by Gayle Roper
"Robert Horton, disorderly conduct."
"Pleads not guilty, Your Honor."
"Frank Krakowski, driving under the influence, third offense."
"Pleads not guilty, Your Honor."
One after another, those arrested within the past twenty-four hours had their moment before the judge, who frequently asked questions of both attorneys and prisoners. The American judicial system at work. Bond was set, prisoners were led away, and finally only Tammy remained.
She looked very un-Tammy, her wrinkled clothes the same ones she'd had on the day before, her makeup gone. Still, she was a pearl among pebbles compared to those who had gone before.
She stood with her head down. Her shoulders were hunched, and even from a distance, Nan could see she was shaking.
"Tammy Sterling," announced the bailiff.
"Charges?" asked the judge, a handsome woman with an elegant bob and coloring made to wear judicial black.
"All charges have been dropped, Your Honor." The prosecutor looked disgruntled as he spoke.
Tammy's head shot up and she stared at the man.
"Interesting. How about the state? Is it pressing charges?"
"Not worth it, Your Honor."
The judge nodded, studied Tammy, then pointed a finger at her. "Someone is giving you a second chance, young lady. I only hope you are smart enough to take advantage."
Nan hoped so too as she watched the judge bring her gavel down to close the morning's proceedings. As the judge rose, so did Nan. She slipped out the door before Tammy could see her. She glanced at her watch. Just enough time to get to church.
She knew she was taking a risk in dropping the charges, but she thought it a risk worth taking. The fear on Tammy's face when she'd been arrested the day before had made Nan feel sick.
When she'd told Rog she didn't want to press charges after all, he'd studied her for a moment without speaking as Wes, wise man that he was, slipped out of the room. Then Rog looked over her head for a moment, lips pressed together, obviously unhappy.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her throat dry. "I can't."
"Are you sure?" he finally asked.
She wasn't sure. She wasn't sure at all, but she swallowed and nodded. "It'll be like a grace-gift to her."
"A grace-gift?" He spoke in a give-me-a-break tone of voice. "She robbed you." He held up the disc, proof of his comment.
"I know. I know. That's why it's a grace-gift." She put a hand on his arm. "Remember when the bishop in Les Miserables gives the silver candlesticks to Jean Valjean rather than have him arrested for stealing the silver he already took?"
Rog raised an eyebrow but nodded.
"Valjean was undeserving, but the grace-gift turned his life around. It allowed him to find grace and peace in abundance."
Rog shook his head in a bemused manner. "You want to be the bishop?"
"I want to be the bishop. I want to be a grace giver. I've been the receiver of grace-gifts—the obvious ones that Aunt Bunny left and many more." She gestured around the room. "This store is a grace-gift. I didn't deserve it, but I was given it. Aunt Bunny's love is a grace-gift I almost threw away due to pride. Your choosing me is currently my favorite grace-gift." She smiled hopefully at him, and shaking his head at what he undoubtedly thought foolish reasoning, he sort of smiled back. She wrinkled her nose at him. "Even my mother's concern is a grace-gift."
Nan leaned against the edge of her desk, and waited for his response. What if he fought her? Disagreed with her? Her stomach cramped and her chest felt tight.
His sort of smile disappeared. "I'd like to make one suggestion."
He looked so serious she didn't know what to expect. She held her breath.
"I'd like you to let her spend tonight in lockup."
"But—"
"Let me finish. Let me book her on suspicion of theft. Let her get a little taste of what you're saving her from. Let her hurt a little. Then the grace-gift will mean so much more."
"Like Present Perfect means so much to me because it saved me from Pizzazz."
"And she'll be much more willing to pay you your money back, because you'll be her favorite person when you spring her."
"But, Rog, I'm not asking her to pay me back."
He narrowed his eyes in disbelief. "Come on, Nan. Be practical here. Reparations teach responsibility."
"You're right, and they're the right thing to demand many times, maybe most times. But I'm asking for more than mere reparations. I'm asking in Jesus' name for her to live an honest life."
Rog studied her. "You don't know that she'll do that."
"I don't. Knowing it'll turn out right isn't the point of a grace-gift. The point is the giving itself—in spite of the fact that the gift isn't deserved. The bishop offered Valjean what he didn't deserve with the candlesticks. God offered me what I didn't deserve in Jesus. I want to offer Tammy what she doesn't deserve. What she does with this offer is up to her, just as it was for Valjean, just as it was for me. The bishop didn't demand anything. God doesn't demand anything. I'm not going to demand anything. Demanding a certain response to a gift makes it no gift at all."
Rog took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Basically, you're offering her total forgiveness."
"As the bishop gave Valjean. As God gave me. It's the ultimate grace-gift, isn't it?"
He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. His eyes were warm and his lips tipped up in his adorable smile. He cupped her face in his hands. "You are an amazing woman, Nan Patterson. Amazing."
His kiss, soft and sweet, curled her toes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three days later
"She left for the Philadelphia airport this morning." Ingrid looked ready to cry.
"It'll be all right." Nan put an arm around the girl's shoulders.
Ingrid nodded. "I hope. Her parents are meeting her in Lexington."
