with him was already set in stone. I might as well begin writing my name with his adjoined to it… Did I really just think that?

  I looked at Dad—sitting in his favorite chair that had been strategically positioned near the kitchen for today’s meal—as he was engaged in a deep discussion with Lark and Ameila about the importance of eggnog at a Christmas meal, and wondered when it was that he had done the same thing, if ever, with mom. When was he able to look at her and see into the future without having it appear frightening or claustrophobic?

  I watched him, his smile so bright and wide, his eyes twinkling with happiness that I hadn’t seen in him since I was a child, since before mom died; I saw that he could see his future stretched out before him now, and that he’d be stepping into that future with Janice and Matthew at his side. I looked once again at the silver wing in my hand and knew that guardian angel or not, they would live a healthy and happy life together.

  I was going to have to thank Dad for the gift later, when he wasn’t busy. Right now I didn’t want to do anything that would disturb him; he was enjoying himself so much.

  It doesn’t look like my wing at all. Robert smiled, his hand reaching out to remove the pendant from my hand. I already knew that he’d seen enough of it in the few seconds that I had exposed it to have scrutinized its every minute detail. He wanted to help fasten the necklace around my neck; the tiny clasp was too difficult for me to do it on my own. When he had secured it, he turned me around and lifted the wing with his fingers. It isn’t even shaped correctly.

  I snorted at his mock offense. Your wings aren’t made out of sterling silver either, so quit with the comparisons, okay? It’s symbolic. That’s what matters.

  He snaked his arm around my waist, pulling me into the nest his arms and legs made on the floor, and nuzzled my ear. I know, I was kidding. All kidding aside, I would like to tell you that I would be honored to be your little brother’s guardian angel. We never get a chance to choose this for ourselves, and what better choice than him? I’m in love with his big sister, so I have incentive to keep him safe.

  I turned my head to look into his eyes. I could see the reflection of my face in those large, molten pools; it had taken me some time to realize that who I was in his eyes was different from who I had always thought I was. What better choice indeed to be the guardian angel for little Matthew? Thank you.

  He kissed the tip of my nose, and looked over at Dad, an impish grin on his face. “Do you think your dad would mind if I stole you away for a few minutes?”

  I followed his gaze and shook my head. “He’s never had someone he could talk to about anything and everything before, not even Mom, so he’s way too involved to notice anything else. Ugh, your poor mom—poor Lark! I don’t think she’ll forgive me if she’s forced to strangle Dad for talking about the importance of Meowing Christmas Carols.”

  I heard that. Her voice appeared in the back of my mind like a…well, a bird, coming to sit on a branch for a short visit with a tree. A rude, loud, obnoxious bird. Go on, I’ll keep your Dad occupied here and Mom can keep Janice busy in the kitchen.

  I nodded at her, thankful that she hadn’t heard that last part about being obnoxious—I valued having all of my fingers in proper working order—and slowly crawled to the staircase and slinked up the stairs. I didn’t care what it looked like, even though I know it was probably an amusing sight to Robert.

  I walked into my room, Robert on my heels, and carefully closed the door. It was messy, as usual. There were clothes strewn all over the floor, blanketing the wooden surface, and the bed was unmade; mismatched sheets and blankets making for one confused looking place of unrest. Janice’s efforts at trying to make my room look presentable, while initially successful, had ultimately failed miserably due to my complete lack of effort—I simply wasn’t as concerned with the state of my room as I was with the state of my life.

  There were stacks of books on the dresser, and the closet doors were open to reveal an even scarier mess of clothes and junk haphazardly piled in there because if not, I’d most likely have killed myself many times over from tripping on them when they’d been on the floor.

  I suddenly felt very embarrassed at the mess, knowing that even though Robert had seen it all before, today felt like a day important enough for me to have at least made an effort at cleaning it up.

  “I could clean this room up in about ten seconds if you’d let me,” he suggested smugly, and leaned against the door to watch me turn around in circles, assessing what could be done in the quickest amount of time.

  “Nobody likes a showoff, Robert,” I reminded him, deciding to try a miracle sweep and clean of my own in exactly fifteen seconds…and succeeding in only managing to knock a pillow off of the bed and onto the ground, and pushing some clothes into a corner by the dresser, hiding it from plain sight.

