by Watters, Kim
Sarah cursed herself for her foolishness. She couldn’t escape her past no matter how hard she tried. It would always be there in black and white, on the police report.
A report Joe could print out any time.
Why hadn’t she told Grant the truth? He’d given her plenty of opportunity, but her fear of opening up to anyone—even the one person who had genuinely seemed to care about her—had stopped her. Indecision chased her as she thought about the best way to tell him. She had to, and she had to make him understand before he found out from Joe.
Sarah wanted to scream. She wanted to fill her lungs and let out all the guilt, frustration, and anger into the loudest sound she could make. She wanted to pull out her hair, break a glass, or pound her fist into the wall to relieve the pressure, but she didn’t. She shut down her emotions just like she’d always done and concentrated on her opening duties.
As she hung her backpack in the employee section, she noticed the silence in the kitchen. Ted wasn’t in his usual spot behind the line banging pots and pans around as he did the daily prep work, and Mabel was nowhere to be seen.
One glance around the tiny kitchen and she knew they wouldn’t be opening on time. Odd. It wasn’t like her boss to be so unprepared for the day. Something was up.
Fumbling to tie her apron over her uniform, she started toward the dining room. The sound of voices stopped her in her tracks as she placed her hand on the swinging door.
“She’s got a police record? I don’t believe it, Ted.” Mabel sounded tired and weak, unlike her normal energetic, robust self. Sarah’s arm dropped to her side, her feet frozen in place on the worn linoleum. Through the tiny window, she could see the owner and cook, and the other waitress sitting at the counter. They didn’t notice her. “Who told you such a story?” the older woman continued.
“Joe Castle, the sheriff’s deputy, caught me on the way in this morning.”
“I don’t understand. Why did he tell you?”
“Probably because she works here.” The sound of the metal coffee spoon striking the side of the cup sent a chill down her spine. Ted sighed. “She lied on her application. I suppose I’ll have to let her go when she comes in.”
“Poor thing. She was such a nice girl. A good employee, too. I can’t believe it. And to think we’d taken her in and accepted her. Grant’s family, too. What’s this world coming to? Well, we’d better get to work if we want to open today. I’ll call Veronica.” Sarah heard the sound of a stool scraping against the floor. “Does Grant know?”
“I don’t think he did, but Joe was on his way to Gillian’s. I’m sure he’ll find out soon enough.”
Too soon. Sarah wasn’t prepared. As she staggered backwards, her hip connected with one of the stainless steel prep counters by the sink. She stifled the cry.
The floor wobbled beneath her and she grabbed onto the cool surface. Her whole world crashing down had happened sooner than expected. Her past had finally caught up with her. The mistakes she’d made had come back to haunt her. She’d been kidding herself that she could forget. That it wouldn’t matter. But it did.
Since coming to Greer, she thought she’d discovered a piece of herself that was missing, but she’d been mistaken. Lorraine was wrong. He did care about her past. Grant and his family would never accept her. Nor would anyone in Greer. She couldn’t live with the looks and stares. She’d had enough of that growing up.
Her dreams were shattered, her mind in complete chaos. A family, a home, a career. The things she’d longed a lifetime for, things she’d thought she’d finally found, things she now knew would be forever out of her reach.
Her world had spun out of control again, and this time it hurt worse than the first time, because this time she allowed it to happen. When she’d been a child, her mom’s death had ended the illusion of a family, even if it was a dysfunctional one. From there, she’d been cast adrift by the system, always on the outside looking in.
Wanting what she couldn’t have.
Wanting to belong.
With Grant and his family, she’d managed to reach out and feel it for a fleeting second. Nothing more. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to remain. Forcing her feet to move, she ran to the employee area, grabbed her backpack and escaped out the back door.
Rocky greeted her at the clinic with his usual affection, jumping up and licking her face, even though she’d only been gone fifteen minutes. Sarah hugged him as tears streamed down her cheeks. “Rocky, I’ve been such a fool.”
