Saving Grace (Madison Falls)

by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  “Why, thank you my dear.” Myra’s coarsely-lined eyes widened slightly as she grabbed the cup and eyed it as if she’d never seen coffee before. She lifted it to her carefully painted lips and took a wary nip. Her eyes softened and she made a pleased sound as she swallowed. “My dear, that’s the most remarkable coffee I’ve ever tasted.” She patted Grace’s hand. “This ought to perk me up to play all those fast notes.”

  Grace smiled weakly at Myra’s departing back. If only that could be true.

  A derisive snicker escaped from Sophia. “Some people have no taste.” She rounded the table and looked at Grace head-on. “Take Ruby. So what if she thinks you look like some singer nobody’s ever heard of?” She scoffed. “People always tell me I look like Jessica Alba.”

  “Hmm…” Suddenly lucid, Grace studied Sophia’s harsh features. “I really don’t see it. Jessica’s so pretty.”

  A fire lit behind Sophia’s eyes and she turned on her heel.

  Grace twisted her mouth. ‘Nobody’s ever heard of’, my eye. She’d honestly intended to steer clear of any low blows, but Sophia made it too easy.

  Her tray now empty, she picked it up and headed for the door. In the commotion of the last few minutes, she’d forgotten all about Devon.

  Her pulse played a staccato melody as she stepped out into the warm evening and saw him push off the brick wall he’d been leaning on.

  He eyed her suggestively. “I was starting to feel stood up.”

  Assuming a demure attitude, she moved toward him, clasping the tray under her arm. “I never promised I’d come out.”

  “You can’t blame a guy for hoping.”

  She sidled up next to him. “So, will I see you at the potluck tomorrow?”

  His eyes bugged out in amusement. “Potluck’s aren’t exactly my style.”

  “Mine either. But Lucy’s quartet is playing and I promised her I’d go. I know it’s not the Met, but…”

  He chuckled lightly. “Or the New York Grand? If your audition for me the other day is any indication, you could be on the inside track at both.”

  She flashed a grin. He’d seemed impressed by her a cappella rendition of Carmen’s Act I aria, but she hadn’t wanted to push a decision. “So, have you heard any more?”

  “They seem just inches away from hiring me. When I hear, you’ll be the first to know. Why don’t you go to the concert in the park and tell me how it was? I have some business to attend to anyway.”

  “Business?” She teased. “In the evening?”

  He shrugged, checking his Rolex. “Time to get back. Oh, and I had a word with Sam. He won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  Her heart sank slightly as she forced an appreciative smile. Had he doomed her to finish the job herself? Plumbing Repair for Dummies?

  With a hand squeeze and a wink, he turned to go. She watched him disappear into the storefront, then headed back toward the theatre. Sauntering up the sidewalk, she enjoyed the evening breeze that always seemed to waft through town at about this time. With a sense of leisure, she commenced climbing the steep porch steps.

  Reaching the top, she turned and leaned on the pillar, a dreamy smile forming on her lips as she thought of Devon. She hated lying to him, but surely when the time came to fill him in, he’d understand. He’d probably applaud her courage and ingenuity, not to mention the twist of fate that had brought them together.

  She perched on the railing, leaning her back against the pillar, and took in a restorative breath. There was still a good half hour till intermission, and it was nicer out here than inside.

  Relax. All she had to do was get through the next few weeks.

  As her body loosened up, Ruby’s comment slipped back to the forefront of her mind. She gritted her teeth. So what if Ruby had noticed she resembled Tracy? She hadn’t seemed to think much of it. If she ever realized how right she’d been, Grace would be long gone anyway.

  She shifted on her narrow perch. What if Ruby mentioned her observation to other people? It wouldn’t take much for somebody to Google ‘Tracy Fontaine’ and come up with all kinds of interesting information. Turning her head, she glanced at her image in the window and ran a hand through her hair. The short Warm Cinnamon was a far cry from the long blonde of just a few weeks ago. Would that be enough to deter the curious?

