Saving Grace (Madison Falls)

by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  He folded his arms good-humoredly. “Go on. Who would you cast as Mabel?”

  She hesitated.

  He leaned in. “Come on Grace. You can be honest with me.”

  She breathed out in surrender. “Okay. Ruby has a lot of talent. It’s raw, but with a little work and a good corset, I think she could carry the show.”

  Devon raised his brow, clearly considering her words. “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought of her. I think I was guilty of a little pre-casting, truth be told.”

  She made a sarcastic show of raising her eyebrows as she turned her head away.

  He chuckled as if to let her know her gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I’m not exactly sure why, but I have a feeling you know what you’re talking about.” He popped the pushpin that held the paper out of the board. “I think I’ll take a little more time with this.”

  “You won’t be sorry.” She smiled, then jolted, suddenly remembering her Cinderella-like need to get home before dark. She started for the door. “I’d better get going.”

  Falling into step with her, he carefully slid the cast list into his black leather briefcase.

  “If it’s any consolation,” he pushed the front door open and stood to one side while she walked through. “The last concession girl cried on her first night too.”

  “Terrific.” Suddenly self-conscious of her small-town-casual attire, she balled up her hands in the pockets of her new ‘I Love Montana’ sweat jacket. Anxious, she looked out at the sky that was already a dark blue on the horizon.

  “Seriously,” Devon said, “it’s a great little town. The people here are very friendly once they’ve been fed.”

  She sniggered softly, then recalled her curiosity about him. As they glided down the steps, she pondered the perfect probe. “So you live here then?”

  “Only temporarily. I’m staying with a friend.”

  Her head bobbed like a metronome. Somehow, he didn’t seem like the staying-with-a-friend type.

  “Actually,” he continued. “I’m pretty anxious to head back home…when the time is right.”

  Grace nodded again. You and me both.

  Devon held a hand out toward the Lexus, which gleamed even in this pale light. “I’d be no gentleman if I didn’t offer you a lift.”

  Her stomach flipped. As tempting as it was to slip into that buttery-soft passenger seat, she couldn’t possibly let down her guard. It wouldn’t be prudent to get into a car alone with a stranger, however trustworthy he might seem. Best to play it safe. “No thanks. I don’t have far to go.”

  He nodded in concurrence as he clicked the remote on his key ring. The Lexus flashed its headlights and bleeped a greeting. He opened the door and tossed his briefcase in.

  She paused, reluctant to walk away from the sweet life on wheels. “Oh, by the way,” she said. “How did it work out for you at Streebecks?”

  Leaning on the top of the door, he smiled. “I always find a means,” his eyes locked onto hers, “of making things go my way.”

  Glinting her a wink, he slipped into the car, shut the door, and revved the engine to life.

  Chapter 11

  Renewed from what had felt like a taste of home, Grace started slowly up the sidewalk, measuring her thoughts. She considered the old brick building as she passed, and what a handsome piece of old architecture it was. 1882, wasn’t that what Nancy had said?

  She pulled her hand from her pocket and let it glide across the rough brick as she walked. It felt dusty and rugged, like the face of a cowboy after a day on the range.

  Looking back, she tried to picture the neon flash of a casino replacing the hammered copper electric lanterns that flanked the front porch. What history had it witnessed, this building? It would be sad to see it go.

  Such a shame that this Mr. R, whoever he was, didn’t seem to care what a loss it would be to the town. She looked ahead, noticing how the old fashioned streetlamps created soft titian pools of light that spilled from the sidewalk into the street. Not that it really mattered to her, but a casino would change everything. It would ruin whatever it was that made this place special.

  Special. The thought surprised her. She’d only been here for three days, and hadn’t put much thought into the aesthetics of the place. She’d traveled to major cities all over the world. Why would Madison Falls strike her as particularly extraordinary?

