by Neta Jackson
“We could always ride on top,” said Sam with a laugh, and Grace soon joined her.
It was exactly the kind of lighthearted moment Grace needed.
Grace was nervous as she waited for the signal to come out on stage at the LaDue Auditorium the next evening. Good grief. What was she nervous for? The Greenville people she’d met that day, both staff and students, had been warm and friendly—like the weather, which had hiked back up into the mid-sixties. “It’s a real encouragement for one of our own who’s making it on the CCM circuit to come back,” the college choral director had said.
Samantha peeked and said the auditorium was filling with “a nice crowd”—Sam-speak meaning it wasn’t packed. Okay. A nice crowd. Grace was actually grateful. Not too large, not too small. Just right for getting her feet back on the ground.
She’d agonized about what to wear. This was a college campus. Dress up? Dress down? She’d finally decided on casual black jeans and ankle boots, a white tunic with embroidered neck and sleeves to dress it up, and her hair down and casual in its long shag style.
Father God, she prayed silently as she waited in the wings, imitating some of Sam’s prayer-isms, I do want to be about your business. So I dedicate this evening to you, even though—Grace hesitated—even though I’ve been kind of out of touch lately. A paraphrase of Psalm 49 seemed a good way to finish her prayer. Let the songs of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable to you tonight, O Lord—
“Grace, you’re on,” Sam whispered, giving her a little push.
Grace walked out onto the stage, momentarily blinded by the spotlights. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw big smiles on the faces of students and older adults alike, heard the warm clapping. Closing her eyes for a moment and drawing in a slow breath, she waited as Petey and the rest of the band gave her a short intro, and then she began …
“Over the mountains and the sea, your river runs with love for me …”
As the song welled up in her spirit, Grace almost felt she was singing in a bubble. Nothing mattered but the song. But as she got to the chorus, the music seemed to swell even louder. Opening her eyes, she realized the entire auditorium was on its feet singing along. She felt lifted …
“I will sing of your love forever … !”
“You did great last night—hope you know that.” It was the fifth time Sam had said something similar on the drive home the next day. “Your little stories between songs were great—that one about accidentally leaving your alarm clock in the women’s dorm bathroom after 9/11 and the janitor treating it as a possible terrorist attack was hilarious. Well, not at the time, I suppose.” She giggled at the wheel. “But your audience loved it.”
“Mm.” Grace had already said “Thanks” to Sam’s compliments. She’d peppered the evening with stories about campus life “back when,” both funny and serious, and the night seemed to go well. Merch sales had been decent and students had crowded around afterward getting her autograph. All good … except she’d been taken aback by one of the deans who cornered her. “We thought you’d bring a strong abstinence message—isn’t that what you do? Even students at Christian colleges need that, you know.”
The comment still bothered her. Did she even have a “message” anymore? Was she going to have to publicly announce she was single again? Not that being single changed the message … no. It wasn’t about the message. It was about her. The story no one knew. The secret that had bubbled to the surface of her heart, caused her to doubt. What right did she have to encourage others to wait?
“But can you believe this weather?” Sam slapped the steering wheel as they came off Route 57 and joined 94, heading for Lake Shore Drive. “Now it’s starting to snow!”
The one-day reprieve had evaporated overnight and temperatures had dropped back into the thirties, getting colder as they headed north. By the time Sam turned onto Beecham Street, there was at least two inches of white stuff on the ground—and a U-Haul truck blocking the street. “What in the world? I can’t get close to your house!”
Grace peered through the snowflakes landing on the windshield. “Remember I told you about the old lady who fell? Lost her house too. Somebody bought it.”
“Oh. That’s kinda sad.” Sam watched the people hauling things into the two-flat in question, then started to back up. “Guess I’ll drive up the alley and drop you off in back.”
Unlocking the back door five minutes later, Grace waved goodbye to Samantha as the rental car disappeared. Gusty winds on the way down … snow on the way back. How fair was it to ask Sam to drive to her concerts, even if they were drivable?
