Saving Grace (Madison Falls)

by Lesley Ann McDaniel

  His voice was uncertain. “So, if you think this will work for you, I can take it inside.”

  Afraid to speak for fear of signaling her emotional state, she nodded with a close-lipped smile.

  He let out a breath. “Okay. I’ll just grab it then.” He balanced the crate on a box of tiles, picked them both up, and began walking to the house.

  She followed his departing back with her eyes before finding a steady voice. “What do I owe you?”

  He turned around, his eyes warm. “I just used some scrap wood from the store. Consider it a gift.”

  Her knees felt weak. “But I asked you to do it.”

  The corners of his lips rose. “That’s true, but you also fired me from doing it, remember? It’s no big deal.” He turned again and moved back inside.

  She felt like a hot air balloon that had been deflated and left puddled on the ground. It was just so strange—him making this for her. She was touched by the apparently unselfish gesture, but the irony left her more confused than ever.

  She hoisted a box into her arms. It was okay. Sam had helped her get over a hurdle. Soon, she’d have the painting shipped off, it would sell, and she’d have her life back.

  Surprised by the weight of this small box of tiles, she stepped gingerly into her house. Sam had propped the kitchen door open with the crate, and she stopped to peer through the doorway. When he saw her, he stepped across the floor to relieve her of her load. His arms brushed against hers as he took the box, and their eyes met. Her heart beat like a steel drum band.

  From across the room, Mr. Roberts let out an audible breath. Grace and Sam both looked at him, and he flashed an innocent grin. “Getting a lot of work done, I see.”

  Sam’s face flushed as he quipped. “Just worry about your own project.”

  Mr. Roberts clicked the cupboard door shut. “I’m all done. Why are you so slow?”

  Sam rolled his eyes, placing the box on the floor. “Excuse me. I have to get that other box of tile.” He edged past Grace. She followed him into the living room.

  “Sam.”

  He turned. “Yeah?”

  “It’s just…I didn’t really say ‘thank you’.”

  He smiled. “It was nothing.”

  “It was huge.”

  He tipped a casual shoulder. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your bathtub.”

  A twinge stirred inside. “My bathtub?”

  He tilted a sideways glance. “The leak…?”

  “Oh. Right.” She shook off her unwarranted recollection. “And thanks for telling me about your mom.”

  He nodded, his eyes glistening. “Thanks for listening. Not everyone understands.” He smiled his reassurance, then made his exit.

  She stood for a moment, looking at the door through which he’d just walked and would shortly re-enter. Turning her head, she stared at the crate. Sadness filled her. Yes, she understood. If only there was something she could do about it.

  ***

  “I can make that á la mode for fifty cents more.”

  Grace slunk down lower into the comforting vinyl of the booth. “Why not?” She handed over her menu, content to celebrate her repaired pipes by visiting the Country Kitchen.

  She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. She glanced out the window as Sam helped a customer load some wood into a flashy orange pickup truck. He’d apparently gone back to work after finishing her floor. Didn’t that guy ever take a break?

  She heaved a sigh. She appreciated that he’d confided in her, but that didn’t change the kind of guy he was. Why was he constantly perched on the periphery of her mind like a sentinel?

  “Here you go, honey. Peach pie, fresh baked this afternoon.”

  The pastry the waitress placed in front of Grace was tall as a slice from Pie in the Sky stacked on top of one from Pie Heaven. New York should be ashamed of itself.

  Her mouth watered as she picked up her fork, a little daunted by the task at hand. “Thanks, ah…” She glanced at the waitress’ nametag, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to do so till now. “Thanks Gloria.”

  The waitress smiled. “Call me Glo. Everyone does.”

  “Glo. I like that.” Grace cracked the golden crust with her fork. She put a bite of ice cream-swathed pie into her mouth and closed her eyes. The taste of sweet peach burst on her tongue like a flavor firecracker.

  “Good, isn’t it?” Glo said.

  “Mm hmm.” Grace nodded, unwilling to rush through that first bite.