  Must be just a side effect of her emotional state. She shoved her hand back into her pocket, pressing against the knot that had formed in her stomach. This Mr. R. was no doubt one of those hardnosed businessmen who cared more about his own assets than he did about people. She’d witnessed more than enough of that in her career.

  Swallowing hard, she tried to quash the fire in her throat. She’d seen Kirk use his money—old family money that he hadn’t even earned himself—to get whatever he wanted. That was how he felt accepted, loved even. By how much money he could get people to take. Of course, it came at a terrible price for the recipients. They became his puppets—eternally obligated to do whatever he wanted.

  As she stepped across Mountainview Avenue, Grace wondered for the thousandth time if her life would be more bearable if she’d just taken Kirk’s money and gifts. At least then she wouldn’t be paying the price for what he saw as a rejection of him. That was a choice for which she had nearly paid with her life.

  A movement on the other side of the street jarred her from her deep contemplation. A woman had dashed out onto the sidewalk, her fists balled up in front of her. Grace slowed to a near stop as a man followed.

  The pair was silhouetted by a neon ‘Coors’ sign that blinked in rhythm with the twangy country music which spilled out into the otherwise tranquil evening. Grace hadn’t even noticed that there was a bar two doors down from the hardware store, but then that wasn’t the kind of thing that normally drew her eye. She was more the cocktail lounge type.

  Shouting incoherently, the man grabbed the woman’s arm and whirled her around to face him. Grace froze. The tone of his voice conveyed out-of-control anger. She strained to hear, not knowing if she should help the woman or flee for her own safety.

  The man released the woman’s arms, thrashing his own about in obvious rage. She tried to get away but he grabbed her again, this time shaking her until she started sobbing. He lowered his tone, pulling her into a hug.

  Grace nearly choked in disgust. It was him. So that Sam fellow had a girlfriend.

  It was so transparent. She’d observed enough drunken abusive rages to recognize the pattern. How could that poor woman stay with a man like that? Didn’t she know how dangerous it could be?

  Keeping a protective eye on her in case she needed help, Grace shrunk back into the shadows. Flashes of Kirk’s rage shot through her like arrows. Shouldn’t she have recognized that same quality the second she saw Sam? He’d seemed so docile. Then again, so had Kirk until she’d unintentionally lit his fuse.

  Calmer now, the couple continued to talk.

  The shadows were lengthening, and anxiety pricked at Grace’s skin. She needed to get home. She started walking again, slowly but with purpose.

  Close to the corner of Pine Vista, it dawned on her that she hadn’t done her customary safety check. How could she have forgotten? Scanning her surroundings had been habitual for so long now, like brushing her teeth. It was foolish to let down her guard.

  She kept moving as she examined the setting. A couple of people went about their business in front of shops. A Toyota drove by. Nothing unusual.

  Sam opened the door to the blue pickup truck and the woman climbed in. He crossed to the driver’s side. He was going to drive in his condition?

  Just before stepping into the cab, he glanced across the street, and his eyes met Grace’s. She looked away. Now he knew she’d been watching him. What would he think?

  Forget it. Who cares? That was the last thing she needed to worry about. Making a left-face, she crossed Main, as the truck roared to life behind her and pulled away.

  T
he drone of the engine still echoed in the twilit evening as she took the final leg of her journey at a gallop. She fumbled for her keys in her purse as she bounded up the front steps.

  Shoving the door open, she paused. At least that part of her safety ritual hadn’t been lost. Thankful that she’d turned on all the lights before leaving that afternoon, she scanned the part of the house she could see. That was one thing she missed about her studio—keeping track of the entire space with one sweep of her eyes.

  The distant sound of kids at play and a car driving by were music to her straining ears. Her house was a tomb. She shut, locked, then leaned on the door—her shield against the world.

  What was she going to do?

  Taking a cautious step, she peered around the corner till she had a clear view of the dining room. An awful memory fought for her attention. It had been a little over two weeks since that horrible night when she’d returned from her gig in South Carolina, where she’d had six blessed weeks of no unwanted surprises. She had dared to hope that her life had returned to normal, that Kirk had finally given up on his senseless pursuit of her. How could she have been so foolish? She should have known he had a plan for her.