Did she have the courage to fly to Cincinnati next weekend?
Chapter 22
The drapes were still in one piece and Oreo seemed none the worse for wear from “baching it” for a couple days—except he had tipped over his food bowl and pooped outside his litter box in the basement, and his water bowl was empty. Maybe leaving him alone wasn’t such a good idea. Did Grace dare ask Tavis or his sister to come over once a day to check on the cat and scoop the litter box? She’d have to give the mother a house key …
No, no, she didn’t know the family that well. Not yet, anyway.
It was still spitting snow mixed with rain on Sunday—ha! So much for being the first day of spring—but Grace drove to Faith Chapel anyway, arriving a few minutes late. “Hey, should’ve told us you were coming!” her brother whispered as he and Denise scooted over to make room for her in the pew. “We’ve been invited to hang out with some friends this afternoon; they’ve got kids the same ages as our boys. Thought you were gone all weekend—”
“Mark, it’s fine. I don’t have to have dinner with you every time I come to church. Go. I’m good.”
Grace stood with the rest of the congregation as the praise band launched into a lively tune. She noticed hymnbooks in the racks on the back of the pews—did they sing hymns in the traditional service? Maybe she’d come to the earlier service one of these Sundays just to check it out.
Staying just long enough after the service to hug her nephews and wave good-bye, Grace headed for home. She was glad she’d decided to attend Faith Chapel for a while. Just the routine of going to church every Sunday was in itself helpful, and sitting with her brother and his wife gave her a sense of family, of connection, in spite of everything. But Sam was right: she really didn’t have close girlfriends anymore. College friends had gotten married and lost touch except for the annual Christmas missive. Add the demands of touring, becoming a public figure in the CCM world, and attaching herself to Roger as a “couple” with any time left over, and she’d pretty much flunked out of Girlfriend 102.
Parking the car in front of her house—she still needed to do some food shopping after being gone for three days—she saw the black-and-silver RAV4 come up Beecham, turn around in the cul-de-sac, and park on the other side of the street in front of the two-flat. Grace busied herself unlocking the front door, but once inside she stepped to the window to watch as four people got out of the small SUV and headed up the walk. She’d seen the older man and woman before, looking at the house—no surprise there; she’d assumed they were the ones who’d bought the house—and the boy. The man was wearing a suit and topcoat, and the woman wore a long dress that hung beneath her coat and a brightly colored something on her head—not a hat exactly, more like a fancy headwrap—as if they’d just come from church.
But who was the other man? Younger, also dark-skinned, tall, slender, not so dressed up, trailing the others. Could be the boy’s father. Or a cousin or uncle—who knew? The elderly woman who’d come with the couple that one time was nowhere to be seen.
Grace turned from the window. As long as the neighborhood stayed peaceful, she didn’t care who moved in. There were other extended families on the block—the Hispanic family in the two-flat a couple houses down and a family she thought might be African in the single-story brick on the corner with grandparents who didn’t seem to speak English. Everyone minded their ow
n business.
Her business of the moment was to decide whether to drive or fly to Cincinnati next weekend. Flying itself wasn’t the issue, if it wasn’t for all the invasive security. She wished she could talk it over with someone—but did anyone really understand why this was such a big issue for her? She might’ve talked it over with Roger “back when”—wasn’t that what a soul mate should be, someone you could talk to about anything? Who loved you no matter what?
But even Roger hadn’t known everything.
Well, Samantha was coming to work tomorrow—that would be time enough to decide. Right now she should get some lunch and do a quickie trip to the grocery store. Then she could relax.
But the thought nagged at her the rest of the day. Drive or fly?
At least pray about it, she told herself as she put groceries away later. She knew what the Bible said: “If any of you lacks wisdom, … ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault.” But was it wisdom she needed? She already knew that if she were going to continue touring, she would need to fly. She couldn’t drive everywhere.
