Give Me Grace

by Kate McCarthy

  “And none of you are going to tell him either,” I added, pointing at them all with the paring knife. Satisfied my warning was heard, I returned to the fridge and retrieved another orange.

  “Henry won’t kill him,” Evie said and smiled reassuringly as I started peeling the skin away. “He’s not violent like that. I would know. He’s my best friend.”

  “He will,” Frog contradicted with a nod. Putting his plate down next to the sink, he leaned against the kitchen bench, his expression grave. “Henry could be the Dalai freaking Lama and he’d still go all Kill Bill on Casey’s ass. When it comes to some dude’s little sister, it’s like flicking a switch. They just blow like some ticking time bomb.” I flinched when he made the sound of an explosion, spreading his hands wide to emphasise his point. Turning to Jake, he said, “Remember the fishing charter incident with Coby and Jared?”

  Evie put down her fork and frowned at Frog. “What fishing charter incident?”

  I caught Jake shaking his head at Frog in a quick motion as I brought my bowl to the dining table. When I sat down, his eyes landed on my orange with a frown. I looked down at the bowl, wondering if an insect had landed on it without my knowledge.

  “What?” I asked, seeing it pest free.

  His response was to pick up his own plate, lean over the table and scrape half the contents over the top of my orange.

  “Thanks,” I muttered, staring down at the greasy pile of bacon now covering my piece of fruit.

  “No problem,” he replied. Sitting back down, he went back to reading the magazine spread out in front of him.

  “What fishing charter incident?” Evie repeated, her voice gaining volume.

  “Once upon a time …” Frog began, as though recounting a fairy tale. We all paused to listen. “… Five men went to sea with the daring ambition to hook and capture a marlin, the elusive fish of the sea. But never in their wildest dreams could they have imagined the depths of treacherous intent brewing in one of their own.” Frog narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a raspy hush. “You see, the fishing expedition was a ruse. The real plan was for five of them to head out to sea, and only four to return.”

  “He didn’t!” Evie shouted, her face flush with anger. She’d obviously reached the conclusion of the story before it had barely begun.

  By the time Frog finished the alarming tale, her face looked red enough to catch fire. It made me realise how imperative it was for me to talk to Henry before Casey got anywhere near him. Evie abandoned her plate in favour of her phone, stabbing at the screen furiously as she dialled.

  “Does Henry own a gun?” Cooper asked Mac.

  “No.” She shook her head emphatically. I felt a measure of relief until she followed it with, “But he knows where I keep mine.”

  Jake glared at Mac. “You told me you didn’t have it anymore.”

  “Yeah, well, I lied,” she told him with a smirk.

  “That’s not all you lied about, is it?” There was enough anger underneath Jake’s voice that I wasn’t fooled by the soft tone. I stopped mid-chew and glanced at Mac. Her face had paled considerably, suggesting she wasn’t fooled either.

  “Excuse me,” she muttered as she stood from the table. “Some of us have work to do.”

  My phone beeped from the kitchen as Mac walked away. Cooper picked it up and brought it over. Putting down my bacon-flavoured piece of orange, I swiped the screen, thanking him as I read the message.

  Don’t forget you promised to let me handle Henry.

  “Damn the man,” I mumbled under my breath. Casey’s ears must have been burning.

  “Damn who?” Henry called out as he walked through the front door with sweat dripping down his face. He was wearing running shorts and holding two dog leashes in his hand. On the end of one was Mitsy and on the end of the other was Evie’s little dachshund, Peter.

  “Goddamn bat ears,” I muttered as he leaned over and unclipped the leashes from their halters. Both dogs were panting and snapping at each other, not caring that Henry was caught in the middle. My heart swelled at his thoughtfulness in caring for my rabid pet. There was no street cred in jogging outdoors with a psychotic white ball of fluff and a sausage dog.

  “I heard that too,” he said, using his forearm to wipe the sweat away from his brow.

  I fired a quick message back to Casey as Henry made his way into the kitchen and Mitsy to my side. You made me promise under duress. That means it doesn’t count.