  A chill crawled up her spine now as she remembered opening the door to her apartment, prepared to enter the tiny space that was her home. Instead she’d stopped cold at the terrifying sight in front of her, her blood freezing her veins.

  Panic had surged, instantly de-icing her immobility. Without thinking, she’d turned and fled, not daring to look back.

  The shock of her decision to abandon everything that mattered for the sake of her own survival rose up in her again. Now was no time to second guess that decision. If she had stayed, there was no telling what would have happened, and no one could have helped her.

  She shuffled into the kitchen, grateful that she had done a little grocery shopping earlier in the day and that Pinot Blanc had been on prominent display. She grabbed the bottle out of the otherwise bare fridge and thanked the makers of her camp knife for understanding that even an outdoorsman sometimes needs a corkscrew.

  Pitiable as it seemed to drink wine out of a mug, she poured to the brim and slunk out to the sun porch. She dropped into the camp chair, disappointment racing through her weary body. Hadn’t the chair been cozier that morning? She slumped down, taking a welcome sip of the heady liquid. Her lips tingled, and her muscles relaxed a little.

  Leaning back as much as the seat would comfortably allow, she looked out at the crisp black sky jeweled with stars, and let the emotion she’d been holding in bubble to the surface. Her eyes stung with unwanted sentiment. It was time she faced up to the hardest part of this whole situation—she missed her life.

  She made a mental list of who might report her missing. Her manager, maybe? Surely Lana, her vocal coach, would find it odd when she failed to show up for her lesson. Anybody else? Maybe a neighbor in her building, but that seemed unlikely. She was gone so much as it was that no one would take notice.

  Her agent would at least notice if she didn’t return his calls, but she wasn’t one of his star clients. She was still just a baby principal in his book, and his efforts on her behalf had done little to change that.

  She pinched back tears, but the pain in her chest grew fiercer. What was wrong with her life that she hadn’t bothered to make any real friends? Obviously, if she didn’t care about anybody in a meaningful way, that meant nobody cared about her.

  There was her mother, of course. A tear trickled down Grace’s cheek as she remembered how difficult it had been to tell her she was fleeing. Her mother was still so caught up in mourning that it had been hard to tell if she’d understood. Regret and worry strummed at Grace’s heart. If only she could be with her mother without endangering her too.

  Emotion caught in her belly. The only other person who would wonder where she had gone was the one person she didn’t want to find her. Ever.

  A gulp of wine warmed her throat but chilled her heart. Her mom would disapprove of her drinking alone, but what other choice did she have? She was alone. Without plan or purpose. Tipping back her head, she gazed that the crystal stars above and wanted to shout at God for abandoning her. If He was up there somewhere, why would He create the stratosphere and then leave her down here on her own?

  She let out a helpless wail, like an animal caught in a trap. All she wanted was to go home, but she couldn’t. Nothing had changed. Rocking gently forward, she shut her eyes. She was waiting for home to be safe again, but with no idea what would make it so.

  Pulling her knees up to her chest, she allowed the tears to flow like Niagara. What was she doing in a nothing town with a job that she was incapable of executing? It was so unfair that Kirk had unlimited funds and infinite time and she had to sell Oreos to keep herself afloat while hiding from him. Where was the justice in that?

  Blowing despondency out between clenched teeth, she thought about the theatre. There was no way she could quit, not now. It would be downright mean to do that to Nancy. Besides, she needed the income.

  She took a consoling swig. Her life had been going so well. How could it possibly have come to this…and what was she going to do to change it?

  Chapter 12

  “This is the best play I’ve seen in years.”

  Grace peered up at the grey-bearded patron as she knelt, digging around the fridge for a diet cola. The sport coat he wore over a plaid work shirt must have looked stylish in about 1973. This was apparently the local dress code for an evening at the theatre.