  She scoffed. What was the worst that could happen? It wasn’t like she was a fugitive with a reward on her head. Or was she? If Kirk had his feelers out…. She shivered. He’d bought the loyalty of people she’d trusted in the past. Who knew what might happen?

  Her stomach churned. She couldn’t waste any more time. She had to get the painting shipped to an art dealer so it could go to auction and she could get the money that would buy back her freedom.

  Just then a movement across the street caught her attention. The door on the corner that looked like it led to an apartment over the hardware store swung open. Out stepped Sam into the lengthening shadows.

  Grace narrowed her eyes. What was he doing up there, fixing the plumbing? Not likely without any tools. He looked one way down the sidewalk, then the other, like a spy on a secret mission. Head down, he thrust his hands into his pockets and strode toward his truck. He climbed in, revved it to a start, and drove off.

  It was probably nothing, and why did she care anyway? Maybe he lived up there, but hadn’t he said something about a yard? Could be they had an office upstairs, but the frilly curtains in the windows made that seem doubtful.

  She shook her shoulders, in an attempt to free herself of all thoughts of him. Why would she even care? He was of no consequence to her now.

  The churning abruptly graduated to a knot. Why hadn’t she thought this through? If Devon had warned Sam to stay away from her, that meant she had nobody to build her crate.

  She pressed her hand to her forehead. This was terrible. Now she was stuck finding someone for both jobs and time was of the essence.

  She expelled a breath. Might as well go inside and get ready for the intermission crowd. It was a good house tonight and, as usual, most of them would want a coffee drink. She moved to the door, but something compelled her to look across the street one more time. A lacy curtain fluttered as if someone had been looking out.

  Her forehead crinkled. Who was up there, and what did they have to do with Sam?

  Chapter 24

  “I heard a rumor about you.” Lucy put her hands on her hips, a look of confidentiality dancing in her eyes.

  A bead of sweat ran down Grace’s forehead, not just from the ninety degree heat, as she stepped into the potluck line. “I thought you said you didn’t gossip.”

  “This isn’t gossip,” Lucy chirped. “It’s publicity.”

  Grace twisted her fingers together. “Publicity?”

  Lucy appeared ready to burst. “There’s a petition circulating to convince Nancy to open your concession stand for more than just show times. Your iced mochas are developing a following.”

  Grace let out a long, slow breath. “You’re kidding. That’s fantastic news.”

  “I thought so.” Lucy hooked her arm through Bob’s and beamed at their vivacious little boy, Casey. “If people come into the lobby, they’ll be tempted to buy theatre tickets. You could do some kind of special deal.”

  Grace wiped her forehead with her wrist. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

  Lucy leaned on her husband’s arm. “Bob and I are seeing Wait Until Dark on Saturday. We can’t wait to try a couple of iced caramel lattes.”

  Grace looked sideways at Bob. “I thought you only drank instant.”

  His smile was taciturn. “I’m willing to branch out.”

  She flashed him an appreciative grin as the line shifted forward, forcing them to step out of the shade. Grace looked ahead at the row of people which wrapped around three huge trees and a swing set. She groaned. “I hope there’s still food left when we get up there.”

  Lucy chuckled as her eyes turned to Casey, who bobbed impatiently next to her. She slip
ped her hand into the large straw purse she had flung over her shoulder. “Case, hold still a sec.”

  Grace smiled to herself as Bob shot the boy a listen-to-your-mother look. Grace had always thought marriage and children would be a second act to her own life, after she achieved a certain level of career success. Now as she watched Lucy slather sunscreen on Casey’s neck, she wondered why she hadn’t placed more value on being needed.

  Lucy wiped her hands on her husband’s arm. “Bob, why don’t you take Casey over to the seesaws? Nobody expects an eight-year-old to have patience in a line like this.”

  Casey tugged at Bob’s arm, giving him no option but to take Lucy’s suggestion.

  Grace watched the happy but gaunt child, whom she would have taken for six based on his size, lead his father to the playground. “What a nice family you have. Eight—such a fun age. Is he into sports?”

  Lucy sank into her shoulders. “He would be if it was safe for him.”

  “Safe?”