  Keeping half an eye on Jake to make sure he wasn’t watching, I waved a piece of bacon to Mitsy under the table. His teeth bit into my skin as he snatched it from my fingers. I hid the wince.

  “I saw that,” Jake told me, his eyes never straying from the magazine in front of him.

  “Of course you did.” I exhaled in a long, exaggerated sigh and he rolled his eyes.

  Henry was getting a bottle of water from the fridge when Casey’s reply came through.

  Duress? Is that what they’re calling sex these days?

  Yes, I responded.

  I bit back a smile at his next message.

  Fine. We should have duress tonight, and lots of it.

  Three times hadn’t worn him out? I knew he’d barely slept all night. He was worried about the little girl.

  Any word on Janie?

  His response was immediate. She made it through the night. Doctors say she’s gonna pull through.

  I sighed with relief. Good news.

  The best.

  “Grace, can I talk to you for a minute?” Henry asked as I hit send. Everyone froze at the serious tone and I thought furiously for a quick second. I might have promised Casey I’d let him tell Henry—even though the promise was made under duress and shouldn’t count—but there wasn’t much Casey could do if Henry found out all on his own, could he?

  “Privately?” he added to the silent room.

  “Of course,” I murmured, feeling a sense of impending doom wash over me.

  It was one thing to boast I was going to tell my brother, but actually doing it was something I hadn’t fully considered. I wouldn’t have been so anxious if everyone had kept their opinions to themselves, but there appeared to be an overwhelming consensus that Henry was going to bathe himself in Casey’s blood. I didn’t like to doubt my brother’s capabilities. Henry was certainly tall and muscular and capable of handling himself, but Casey was, well … Casey.

  Henry turned and started for the stairs. I abandoned my breakfast and followed him, feeling everyone’s eyes watch our retreat. Mitsy brought up the rear of the procession, making sure his growl of contempt encompassed the room as he trotted up the stairs behind us.

  After following Henry into my room, he spun around and faced me. I noticed with some surprise that the expected anger wasn’t there. Maybe Henry hadn’t found out like I thought.

  “Grace,” he began, folding his arms.

  “Let me speak first,” I blurted out.

  Henry shrugged. “Okay.”

  I began to pace, trying to think of how I could tell Henry about Casey without actually breaking my promise. Flat out telling him was off the table but at the least I could be proactive about the situation. Perhaps I could somehow bamboozle him.

  I stopped pacing and looked at my brother. “Sometimes things just happen whether you want them to or not.”

  “Uh … okay,” he agreed.

  “So you agree?”

  “Sure. I guess.” He shrugged again, his blue eyes clouding with confusion over my sudden line of questioning.

  I resumed pacing. “So if something happened that you didn’t want to happen, you would be suitably calm and non-violent and not punch anyone in the face, because you understood that those things just happened, right?”

  I paused and looked at him again, waiting for an answer.

  Henry narrowed his eyes on my face. “What happened, Grace?”

  I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes in return. “Answer the question.”

  “Why do I feel like
I’m being led into a verbal trap?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I lied as I tried to form an appropriate response. I walked over to the bed and sat on it, tucking one leg underneath me. “I just want to clarify you aren’t the type of person to go around punching people who do things you don’t like. Take Jake for instance.”

  “Jake?” he echoed.

  “Yes, Jake. This morning he dumped bacon all over my orange. That would constitute him doing something I didn’t want him to do, right?” I tried not to wince at the ridiculous example. It was hardly the same thing, but I was thinking on the fly and had to roll with it. “I have to watch my weight or risk losing work, Henry,” I continued before he could reply. “That means I can’t go around eating bacon whenever I please, no matter how much I want to.”

  Henry’s brows rose slowly as I spoke until they reached his hairline. “What’s your point, Grace?”

  “My point is that I didn’t punch him.”

  Silence reigned for a moment as Henry stared. Was he waiting for me to say something else? I calmly folded my hands in my lap. “What is it you wish to talk about, Henry?”

  “I have no idea now,” he muttered.