Mooch took a sip of his Coke. "Will she tell them the real reason she's coming home?"
Good question. Nan had been wondering the same thing herself but hadn't wanted to ask. Ingrid was distressed enough.
"She says she will." Ingrid shrugged. "Who knows?"
Nan's prayer was that Tammy would tell the truth, but things were out of her hands now. Tammy would either appreciate her grace-gift or not.
The back buzzer sounded, and Nan walked over to see who was there. Rog waved at her. She opened the door for him. He planned to finish the bedroom before going to work late this afternoon.
She looked him up and down as he came into the office. "You're looking very snazzy for painting."
He gave her a kiss. "That's because I've got plans."
"Oh." She was disappointed that the painting wouldn't be finished. She wanted to sleep in her bed, not on the sofa. "Tammy's on her way home."
He nodded. "And you're worried about her."
Nan shrugged and managed a small smile.
Mooch wandered back into the office for a collection of oblong canvas pillows sporting paintings of lapping waves and piles of shells. He pointed to Nan but looked at Rog. "She's got a soft heart."
"She does," Rog agreed. "But there's nothing wrong with that."
"Are you saying you wish she'd gone to trial, Mooch?" Nan pulled several turquoise beach towels from a box. They were thick and beautiful and a bit off brand for Present Perfect. She checked the invoice, surprised at how pricey they were.
Mooch fingered the material. "Plush. And I'm glad you gave her that second chance. Who knows? Maybe I'll go to Lexington someday to check on her." He went back into the store with his armful.
Rog rolled his eyes. "Still smitten."
"He should pay attention to Ingrid. Not as flashy, granted, but much more substance."
Rog walked over and pulled Nan to her feet. "Forget the kids. I've come for you."
"You've come for me?" The words made her heart beat faster.
"I want to take you away from here for the next little while."
"I can't leave!
It's the middle of a work day."
"The kids can watch things for a bit. It's morning, your slowest time. You can spare twenty minutes." He checked his watch, then looked at her with a mysterious smile. "You've got to come."
"I've got to, huh?"
"Got to."
She felt reckless. "Let me tell them I'll be gone."
She found Mooch halfway up the stepladder replacing the large Seaside sign that had helped set off the Tammy Affair.
"No problem," he assured her. "The Ingster and I will take care of everything."
"The Ingster?" Nan looked at Ingrid, who rolled her eyes.
Three women walked in the store and browsed.
Nan smiled at them. "May I help you?"
"I've got it." Ingrid pushed her gently toward the waiting Rog. "You go." She turned to the women. "Welcome to Present Perfect. Let me know if you have any questions."
Rog reached out, took Nan's hand, and led her onto the boardwalk. Gulls squawked overhead, sun jewels sparkled on the water, and a handsome guy in jeans walked beside her. Even with the Tammy Affair dominating the past few days, Nan felt happy. Grace and peace in abundance!
When Rog turned into the Buc, which had just opened for the day, she looked at him with a raised brow. "You don't like amusement parks."
"Why don't I? Do you remember?" He stopped by the merry-go-round and waited for her answer.
"Of course I remember." She remembered everything about him, not that she was going to admit it. "Inner ear something. You get dizzy."
He nodded. "Good girl. Now, what's your favorite ride?"
That was a no-brainer. "The Ferris wheel."
He took her hand and led her to the Ferris wheel. "A super-long ride, Pierce," he told the attendant. "And stop at the top, please."
He helped Nan into her seat, and she expected him to step back so he could wait for her while she enjoyed her ride. He was so sweet to bring her here for something she loved, even if he didn't. Instead, he sat beside her.
"But, Rog—"
Pierce clicked the bar closed.
"You can't—"
The wheel started to rise.
"You'll get—"
He smiled and settled back to enjoy himself. "I took my Dramamine this morning. For you. I'll probably fall asleep in a little bit and never finish painting, but right now, I'm living wild." He looked into her eyes.
She stared back. "You took Dramamine for me?" Sometimes the strangest things sounded like declarations of love.
He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. They rode two and a half circles, the only ones on the wheel, before Pierce brought them to a stop at the very top.
Nan looked out over the beach and the sparkling sea. "It's so beautiful!"
"It is."
She glanced at him and saw he was looking at her, not the water. Pleasure bubbled in her. She elbowed him in the side. "I meant the ocean."
"I know what you meant."
She felt all fizzy and full of possibilities, like a shaken soda about to explode. What would he think if she said something like, "I think I'm falling in love with you," or maybe the more definitive, "I've fallen in love with you."
Rather than risk it, she turned to the ocean and immediately felt soothed. What was it about the ceaseless march of waves that was so calming and relaxing? "Did you know it never changes?"
"What never changes?"
"The ocean."
"It changes all the time."
"Oh, it turns stormy and wild, and waves constantly break, but it's still the same sea. All the things that make it the sea are there whether it's gentle or raging. It's the same in spite of appearances. We're not going to wake up tomorrow morning and find it's become a desert or a freshwater lake. The ocean is the ocean."
"Assuming no great catastrophic natural phenomenon, okay." He fiddled with her hair,
tickling the back of her neck as he did so. "The ocean is the ocean."