What she needed was courage.
After fretting about it most of the afternoon and not getting much done, she threw up her hands. “Okay, God, your Word says I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. So … I need some of that strength.”
She’d wasted most of the afternoon worrying about it. Time to suck it up and just do it. She’d tell Samantha to make flight arrangements tomorrow.
Stepping to the window to close the drapes as twilight deepened, she noticed the new couple was walking arm in arm down the sidewalk in front of her house. Just out for a walk? Kind of cute for people their age—but it was getting dark enough outside, she didn’t need to be showing off all her business from her lighted living room. She pulled the drapes shut.
The limo pulled up alongside Terminal 3 at O’Hare Airport at ten o’clock sharp Thursday morning. “You sure you want to leave this early?” Sam had asked when she’d researched flight times from Chicago to Cincinnati. “United has a two-thirty flight that would get us in at four-forty—that’s with the time change. Band won’t get in till ten or so tonight with the van ’cause they’re pulling a trailer—but we’d still have the evening free and plenty of time to rehearse on Friday.”
“Morning’s better. And don’t do it online—costs a mint to change it if we have to.”
Sam had humored her, booked business class on American Airlines, and stayed overnight Wednesday so the car from Lincoln Limo Service would only have to make one stop. “That’s all you’re taking?” she said when Grace walked out of her bedroom the next morning pulling her teal-blue carry-on bag.
“That’s all you bring for these short hops. Might as well avoid those nasty baggage fees. Besides—” Grace hefted her large, roomy purse. “—you’d be amazed what all I can stick in here.”
Sam had given her an odd look but just shrugged. “And you’re leaving Oreo again all by his lonesome?”
“My brother promised to stop in tomorrow. He’ll be fine.” And at least the cat would be there when she got home.
After the limo driver deposited their luggage on the curb and got his tip, Grace followed Sam into the terminal. She’d done this dozens of times with no problem, hadn’t she? Other than the occasional delayed flight or annoying seatmate. Hadn’t been to Cincinnati before though. What was their airport security like? No, no, she wouldn’t think about that. One day at a time. She was grateful Sam was traveling with her. Grateful for Sam, period. Who raised this girl to have such a steady faith, such a calming presence? Thank you, Jesus, for Samantha …
Checking in was easy enough—no checked baggage, and the lines at the counter decent on a Thursday morning. Boarding passes in hand, they headed for security pulling their carry-on bags. Grace did a mental check. She was wearing her leather clogs, easy to slip off … all her liquid toiletries were in a ziplock bag in three-ounce sizes … no clippers or nail scissors or anything sharp that would cause suspicion …
Grace followed Sam through the security line as it wound back and forth, studying the people in the line next to her—business travelers, both men and women, with briefcases; parents with children wearing stuffed animal backpacks and pulling their own tiny Spider-man or Barbie carry-on bags; lots of young people with bulging backpacks. Was it spring break?
She glanced at her watch. No ruby birthstone, just the simple silver watch her parents had given her for high school graduation. Only ten thirty … they had plenty of time. Boarding passes and ID at the first checkpoint. “Have a nice flight,” the agent said, handing back Grace’s driver’s license and waving the next person forward. Still more back and forth as the line moved toward the stacks of plastic bins, rows of conveyer belts, and TSA agents. Grace studied people’s shoes. Everything from flip-flops to mukluks. Four people ahead of them … then three … two …
Grace took a deep breath and looked up. Two lines over, a middle-aged woman’s purse was being searched. Beyond the metal detectors, a young man had been pulled aside and was being wanded by a TSA agent.
A sudden taste of bile caught in her throat. Her heart seemed to pound in her chest. Sam was reaching for a bin when Grace grabbed her arm. “Sam … wait. Wait.” She stepped out of the line, her breath coming hard and fast. She felt lightheaded … faint.
“Grace?” Sam’s voice seemed to come from yards away.