  “Well, okay then.” I stood up from the bed and he gripped my shoulder, pushing me back down before I got anywhere.

  “I think you should stay,” he said.

  I looked about the room, wondering why he would want me to stay. Did he see through the concealer to the dark smudges under my eyes? Granted, a nap would be nice, but we had a show tonight. “There’s no time to sleep today. We have a set list to prepare,” I reminded him.

  “I meant stay here. In Sydney. Permanently.” He let go of my shoulder and stepped back. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Wow, Henry, that’s …” Unexpected? Nice? A really bad idea? This break from my everyday life had shown me just how lonely I really was. I loved that I couldn’t get a moment’s peace living here. I loved the constant bickering. I loved that Mac bossed me around. I loved how Frog and Cooper entertained me with their stories until I couldn’t breathe from laughing. I loved the way Jake tried to take care of me while pretending not to. I loved having my big brother back in my life, but not enough to get him, or any of them for that matter, caught up in my problems. “That’s really nice, but … I can’t.”

  Hurt and disappointment clouded Henry’s eyes. “Why not?” he asked, coming to sit beside me on the bed. “You can do your job better here than in Melbourne, can’t you? I mean, you’re signed with an international agency, but I read the other day that the majority of fashion designers are based here. It would make sense for you to move.”

  “Where did you read that?”

  Henry’s tanned skin flushed slightly. “In one of Mac’s fashion magazines,” he admitted.

  My brows flew up. “You’re reading Vogue now?”

  He grabbed hold of my hand and got to his feet, pulling me with him. After leading me into his room, he flung open his wardrobe and took a bulky folder from the shelves. He held it out expectantly.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s my sister’s life,” he said simply.

  Curious, I took the folder and opened the first page. Staring back at me was a fourteen-year old Grace from the cover of a magazine. Not just any cover, but my first, I realised as I sank to the edge of his bed. It was with Dolly, a magazine targeted to young teenage girls. My hair was mousy brown back then and my freckled nose more prominent. I was wearing a white lace top, lilac jeans, and dangly earrings so alarmingly huge they could’ve anchored a small boat. I ran my eye over the cover’s captions—“The Brave Girl’s Guide to Life” sat in bold font above “Be his best kiss EVER!” To the left read “What is your skin trying to tell you?” and beneath that “Mind tricks to get the guy EVERY girl wants!”

  I looked up at him, my eyes wide with surprise. This was why my brother was reading Mac’s fashion magazines. “I can’t believe you kept all these.” Returning my attention to the folder, I flipped the page over, followed by another, and another, until I’d silently made my way through the entire book full of clippings from my career. It was staggering to see the transformation from mousy brown tomboy to the unconventional redhead I was today. My look had an edge and I played it up by getting the wild, colourful tattoo on my arm and shoulder. My agent was pissed about that and admittedly I hadn’t been booked for bridal wear since, but it had scored me the coveted contract with the Hendrix label. Their latest campaign was the last picture in Henry’s folder.

  I’d been photographed by John on the back of a moving Harley Davidson, clutching hold of a real life hard-core biker named Bingo as I grinned at the camera. Bingo was immense and sported a beard so impressive he could’ve braided it. At the end of the three-day shoot, Bingo and his biker friends, who were photographed riding with us, hosted a bonfire on our behalf. Hendrix must have paid them a whopping sum for their time because I sat there with my water, watching as they guzzled back full bottles of rum before tossing the remaining contents in the fire. They hollered like excited cavemen discovering fire as the flames blew up wildly. The whole affair escalated quickly when sparks flew out and caught hold of Bingo’s beard. Reacting on instinct, I tossed my drink in his face, drenching his impressive beard and leather vest. He stared at me, open-mouthed, and before I could apologise, John tackled me into his car. After slamming the door behind me, he flung his equipment on the backseat with reckless abandon and the wheels spun as we skidded away. Unfortunately, John’s driving skills left much to be desired. We took out three bikes in our haste to leave. I could only pray I never encountered Bingo ever again or I’d be a dead woman walking.

  The muscle in Henry’s jaw ticked as I recounted the story. “No more biker photo shoots,” he ordered.