  “Well, you just take your time and enjoy. The dinner rush won’t hit for a good half hour.”

  Grace nodded, not only appreciative for the satisfying meal, but the companionship.

  “How’s that job working out for you?” Glo retreated behind the counter, a few feet from Grace’s booth.

  Grace swallowed. “Fine now. It’s everything else that’s confusing.”

  “Anything I can help clear up for you?” Glo picked up some stray coffee cups and swabbed the counter.

  Smiling, Grace prepared another bite for launch. “I just have a little money problem.”

  Glo nodded as she turned to start a fresh pot of coffee. “Not enough?”

  “A little too much, actually.”

  Glo shot a questioning glance over her shoulder. “Well, that’s a new one.”

  It was far too complex a situation to do justice between bites. “I’m just trying to figure out if I should share it with someone. It’s complicated.”

  “Oh. Well, you know what the Bible says. ‘Store up your riches in Heaven, for your heart will always be where your riches are’.”

  Her fork hovered midair. “That’s really beautiful. I’m not sure it answers my question though.”

  “Well, think about it. Pray about it.” Speaking over her shoulder, Glo filled a coffee filter with dark grounds. “What else is on your mind, honey?”

  Grace looked around. A couple seated by the window paid her no attention, but she picked up her pie and moved to the counter just the same. She kept her voice low. “Glo, how well do you know Sam?”

  “Sam?” The question appeared to catch her by surprise. “He’s a dear. One of my best customers.”

  “I’m sure.” Grace swirled her fork in the rich vanilla ice cream. “So, how long has he been married?”

  Glo’s well-mascara-ed eyes flew open wide and she nearly dropped her coffee pot. “Sam isn’t married.”

  Grace swallowed a thick slice of peach without chewing. Coughing, she felt the blood rush to her face. “He’s not?”

  “Oh, gosh no, honey.” Glo grabbed a glass and filled it with water, handing it to Grace. “He’s a catch, that’s for sure, but he hasn’t been lassoed yet.” Glo picked up her coffee pot and went to welcome a couple of teenagers who had just walked through the door.

  So Sam wasn’t married? Why did that news make her even happier than the taste of fresh peach?

  Her next thought twisted her stomach. She let her fork rest on the side of her plate.

  Glo returned, tilting a concerned look. “Something wrong with the pie?”

  Grace looked up. “Oh, no. I’m just confused. I’ve seen Sam with a couple of kids.”

  “Kids? Oh, you must mean Jill’s kids.” Glo rested the coffee pot on the burner. “He’s like a dad to them in a way. Goodness knows those kids need one.”

  Jill. So Sam was dating a woman with kids. And dealing drugs on the side. Who’d want to lasso that?

  Watching as Glo clipped an order up for the chef, she weighed her words, not wanting to appear too ignorant. “Glo, what does it mean to ‘receive the Lord’?”

  “Now there’s an easy one.” She gave Grace a warm smile and leaned on the counter. “It means to believe Jesus died on the cross to pay for your salvation.”

  “And ‘salvation’ means going to Heaven? It’s really that simple?”

  “Simple as pie.”

  Grace pushed a flake of crust across her plate, contemplatin
g Glo’s words.

  Glo spoke matter-of-factly. “All you have to do is pray for Jesus to come into your heart.”

  She left to greet the start of the dinner rush and Grace pushed her fork across the plate to pick up the last of the crumbs. All you had to do was pray? Finally, it was starting to make sense.

  Chapter 29

  Grace tossed a filter basket into the nearly-full bussing tub, where it landed with a clunk. Since realizing that keeping the stand open after the show nearly doubled their daily revenue, she’d fallen into a nice routine. Act two was just long enough for her to clean up from the intermission rush and prepare for the after-show and post-rehearsal crowd.

  Muffled music from the rehearsal next door seeped into her stand. She gritted her teeth. The enthusiasm of the performers hadn’t boosted them much above high school level, and the sound of their efforts only reminded her that Devon was in the next room. He hadn’t even stopped in to see her. She imagined him flirting with Sophia as they rehearsed, while Grace sweated it out in her tiny stand. There was no justice.