Grace shook her head. “I can’t … I can’t do it. I …” She turned and began threading her way back through the line, hands gripping her carry-on and purse. O God, O God …
“Grace, wait!”
She heard Sam’s voice behind her but kept moving. “I’m sorry … sorry,” she mumbled to people as she headed the wrong way, past the first checkpoint, past the last person in line … and finally stopped, back in the main lobby. She bent over, hands on her knees. You fool! You coward! She chided herself, taking deep gulps of air as passengers heading for the security lines skirted around her.
“Grace! What happened? Are you all right?” Without waiting for an answer, Sam took her arm and steered her toward a row of steel and Naugahyde seats by the large windows at the front of the terminal. They sat. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Grace kept taking deep gulps, trying to regain her breath.
Finally she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sam. I … thought I could. I wanted to. But …”
Sam said nothing. Was she angry? Tears welled up in Grace’s eyes and she fished for a tissue but couldn’t find one in the big purse she’d stuffed with all her extras. Sam handed her one, and they continued to sit in silence as Grace dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.
A few minutes later, Grace felt Sam’s slim hand take hers and give it a squeeze—gentle, kind. “It’s going to be all right, Grace,” her assistant murmured. “I have to admit, I don’t fully understand what’s going on, but it’ll be okay.” But a moment later she stood up. “Give me your boarding pass.”
“What?” Grace looked up. “What are you going to do?”
“Turn them in. And then rent a car. We still have time to drive to Cincinnati if we get with it. It’s only five or six hours.”
“Oh, Sam …”
“Just give me the boarding pass.”
They were on the road an hour later, and driving south through Indiana on Route 65 an hour after that. Grace vacillated between relief and galling disappointment in herself—an emotional cocktail that was hard to swallow. Sam had matter-of-factly canceled their flight and picked up a rental car at Hertz, and didn’t seem angry. Frustrated, perhaps, but not angry. But they didn’t do much talking, which Grace appreciated. How could she explain herself?
All the confidence she’d sucked up at the Greenville concert seeped out of her spirit like water disappearing into sand. Would she be able to get up on that stage at Cincinnati Christian University and sing from the heart? Tell funny stories and chat with students—she’d decided to repeat the retro concert sets since CCU was also
a college with a strong music program—when she felt like such a failure?
As the cornfields flashed by, Sam finally broke the long silence. “You planned for this, didn’t you?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Telling me to get our tickets through the travel agent, the kind that can be changed or refunded. Bringing only a carry-on bag—you’ve never done that before. Both of which made it possible to walk away from the airport back there.”
“No, no, I really wanted to—” Grace stopped, her face suddenly hot, her protest sticking in her throat.
Tears squeezed from her eyes. Sam was right. She’d kept a back door open, an escape hatch in case the hoped-for courage from God didn’t come through.
What kind of trust was that?
Chapter 23
It was over. She’d made it through … somehow.
As the limo driver unloaded their suitcases in front of Grace’s house Saturday afternoon, Sam told him, “You don’t need to wait—I’ve got my car here this time. But thanks for rescheduling.” They’d had to return the rental car to the airport anyway, so Sam had called Lincoln Limo and simply rescheduled their pickup time.
The driver, dressed in the usual black suit and tie, shrugged it off. “Happens all the time. Planes are late—you know the drill. As long as Paddock has enough drivers, we can usually handle the delays.”
Grace, already halfway up her front walk, heard Sam say, “Paddock?”
“That’s right. Lincoln Paddock, the owner of Lincoln Limo. He’s your neighbor—you didn’t know that?”
No, why would we know that? Grace muttered to herself, getting out her key. Oreo greeted her at the front door with a litany of complaints about being left alone for so long. Grace shed her coat and absently picked up the cat as if in a fog.
Sam came in a few minutes later, picking up the mail that had been pushed through the door slot the past few days. “Did you hear that? The owner of Lincoln Limo—the company we’ve been using for the past year—lives in that big house at the end of your street! Kind of weird.”