"Sort of like God is God." She tore her gaze from the vast saltwater expanse to look at him. "With Him, there's no possibility of a catastrophic transformation. He is what He is, the same yesterday, today, and forever."
"'I the Lord do not change,'" Rog quoted.
"Exactly. And that's why I find my peace in Him, not in circumstances or even people, who do change." She grinned at him. "I finally figured that out."
He kissed her on her temple. "Smart girl."
She loved that he didn't make fun of her forays into theology or philosophy, elementary as they might be. He listened. He respected her. Another grace-gift.
The wheel began to move, and they circled several times. Nan took a deep, contented breath.
"We've got an audience." Rog pointed to the window of a certain little apartment, and Nan saw Aunt Bunny watching them and wearing a huge smile.
Nan waved and blew this special woman a kiss. "Love you," she called, knowing Aunt Bunny couldn't hear her but hoping she could read her lips.
Aunt Bunny sent a kiss winging to Nan.
"Once more at the top, Pierce, please," Rog called as they went past.
"Sure thing, Rog."
"You and Pierce are on a first name basis, huh?"
"We had to make our plans," he said as they came to rest at what felt like the top of the world.
He'd made plans. He'd taken Dramamine. With a happy sigh, she rested her head on his shoulder.
As they sat, gently rocking, Rog reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. He reached in it and took out what looked like two tickets. He held them out to Nan. "For the concert on September twenty-first. I hope you're free."
She remembered the conversation they'd had they day they met.
Do you like concerts?
I do.
Want to go?
I can't. Work. Ask me again come September, okay? If you still want to, that is.
She stared at the tickets, open-mouthed. "You remembered."
"I did. And I'm asking now instead of waiting until September. I wanted to be certain you were free. I'd also have bought tickets for next spring if there'd been any available. And next September."
Ribbons of joy unfurled in her chest.
"Being with a cop isn't easy, Nan. Long hours, dangerous situations, uncertainty. We tend to get cynical about people, because we see so much bad stuff. On September twenty-first, I might find myself called out for some reason, and the concert might be the furthest thing from my mind. It won't mean I care any less for you. It'll mean I have to do my job."
She nodded. "I understand."
"Still, I'm asking you to be mine, to take a risk on me, to accept I'll be true and trustworthy. And you can tell your parents we're together without worrying about clearing things up later because it'll be true."
She made herself look solemn in spite of the great joy that sang through her. "I have one condition."
He looked slightly surprised and a lot concerned. Apparently, he'd expected her to fall into his arms with warm murmurs of appreciation and love, and now he wondered if he'd read her wrong. He hadn't, of course, but even these few seconds of wondering were good for him, especially since she did plan to fall into his arms in a minute.
"Being involved with someone who owns her own store won't be easy either," she told him. "I'll have to work long hours, and often my hours will conflict with yours. I don't know that I'll become cynical, but I'll definitely have days that make me grumpy and grouchy. If you can handle that, then here's my condition: If you want me to be yours, then I expect you to be mine. I'll be your shop girl if you'll be my cop."
He gave her that adorable smile. "You had me going for a minute there."
She grinned back. "Good." Then she grabbed him around the neck and kissed him with all the love that was growing in her heart and bubbling through her veins. If his return kiss was any indication, he was learning to love, too.
When the Ferris wheel moved, he slid the tickets into his pocket and pulled her against his side. She sighed ha
ppily as the sun warmed her face, the sea air washed over her, and her heart sang.
The End
Grace-gifts.
When I look back over my life, I can see so many grace-gifts. Some I recognized at the time, like the grace-gift of a loving family, both by birth and by marriage. Some I recognized only in retrospect, like my old house selling so fast that I was without a place to live for seven months while the new one was being built.
That seven months turned out to be a wonderful time of traveling for both pleasure and business. I visited Ocean City, NJ (my model for Seaside), Texas, California, Florida (both east coast and Gulf coast as well as Disney World), and Canada. When I moved into my new home, it was another grace-gift to stay put for a while.
Of course my greatest grace-gift is God-given, salvation by grace through faith. It's the grace-gift that lasts forever.
I went to one of those paint-along classes the other night, the kind where everyone paints the same thing. Painting my sunflowers was fun because I didn't expect anything of myself. When in spite of my ineptitude the final product turned out to look sort of like sunflowers, I was pleased and happy. No expectations, no demands of myself.
Perhaps having no expectations is the best way to appreciate grace-gifts. When they come, because we didn't finagle to make them appear, we are delighted with them. We enjoy them. We thank the Lord for them.
What about you? What grace-gifts are readily apparent in your life? What ones have become recognizable as time passes? Or are you so caught up in unrealistic expectations of yourself and others that you have difficulty recognizing the gifts that have come your way?
May you see and enjoy all the grace-gifts in your life!
Gayle
[email protected]
Coming soon - Love's a Stage
Grad student and future marriage counselor Aly Brewster had a perfect childhood with perfect parents. Now she's heading into her own perfect life: Finish her Master's. Build a successful practice. Husband at twenty-six. But when her parents blindside her with the news they're getting divorced, her perfect world shatters.