Even though she’d taken him for a walk earlier, she took him for another one, simply for the memories. Grabbing the blue leash, she hooked it to his collar. Since she still used the same set Grant had given her that first night she gave Rocky a bath, the image of Grant surfaced again. More tears stung at the back of her lids. For someone unused to showing emotions, Sarah had done a complete turnaround. All because of Grant.
The fresh air did little for her mood. Running away again was not the answer, but it was the only thing she knew to do. Sobbing, she let herself back into the clinic.
Rocky had never done anything to her but show unconditional love and here she was abandoning him as did his previous owners. She knew better than to take her dog with her when she had no idea where she was going herself. Grant would just have to find him another home.
Her heart wrenched in two. But she had no one to blame but herself. She’d allowed herself to open up to Grant. She’d allowed him to tear down the walls around her heart. She’d allowed herself to love him.
With Rocky at her side, she walked around the office and memorized every detail from the stain on the white linoleum floor in the reception area, to the poster of the happy family on the wall. While Rocky was a far cry from that dog in the poster, she’d almost imagined them the three of them superimposed over the model’s images. Even down to the house with the white picket fence and a big back yard.
Closing her eyes against the painful image, she walked into Grant’s office and settled into his leather chair. She could still feel the imprint of his body carved into the seat and the smell of his scent, mingled with the tangy spice of leather.
Hurriedly, she retreated to the back room. “Goodbye, Rocky.” She let out a wail and hugged her dog one last time before she stood and let herself out the same way she came in. “Just remember that I’ll always love you. You, too, Grant. Especially you,” she added softly under her breath.
Gillian met him at his condo as he came back from his morning jog. One look at her face told him more than the paper in her hands.
“Come inside. No need to entertain the neighbors.”
His sister followed him to his study. “We got this early this morning. It’s not too bad, but it’s not great either, Grant.” His sister sighed, the sound grating on his nerves. “Joe thought it would be better if I explained everything, but if you have any questions, he’s at home.”
The stress that started in his neck muscles last night returned with a renewed vengeance and zapped any energy he’d managed to muster. His run was a distant memory now. Grant rubbed his palms across his face to clear the sweat, and then rubbed his hands on his shorts before he sat down. “Let me see.”
Gillian handed him the paper and settled in one of the upholstered wingback chairs across from his small desk. “This is only her adult record. Anything she did as a juvenile would be sealed.”
With trepidation, Grant stared at the surprisingly short list. As far as he could tell, she’d only had one infraction but a big one—breaking and entering, trespassing and arson. Bile rose in his throat at the last word. Sarah didn’t look the type. Not that he would know what an arsonist looked like.
He’d always thought they’d be some deranged person with a vendetta, carrying around a can of gasoline and a match. But he realized they could look like the average Joe, or in his case, the beautiful Sarah. Just a few years ago, not far from Greer, in the Bakersfield and LA area, one of the fire departments’ own had caused a string of fires for some reas
on that wasn’t really important to Grant.
Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Sarah doing any of the things documented here. The black letters blurred on the white sheet of paper as her image wavered in his mind’s eye. Her tentative smile, the light dusting of freckles that graced her face and her curly blond hair and her curvaceous body beckoned him.
God help him, he loved her.
After setting the paper down, Grant pinched the bridge of his nose. Shoulders slumped, he exhaled sharply. “I don’t believe it, Gillian. There has to be some mistake. Sarah’s not the type.”
He heard Gillian rise and round the desk. She put her hands on his shoulders and began to massage. Her fingers felt good, easing some of the tension, but he wished it was Sarah, not his sister who stood behind him.
“I’m as upset as you are, Grant, believe it or not, I liked her. So she may not look the type, but this report doesn’t lie. How do we know what she’s done that’s not on this paper? How do we know she hasn’t graduated to being…a con artist?”