  Lucy’s zest seemed to falter. “He has something called Barth Syndrome. He’s had it since he was a baby.”

  Grace’s stomach jolted. “I’m sorry, I—”

  Lucy’s manner was unruffled. “Oh, most people have never heard of it. It’s a genetic disorder that weakens the heart. He gets tired just from walking, so sports are pretty much out of the question.”

  Grace struggled for words. “I’m so sorry.”

  Lucy’s posture heaved like a marionette whose strings had been tugged. “Everyone has their cross to bear.”

  What an unusual phrase. Old fashioned. Grace rolled it over in her mind, trying to picture what it would be like to have a child with a serious ailment. “Will he get stronger?”

  “It could go either way.” Lucy seemed resigned, almost unaffected. “He’ll never be free of it, and we have to be careful about infections. It affects the immune system, so it’s a day by day proposition.”

  “That must be hard on you. How do you stay so cheerful?”

  “Believe me, it’s not always easy. It just comes naturally to protect our loved ones, especially family.”

  Family. A guilt-tinged sadness covered Grace’s heart whenever she thought about her mom. She felt so helpless to protect her from the pain of her dad’s death, and from the problems Kirk had caused.

  “You have to have faith in a greater power.” Lucy’s voice was soothing, as if she sensed Grace’s own need for comfort. “That’s what will see you through.”

  “I suppose.” Grace tried to make sense of Lucy’s words. Was that what Lucy told herself to make it easier?

  Lucy seemed to brighten. “We don’t know what He has in store for us, but one thing’s for sure. He’s always in control.”

  Control? Grace had always held a belief in some sort of higher being, but never to the extent that she’d wanted Him in control of her whole life. How could she put that kind of faith in something she couldn’t see?

  Lucy giggled at Bob teetering opposite Casey on the seesaw, a light of protectiveness in her eyes. “I hope you get to meet Taylor today. She’s sixteen, and she doesn’t want to be seen with us in public. Like she thinks people don’t already know we’re her parents.”

  Grace smiled. “I remember going through that phase. Now what I wouldn’t give to—” She drew in her breath, reminding herself not to talk about her own family. What would she say if Lucy started asking questions? “I mean, she’ll grow out of it.”

  Lucy’s eyes did a half roll. “I hope so.” Her gaze honed in on Grace. “You know, you haven’t said anything about your own family. Are they still in Seattle?”

  “Um, yes. My parents. And my…brother.” She bit her lower lip. I’m not lying. I’m creating a character.

  “You must miss them. Will they come out to visit now that you’re settled?”

  Grace gave a feeble nod. This improvised family tree she’d created seemed as fictitious as she knew it to be. Why hadn’t she thought up a story that would make sense when the inevitable questions arose? What plausible explanation could she give now for leaving an exciting metropolis for a place whose idea of high art was preceded by a potluck?

  Lucy looked at her earnestly. “You intrigue me, Grace. Most people leave small towns to head for the big city, not the other way around.”

  “I guess I’m just unusual.” Her neck grew even hotter as she forced a half-smile.

  In that instant, a cute blonde inserted herself between the two women, bubbling with excitement. “Mom, there you are.”

  Normally Grace would be irritated by a teenager’s disrespectful interruption of an adult conversation, but under the circumstances she wanted to hug her.

  Lucy’s eyes flashed as she gently turned the girl to face Grace. “Sweetheart, be polite. Grace, this is Taylor. Taylor, I want you to meet Grace Addison, our new neighbor.”

  The girl gave her a halfhearted greeting before turning back to her mother. “Can I get a kitten?”

  “A kitten? Why on earth—”

  “Stacy’s dad found a litter out behind the hardware store and if they don’t find homes for them, they’re going to wind up as barn cats out at the Osborn place. Please!”

  Her whiny elongation of the last word reminded Grace of a piccolo, and she found herself rooting for the girl. She had been tempted a time or two to get a cat herself, but hadn’t wanted to deal with boarding it out whenever she left town.

  “Oh dear,” Lucy rolled her lips in and wrinkled her forehead, as if the fate of the free world rested on this decision.