  “They always do such a good job here,” the woman next to him raved. “Any one of these people could make it in New York if they wanted to.”

  “Broadway quality.” The man’s head bobbed. “I’ve always said it.”

  Grace rolled her lips between her teeth to suppress a laugh as she stood and handed him the can. Clearly these people had never actually been to New York.

  “Have you ever auditioned here?” The woman directed her serious query at Grace as she handed over her carefully counted change and picked up a cookie with a white cocktail napkin. “You look like you’d make a good little actress.”

  “No.” Grace turned her focus to the next customer in line in hopes of discouraging dialogue. “Acting is quite a skill.”

  The couple nodded in the apparent belief that they were engaged in a serious discussion of the arts.

  “Well, everyone here acts a good part.” The woman took a delicate bite of her cookie. “We’re lucky to have so much talent right here in Madison Falls.”

  Grace breathed a little easier as she served a root beer to the last patron in line. With the pressure off, she felt slightly more forthcoming with the chatty couple. “What about all the people behind the scenes?” Her question was met with blank stares.

  “What do you mean?” The sport-jacketed man took a swig of his cola and looked at Grace as though she was about to let him in on some sort of theatrical secret.

  “Well, you know…” She flicked her bangs from her eyes. Her interest in teaching an impromptu stagecraft class was practically zero. “The stage crew, the stage managers. Front of house staff. All the designers and light and sound board operators. Not to mention the director and producers. It takes a lot of people to put together a production, even a small one.”

  The woman eyed her intently, swallowing her last bite of cookie. “All these actors are so good.”

  Grace let out a sigh as the end-of-intermission chime sounded and the couple exchanged a look of lottery-winner merriment. She shook her head and watched them go, before turning to examine the mess she’d created. Her head ached, but at least tonight she hadn’t run out of change and no one had shouted at her.

  “You have a nice way with people.”

  She jerked around at the sound of Devon’s voice. She hadn’t even noticed him standing in the lobby.

  “I’m sorry.” He approached, his hands raised in contrition. “I’ll have to start announcing myself.”

  She e
ased into a relaxed chuckle. “I guess I’m just jumpy by nature. Can I get you anything?”

  “Actually, I’m hoping that you can rescue me from that torture to end all tortures called ‘stagehand coffee’.”

  “Oh horrible. Catastrophe appalling.” She put her hand to her throat in mock dismay as she lilted one of her favorite lines.

  He arched an eyebrow. “So you’re familiar with Pirates. Why didn’t you audition? I could use another daughter who actually looks younger than the Major General.”

  Warmth crept up her neck. “I…couldn’t. I just…”

  Devon tipped a knowing gaze. “Now, don’t lie to me. You’re a singer. I could tell the first time we met.”

  Her heart slammed against her ribs, threatening to break right through. “Me? I…”

  He held up a hand. “No use denying it. I’ve directed opera.” He leaned in, assuming a confidential tone. “A well-trained voice can’t be easily disguised.”

  She sunk into her shoulders, her manner modest. “Oh.”

  A kind smile caressed his lips. “Don’t worry.” He winked. “I won’t pressure you till I’m desperate for a decent soprano. Right now all I ask is for a decent cappuccino.”

  She drew in a breath, relieved at the change of subject but oddly comforted by his keen perception. “I’m so sorry.” She cuffed the counter with her palm. “I told Nancy this stand needs coffee.”

  “And you’re right.” He mimicked her gesture. “I’m taking it up with the management.” As he moved his hand away, it brushed against her arm.

  Her knees buckled. This man was even more handsome than she’d remembered, with penetrating blue eyes, and perfect features could have been carved from granite. He exuded something that Grace had always thought of as 'presence.’

  His gaze grew distant. “That’s one of the things I miss the most about New York.”

  Her face warmed. “What’s that?”

  “Decent coffee. I’m sorry, but the good people of Madison Falls don’t know a Breve from a Macchiato.”