The chair had grown uncomfortably hard. Grant shifted, but found no relief so he pushed himself out of his seat and paced the confines of the small room. Realization slashed at his insides as the final pieces of the puzzle that he’d assembled during his jog fit together.
Sarah had lied to protect herself, not hurt him.
Grant continued pacing. Every third step he had to turn around and go the opposite direction, but he couldn’t stop. Sarah and the impact she had on his life were too important.
“This isn’t one of your high-budget movie scripts. She tried to tell me about her past and I blew it off. And I know she’s not a con artist. Sarah never asked for a thing. In fact, she refused my help from the beginning. Everything I did, I did because I wanted to. I wanted to help her. I took more from her than she ever took from me.”
“You bet you did.” Aunt Mildred, her snow-white hair still in curlers from her early morning appointment at the beauty shop, stormed through his door, followed by his mother, two aunts, and his two sisters, Caroline and Patty. “You’re full of hogwash, Gillian, suggesting that sweet child’s a con artist. That girl’s no more a thief than these fake boobs built into my bra.” With that, his aunt patted herself on her chest.
Startled by his family’s sudden appearance, Grant slumped back into his chair. “Good morning Aunt Mildred.”
“Same to you. Now let me see this so-called report.”
His aunt’s gnarled hands snatched the paper from his grasp before she sat down. Silence fell on the room as they waited for her response. “This incident happened over seven years ago.”
“She was never convicted either,” Gillian responded quietly. “The charges were dropped before the case went to trial. It’s kind of hard to gather from the wording, but Joe’s assured me it’s true. Right now, he’s trying to get in touch with a friend who works in the Bay area to see if he can find out what happened.”
“This is what you dragged me out of Lynette’s Beauty Parlor for? Who here doesn’t have something they’re not ashamed of. Why, Grant, seems to me I remember an incident with some toilet paper and Coach Jackson’s house? And what about all those ‘For Sale’ signs on Mr. William’s lawn? And Gillian, getting caught drinking alcohol on prom night, with the mayor’s son, no less. Carolyn, we won’t even go there.”
His aunt stomped her wood cane on the floor. “And you,” she pointed her bony finger at Aunt Mary, “I’m sure you’re involved with this somehow. Don’t give me that I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about look. Don’t think I don’t know about the time you snuck out your window to go cavorting with Bill Baxter. If anyone should have a rap sheet—”
“You’re right, as always.” Grant smiled as he remembered the time he and his friends had childishly taken a jumbo pack of toilet paper rolls and decorated his coach’s house because he’d been benched for a game.
With reason. He’d been caught red-handed smoking a cigarette before practice his senior year. His first and last cigarette. “Seven years ago, Sarah had only been a year older than me when I did that. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Hope coursed through him. Realization dawned that the Sarah Churchill written about in this report was not the same Sarah Churchill who walked in off the streets and into his life, just as he was not the same person who toilet-papered Coach Jackson’s house. He’d stake his life on it.
Grant retrieved the paper, crumbled it in his hands, and threw it toward the wastebasket. It missed, which didn’t surprise him since he’d never been much of a basketball player. As the ball of paper came to rest on the floor, everything became clear for him.
“I don’t care what happened. I love her, her past be damned. I’ll do everything to convince her to be my wife.”
Love? Love.
He’d fallen for her the moment she’d stepped through the clinic doors carrying an injured Rocky. He’d trusted her then, and trusted her now. He trusted her with his business, his life and his heart.
Whatever she’d done, she’d done out of necessity. Not too many people would understand. No wonder she kept running. But until she faced her problems head-on, she’d just keep running. A knot formed in his stomach. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Good. I’m glad you finally realized that,” his aunt said. She smiled and then rose form her chair. “I’d begun to think you’d never get married. Come along girls. After my hair is done, we have an engagement party to plan. How exciting. When are you going to tell Sarah?”