  “I’m going to go get Stacy and tell her to bring them over. They’re sooo cute!” The girl darted off, her youthful exuberance trailing behind her.

  Lucy let out an exasperated breath. “If those kids bring home one more pet…”

  Grace plotted to avoid returning to the previous subject. “Speaking of pets, have you seen that stray dog that’s been hanging around the neighborhood?”

  Lucy’s forehead creased. “I don’t think so.”

  “He’s mostly brown. Maybe a border collie or something. Do you know where he might have come from?”

  “That’s weird. I know all the dogs around, and that doesn’t sound familiar. Either he wandered in from a farm or someone dropped him on their way through town.”

  “Hmm.” Grace shook her head. Why did she feel a responsibility toward that mangy mutt? She had enough real problems on her plate.

  Taylor returned with an equally cute brunette who balanced a box in her arms. Taylor reached in and pulled out a ball of blonde fur the size of a slipper.

  “Aww…” Lucy put her hands to her cheeks.

  “I know. Cute, right? But check out this tortoiseshell one.” Taylor shoved the blonde kitten into Grace’s hands, freeing her own to dip back into the pile of mewing fur.

  “Oh…” Grace held the squirming animal at arm’s length. As she tried to deposit her back into the container, a distant movement caught her attention.

  It was Sam, pacing like a duck in a shooting gallery under a tree near the park’s edge. On a blanket next to him sat the woman from the bar. She was fussing with something behind a big cooler, and Grace strained to get a better look.

  The woman lifted a squirming bundle from behind the cooler and Grace’s stomach plunged to her toes. A baby. So. Hardware Boy was a family man.

  A little boy of about three ran over to the woman, who said something to him and handed him an apple. Grace tsked. Sam still lived at his dad’s house with this brood?

  Taylor’s voice pierced her thoughts. “I’ll take good care of her. Please…?”

  Something troubled Grace as she observed the distant tableau. Sam’s nervous eyes darted around as if he’d rather be someplace else. Couldn’t he at least focus on his family?

  Her stomach suddenly clenched as it dawned on her. Lucy had said that their friend who was being led into drug dealing and was desperate for money was a family man. And a churchgoer. Sam.

  It had to be true. Hadn’t she seen
him with Carson twice in the short time she’d been in town? Her throat filled with disgust. That explained so much. The erratic behavior, the outbursts. It probably even explained why he was sneaking around the other night. No wonder Devon wanted her to stay away from him.

  Her brow creased in contempt. To think she had felt guilty about buying the painting from him. Was it her fault he had sunk to the lowest possible means of generating cash when a fortune had sat right under his nose?

  Sam’s pacing subsided as if something had caught his interest. He took a couple of long strides toward a man who now approached him. They exchanged words. Grace held her breath. Was she witnessing a deal?

  She opened her mouth to say something to Lucy, but the man made a move toward the woman and Grace’s voice stopped short. Sam grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him back. They assumed a showdown stance, as if waiting for someone to yell ‘Draw!’ Instead, the man gave Sam an icy stare and lunged toward the blanket. The woman clung to the baby and grabbed the little boy’s wrist, drawing him closer to her.

  Grace braced herself to shriek if the woman needed help. Sam appeared ready to spring forward as the man reached—not for the woman, but for the cooler. He put his hand in and pulled out a brown bottle. Sam charged ahead and yanked him by the arm until they stood several feet from the blanket having words. Grace strained, but their voices failed to carry over the happy din of the picnic.

  Sam wrenched the bottle from the other man’s hand. Grace released her breath.

  “Can I keep her Mom, please?” Taylor’s high-pitched plea underscored the drama which played out in the distance.

  “How can I say no?” Lucy’s voice dragged in resignation. “We’ll have to pick up some supplies tomorrow. How about you, Grace?”

  Grace’s circle of attention snapped back in like a rubber band. “What?” She looked at Lucy, who was petting the small back of the tortoiseshell kitten clasped in Taylor’s hands.

  “Will you be joining us on our kitty supply shopping spree?”