  She opened the half-door, raised the unwieldy tub and carried it out into the lobby. It slipped between her damp fingers, and she imagined a cavalcade of clanging pitchers and filter baskets dropping to the floor. Wanting to avoid that added step to her clean-up process, she quickly set her load down on a table next to the front window.

  Pausing, her eyes lifted to the scene outside. She loved this time of the evening when the sun had set and the sky turned to a deep purple. Casually, she craned her neck to glance up the street. The lights were on in the hardware store. Frowning, she checked her watch. Sam must be working late. What was with that guy, anyway? He had so many problems, but sometimes he just seemed so…different. He worked hard for his dad, and he’d done so much to help her.

  His story about his mom had weighed on Grace’s mind all day, especially after Glo had helped her put that final piece into the puzzle. She wanted to believe in something, and what they said just made sense.

  Another nagging thought had taken up residence in her mind. The painting. How could she sell it without admitting to Sam what she’d done? His dad needed money. Maybe if she offered him a portion of the proceeds he’d reconsider selling the theatre. It was worth a try.

  She checked her watch again. There was still a little while before the show ended. This would be a good time to catch him. Cleaning up could wait.

  As she readjusted her grip on the tub, something across the street caught her eye.

  The light had flicked off in the windows of the hardware store. The door opened, and Sam stepped out into the shadows. Her heart quickened. If she wanted to talk to him, she’d have to move fast.

  Leaving the tub on the table, she moved quickly for the front door and bounded out to the porch. From the top step, she looked up again, expecting to see him walking toward his truck, which was parked up the street as always. Instead, he was walking briskly in the other direction—toward the theatre. She smiled. Maybe he was on his way to see her.

  She took a step down and a light popped on in a lace-curtained window above the hardware store. She stopped as Sam looked up, then stepped into the shadowed entryway of the second floor apartment. He reached out to press the doorbell, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Grace’s stomach jumped as she moved back into the shadows of the porch.

  A moment later, the corner door swung open, unveiling a bathrobed woman silhouetted by a dim light. Grace peered around the porch railing as the woman flung her arms, speaking animatedly. Both she and Sam cast watchful glances up and down the street, before she grabbed his arm, pulled him inside and shut the door.

  Grace’s breath vacated her lungs. Even in that dim light she could see what was going on. Back to pick up his tools, perhaps? She didn’t recognize the woman, but she was definitely not his woman.

  Another woman. An other woman. The worm.

  Feeling a little numb, she withdrew to the lobby. Just when she’d been ready to give the guy a second chance, his true character came shining through again. She retrieved the tub and slammed it down on the counter. Boy, if that didn’t just prove that you could never trust what a person appeared to be on the outside. Everybody had secrets.

  Music echoed from the rehearsal next door, jarring Grace into action. At least now she could shake her conscience free of her guilt about the painting. Sam had said it was his dad who needed the money, but had he just said that to mask his own greed? She sneered at the thought, pushing a stray hair from her face as she resumed cleaning. He’d probably go ahead and sell to Langley even if she did offer him half her money. What would be the point?

  She closed the lower section of the door and turned to tidy a stack of cups. This building was old anyway—a firetrap, Nancy had said. Maybe it would do the town good to get a makeover. The casino wouldn’t be so bad. It would provide jobs and lots of tourist trade. Besides, it wasn’t her problem.

  A noise from behind escorted her out of her thoughts. She turned to see a masculine figure appear at her counter.

  “I wanted to beat the crowd.” Devon gave her a warm smile, as if he expected warmth in return.

  Grace firmed her mouth as tension rose from her like mist on the moors. She wanted to have it out over his deception, but this wasn’t the place. The audience would be pouring out soon and she expected some business from the rehearsal crowd as well. She tightened her lips. “Hello Devon. What can I do for you?”

  His eyebrow tweaked slightly. “Decaf Americano with a warning.”

  Grace’s cheeks caught fire. A warning? Had Ruby said something to him? Adrenaline surged through her like electricity.