“Now.” Grant rose from his seat and ushered the women of his family out the door. He had no time to waste. “After you, ladies.”
Grant jumped into his van, jammed it into reverse, and then quickly backed out of his garage. He just missed hitting his neighbor’s car as he careened into the street. With an apologetic wave, he sped off, trying to keep within the posted speed limit.
Greer’s Diner was located on the other side of town, not too far from the clinic, or Sarah’s apartment. At least 6 stoplights away from him—6 long, red, stoplights. Slamming on his brakes, he barely stopped in time from entering the intersection. Fortunately, at this time of morning, traffic was light, or he might have caused an accident. He’d never seen such a quick yellow signal.
He hit the steering wheel in frustration when he realized he missed the timing sequence. Now he’d be stuck waiting for every light between him and Sarah. Each second that passed seemed like forever.
Drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, his mood darkened. Tension built again inside and out, weighing heavily on him. His stupidity had made his head overrule his heart. He’d probably ruined everything. Instead of fighting for her last night, he’d let her down, just when she needed him the most—just as every other person had done in her past.
“Come on, change.”
The light finally turned green.
Five minutes later, he pulled the van into the diner parking lot, his nerves wound tight, his mood uneasy. Slipping into the last vacant spot, he took a deep breath. He’d finally made it, but what was he going to say to Sarah?
Customers filled every table as he looked around for the woman who’d stolen his heart.
“Hi, Grant.” Veronica hurried past him, her arms loaded with plates of food. Over the din, he could hear Mabel calling out an order to Ted. Scanning the area, he saw many familiar faces, but not the one he wanted to see.
The tightness that had started at his midsection, spread to the rest of his body. He caught Veronica on her way to the coffee station. “Hey, Veronica, where’s Sarah?”
“Dunno. She never came in today. There’s an empty stool at the counter if you want to eat. Be right there,” she hollered to a male patron sitting in a booth by the window.
His gut feeling had been right. Sarah was gone.
And with her departure, his heart.
Chapter Twelve
Grant slammed the door shut behind him as he entered the clinic. After the shock of Sarah’s disappearance wore off, his
anger had set in. Not at her, but at himself.
His reaction last night had been no better than the people who had taken her in when she was a child. Instead of reaching out to her, comforting her in her need, he’d pulled back.
Banging his fist against the wall, he left a hole in the drywall. The contact sent a jolt of pain up his arm, but that was nothing compared to the pain Sarah must be feeling. He’d seen the wounded look in her eyes last night as he dropped her off at her apartment—all because of him. She’d brought a ray of sunlight to his life and he’d blown it.
And she’d left him.
An empty feeling emerged as he thought about her and how far she’d come since she’d first waked through the clinic door. Sarah. Alone, vulnerable, and hurt, somewhere in central California, since he was certain she wasn’t in Greer anymore. The only question was, where did she go? The gnawing sensation in his stomach worked its way to his heart.
He needed her back.
Switching on the lights, he glanced around. Stark white walls stared vacantly back at him. He sighed, his anger gone. Numbness spread through him. Somehow, the thought of continuing without her left him cold.
He hadn’t really felt like opening today—he warred with himself over whether to open the clinic or search for Sara—but he had obligations, and bills to pay. When he finished with his two appointments, he’d tear the surrounding communities apart trying to find her.
As Grant walked down the hall, Rocky slunk toward him, his tail between his legs and his big, brown eyes staring up at him woefully. Grant squatted to scratch him behind the ear. He wasn’t the only one hurt by Sarah’s defection.
“She left you, too, huh boy?”
Rocky sighed and placed his head on Grant’s knee. Touching the dog’s nose, he found it warm and dry. Rocky was sick…heart-sick for Sarah. Just like him.
With one last pat, he rose to his feet, made a pot of coffee and headed toward his office. Rocky followed. The dog wouldn’t leave his side, not that he could blame him. The place was empty, the life had disappeared with Sarah.