  Pleased with my lack of change, Robert sat on the edge of my bed and patted the spot next to him. I stared at him, confused, but willing to oblige him. He reached for me as soon as I was near him and pulled me into his lap. He pulled my face towards his and began planting fluttering kisses on my forehead, the space between my brows, my nose—he was trailing a path of searing fire towards my lips, and damn if I couldn’t be anything but patient when he was holding my head so still.

  Finally, when I knew that I’d probably scream if he didn’t press his lips on mine, he did, and I knew that there was nothing anyone could do that would tear me away from him in that moment. I felt the surge of electricity shoot through me the instant our lips touched—the blood in my veins felt like it was boiling from the heat radiating within me, my heart pounding an ever increasing tempo as I pushed myself deeper into his embrace, even as he pulled me closer.

  I could feel his hands in my hair, holding my head captive as I did the same to him. I relished the way his hair felt between my fingers, thick and silky, and the knowledge that it and all of him was mine only further set my heart racing. I was breathless, gasping for air when he pulled away, ignoring my whimper of protest as he pressed his forehead to mine.

  My only consolation was that he appeared just as flustered as I was, his breathing ragged, his chest rising and falling at its own rapid pace. “Grace, we have plenty of time for kisses,” he said, his voice rough and strained with something that sounded a lot like need. “Right now I have a birthday present of my own to give you; I didn’t want to give it to you downstairs. I think your father might become apoplectic if he saw it.”

  When his breathing had slowed down enough for him to move without causing too much disturbance, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. My breathing didn’t help when I started to hyperventilate at its size. There was only one reason why boxes were that small, and only one reason why guys kept boxes that small in their pockets. I looked at him with my eyes wide open, a stuttering sound coming out of my mouth.

  He put his fingers over my lips, pressing them together to shut them. “It’s not what you think, so don’t get all panicky on me. Open it.” He nudged the box into my hands and then settled his arms around me, a sly half-smile crooking the corner of his mouth upward. I looked at him with skeptical eyes, not exactly sure whether or not I could trust him.

  He rolled his eyes at my thoughts, and motioned with his head to stop stalling and open the box.

  I lifted the hinged lid with my eyes closed, the fear of what lay within its confines feeling far more real than what I had felt facing off with Sam. Finally, hesitantly, after taking a deep breath I opened them. “Oh,” I said—the contents taking me by surprise. It was a ring, but not like anything I had ever seen before. The stone was a deep, almost midnight blue, rounded like an egg, but with a brilliant white, six pointed star at its center. It was set very plainly in a silver band without any additional ornaments or stones. It was, quite simply, the most beautiful ring I had ever seen in my life. I touched
the stone gently with my finger, tracing each arm of the star as it trailed across the face of the stone and down its sides.

  “What is it?” I asked when I finally remembered that he was still in the room with me.

  He took the box out of my hand and removed the ring from its wedged perch. He placed the box on the side of him and then grabbed my right hand, spreading my fingers out and slid it onto my ring finger, the cool metal contrasting with the heat from his hands…and the heat that I always felt whenever he touched me.

  “This is a star sapphire. It’s not a common stone, and the star disappears if you look at it in any way other than directly. I chose this stone because I wanted you to have something that would remind you of me when I’m not here with you. Sapphire is my birthstone, and, like me, you have to look closely with your eyes open to see the true nature hidden within.” He had tried to sound smug, but instead I could hear the hesitant tone in his voice, as though he feared that I wouldn’t be able to see what exactly he had meant for the ring to represent.

  I felt tears well up in my eyes and rubbed them away with clumsy hands, unable to speak. I was stunned. Aside from the pendant I had just received downstairs, no one had ever given me something that involved such thought and emotional investment. I felt ready to refuse the ring, feeling the need to remove it from my finger. What had I ever done to deserve so much from him?

  His love, his friendship…he had even gifted me with my own miracle by giving me back the last memories of my mother. Now he’d given me a symbol of who he was that I could keep with me always, my own star in a midnight sky. What was there in this world that I possessed that I could give to him besides my heart?

  “That is all I will ever need, Grace. Your heart and the love that you hold in it,” he whispered into my ear.

  I nestled my head on his shoulder, and stared at the ring, knowing now what I wanted to say. “I know, but what is there that you can keep with you when I’m gone? What will you have to remember me by?”