  “What kind of warning?” She lowered her voice to conceal its nervous vibrato.

  He leaned in, his face scant inches from hers. “The cast and crew from next door are going to bombard you with coffee orders the second they get out of rehearsal. I thought you should know.”

  Grace closed her eyes and gulped in air, then forced a weak smile. “Thanks.” She turned and started to scoop coffee grounds into a filter basket.

  “Tip jar’s paying off.” Though his words were casual, his tone sounded tense.

  She cocked her mouth to one side, intentionally avoiding his gaze. “Seems to be.” She poured his drink just as the theatre doors swung open, spewing out the happy post-show crowd.

  Devon took the cup she offered, brushing his hand against hers. He set down the cup and pulled out his wallet, handing her a five. “Allow me to add my own show of appreciation.” He dropped something into the jar, and stepped back just as Lucy and Bob reached the counter.

  In spite of the flash of harshness as she eyed Devon, Lucy was aglow with theatrical delight. “Grace! The show was so well-done. I was on the edge of my seat. That poor girl.” She shook her head at the plight of the main character. “We can’t wait to see how they do with Pirates. And you’re not going to believe this, but Bob wants another latte.”

  Grace raised her eyebrows at Bob. “Oh, a convert.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Devon lingering by the window. Was he waiting for her? Nerves pinged through her like a pinball. She hated confrontation, but it had to be done. She would not be two-timed, and if he really wanted to cast her as Carmen, she’d have to make it clear now that their relationship was strictly professional.

  The lobby was soon packed with patrons and pirates. Grace’s fingers flew as she tried to satisfy their beverage needs. A flutter of anxiety twitched in her chest. This was the biggest crowd she’d had so far, and Salvatore was getting feisty.

  A moment later, she whirled around with a double mint mocha in her hand and nearly smacked into Lucy, who had edged her way into the booth with a pen and a pad of post-its.

  “Lucy, you don’t have to—”

  “I’m here to serve. Besides, we’re walking you home, and we’d be here all night at the rate you were going.” She grinned and stuck a pink paper square to Grace’s forehead.

 
Grace chuckled. Who was she to argue?

  A whir of brewing and steaming followed. Lucy’s line of post-it orders on the countertop soon dwindled, and Grace scrambled to pour the final drink.

  “Double tall non-fat decaf latte,” she announced. “The espresso stand I used to go to calls this a Double Tall Nothing.” She turned to hand the hot cup to the one remaining patron, but stopped mid-spin.

  On the other side of the counter stood Sophia, her lips pinched in a wicked glower and her eyes bright with ire. She reached out her claw-sharpened hand. A self-satisfied look spread across her harsh face like butter on a hot grill.

  “Thanks for the coffee, dear.” Her voice sounded pinched. “Next time be a little quicker.” A condescending perusal of Grace was her parting shot before she turned and walked toward the window.

  The lobby was so packed, it would have resembled a gallery opening had there been any artwork left on the walls. Grace struggled to see through the mingling crowd. Devon still hovered by the window, but when Sophia approached, he stood at attention. Sophia said something to him and kept walking but his eyes fixed on Grace.

  She weakened at the sight of his pleading gaze. Her heart told her to go to him, but her feet remained planted in place. In her moment of indecision, he turned and followed Sophia out the front door.

  “Well,” Lucy sounded uncharacteristically snide. “She always has been the jealous type.”

  Grace’s eyes snapped toward Lucy. “Yes, I guess so.”

  Lucy gave Grace a wide smile. “Nice to see you giving her something to be jealous of.”

  Surprised at Lucy’s apparent turn-around in her opinion of Devon, Grace regretted not going to him. Her heart ached. She and Devon seemed so perfectly suited for each other, and he was worth fighting for.

  Lucy picked up a towel and started to wipe the counter. “By the way, I’ve considered your offer. I’ll play under one condition. That Myra gets to stay. We have two keyboards. It’ll be fine.

  Grace tilted a smile. She had so much else on her mind, she’d nearly forgotten her concern for the show.