  “Getting that contract was a big deal. A really big deal. Do you know how much I was paid?”

  “How much?”

  He blanched when I told him the sum. “What?”

  I told him again.

  He shook his head. “I don’t care if it pays ten dollars or ten million. No sum is worth your life, Gracie Bean.”

  While his words were heartwarming, they were also ridiculous. “I’m sure Bingo wouldn’t have hurt me,” I lied. Saving his beloved facial hair from a fiery death didn’t negate taking out a biker’s ride in a hail of spinning wheels and gravel.

  Henry shook his head. “Bikers are wild and unpredictable. Add an unlimited supply of rum to the mix and you’ve got trouble. If …”

  I tuned his lecture out and focused on smoothing the pages in the folder before closing it neatly. Knowing Henry had followed my career made me realise I hadn’t been as alone as I’d thought. He really did care. Maybe I should have reached out to him more than I did. I placed the folder on my lap and looked at him.

  “Thank you,” I said, my soft words interrupting his rant.

  Henry paused. “What for?”

  I gave him back the folder. “For being more of a brother than I realised you were.”

  He put the folder down and pulled me off the bed and into his arms, squeezing me hard. “Thank you, Grace. For dropping everything to help us out. I’m sorry I said you chose your career over your family.” Taking hold of my shoulders, he pushed me back until he was looking me in the face. “I was angry over losing you. I missed you.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I missed you too.”

  Henry let go of my shoulders and picked up the folder. “Does that mean you’ll stay?” he asked, placing it back on the shelf in his wardrobe.

  “I’ll think about it,” I hedged.

  We spent the rest of the day tinkering with equipment and going over last minute song changes. The afternoon passed by and before I knew it, we were arriving at the Florence Bar for our Friday evening show.

  The streets were bursting with people waiting to get inside. We bypassed them all, driving through the gates that led to the back entrance. Casey and Jared were there waiting for us.
My pulse thumped at the sight of him. He was wearing their standard security uniform of black pants and snug black tee shirts. Bold white lettering on the back declared him Jamieson Security. His face was all hard angles and flat eyes, as though he’d put his “security face” on.

  Despite the venue providing their own manpower, Casey and Jared took charge. Jared sprang forward and opened the car door, leading us swiftly towards Casey.

  I watched for a reaction after making an effort with my appearance—choosing to wear the high-waisted black leather hotpants Mac had salivated over in my suitcase. They were decorated with three front buckles and silver studs around the sides. Into the pants, I tucked a white tee shirt with rolled up sleeves and my black boots. John called it my “greaser” look, but there was nothing greasy about it. It was supposed to be cool and rock chick sexy and get Casey’s attention.

  It didn’t.

  Casey’s eyes passed over me like I was yesterday’s news. I deflated when he turned, giving me his back as he led us directly to the dressing room. A five-man crew had come before us and set up our equipment on stage, so once we were all inside, he left with Mac and Quinn to do the stage check, leaving Jared with us.

  “Long gone are the days of doing it ourselves. We’re too big for that now,” Frog boasted as he stretched out on the dusky red couch. It was vintage, with clawed feet and button leather. The whole room was styled similarly; gilded mirrors decorated the walls and black shagpile rugs covered the floorboards. The bar was one of Sydney’s most upscale music venues and it showed.

  Cooper leaned over from behind the couch and punched Frog in the gut.

  “Oomph.” Frog clutched his stomach and rolled inwards. “What was that for?”

  “In one of those magazine articles, the interviewer asked how you were coping with your ‘sudden fame,’” Cooper air-quoted, “and you said you had plenty of friends to keep you grounded.”

  “Yeah?” Frogs brows flew up. “So what?”

  Cooper grinned. “That was me keeping you grounded.”

  After what felt like an eternity of bickering, the dressing room door opened to reveal Casey. Knowing he wanted to talk to Henry before the show kicked my nerves into gear. His eyes swept the room, passing right over Henry before locking on mine. “Grace.” I blinked in surprise. “Mac needs you for a minute.”