Absence of Grace (6 page)

He sat up, disturbed by the distress in her tone, then turned to watch her. “I’m not springing it on you.” At least not exactly. “I told you before I wasn’t completely satisfied with the law.”

She located her underwear and proceeded to put it on with quick, jerky motions. “Not completely satisfied? Who is? But adults make the best of things.” After delivering that barb, she moved to the end of the bed and collected the rest of her clothes, then she made a wide berth around him as she headed for the bathroom.

“Well, I think making the best of things for me includes an annual leave. I’ll still make good money.”

“Oh, come on, Gerrum. If you think Pierson and Potter will go along with you taking a big chunk of time off, you’re dreaming. You may as well resign.” She disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door with a snap.

She might be correct, but it didn’t change his mind. While she was in the bathroom, he got dressed. She came back out wearing the outfit she’d arrived in before the party and carrying her formal gown shrouded in a garment bag. Anger was brewing in those crystal eyes, but her next words were still soft.

“Gerrum Kirsey, just so we’re perfectly clear. If you think I have any intention of marrying someone who toys for one minute with the idea of giving up an excellent career to go off to Alaska to write, you’re insane.” She paused for his response, but he stood motionless and silent, a rabbit frozen in the shadow of a hawk.

She shook her head, finally letting go of her icy control. “For God’s sake, Gerrum. You’re thirty-seven years old. You’re engaged to be married. It’s time you settled down, not time to go off chasing an impossible dream.”

She was right, but if one gave up dreams at any age, what was left?

She glared at him, obviously waiting for him to back down. To say he’d been kidding. That no way would he do something so antiestablishment and ill-advised, not to mention downright bizarre, as take time off from his real career to go to Alaska.

But the image of himself as a rabbit stilled his words, slowed the very pulsing of blood in his veins. If he backed off now, gave in, their relationship would never again be one of equals.

Her eyes glittered. “Dammit, Gerrum. It’s enough already that you’re an Eskimo.”

“Tlingit.”

“Whatever. My family’s been giving me grief over that.”

“So Winston informed me.”

She tossed her head. “At least you’re a Tlingit in a three-piece suit. No. This isn’t happening. I won’t let it happen.”

The overhead light spun gold in her hair, turned her eyes that lovely clear-water color, and softened her cheek to velvet. Seeing it, his heart felt like it was breaking. But in the silence that now lay between them, her words continued to resonate.

They overlaid her beauty with ugliness and reminded him of the puzzlement he’d felt when he first discovered having a mother who was an Alaskan Native made him different, and somehow not the equal, of paler-skinned classmates.

“So...what’s it going to be, Gerrum? Alaska. Or me?”

What happened to ‘I love you’? Such simple words but, in this moment, impossible to say. Equally impossible to continue the attempt to convince her it didn’t need to be the one thing and not the other. He let the silence stretch a millennium before clearing his throat to speak.

In the end, it was easier than he expected. “Alaska.”

That shocked Pam into immobility, then her head began to shake. “No. No. You cannot do this.”

When he didn’t respond, she turned and stalked to the doorway where she stopped and hooked the dress on the door frame. For an instant, relief lightened his heart. But then she pulled her ring off and slapped it on the dresser, snatched up the gown, and left without looking back.

How had it come to this?

Decisive. Feisty. A woman who would be a worthy opponent in court and an equal in the bedroom. Despite that, they’d never had more than a mild disagreement, before this. Although, in light of what had just happened, that may have been because he’d never opposed her.

He started after her, arriving at the back door as she pulled out of the driveway. He watched which direction she went before returning to the bedroom to grab his wallet and keys. But as he slipped the key into the ignition, her words replayed in his mind—
at least you’re a Tlingit in a three-piece suit
—and his hand stilled.

Funny how they each, with a single word, had changed the shape of the future.

Eskimo.

Alaska.

“Words have power,” his mother would say. “They must be used with care.”
He pulled the key out of the ignition and, shaking off any remaining indecision, went back inside his no longer inadequate house.

Chapter Four

Atlanta,
Georgia

“Do you have any idea where you’re going or what you’re doing yet?” Maxine asked as she buttered a roll.

“I guess I’ll just get in the car and start driving,” Clen said.

“Hey, we were going to do that. Remember?”

She did. The summer after they graduated from college, she and Maxine had planned to travel before they settled down and looked for jobs in the fall. Then Maxine met a guy and travel plans turned into wedding preparations.

“I’m still kind of sorry we didn’t take that trip,” Maxine said.

“You did okay.”

Maxine ended up with four cute kids and a doting husband, and now Clen had been handed another chance to indulge her old dream of wanderlust. Thanks to Paul and their joint investing acumen.

“Ever since you called, I’ve been thinking about where I’d go if I were you.” Maxine set her knife down and rummaged in her purse. “I decided it would be nice to spend time in a place like this.”

She pushed a brochure across the table with the tip of a fingernail that matched her lipstick. It always amused Clen that, although Maxine would go home to a chaotic household filled with kids and dogs, she always dressed more formally for their lunches than did Clen, who would return to an office.

“Their retreat program has a terrific reputation.”

Clen glanced at the brochure. It was from an abbey, for Pete’s sake. She pushed it back. “You know I’m more a fan of advancing than retreating.”

Maxine rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you went to church?”

“Mass was still in Latin.”

Maxine shook her head. “You’re always making jokes, but I doubt God will find that one amusing.”

Which was only one of the bones Clen had to pick with the creator of the universe. “Come on, Maxie. You know God and I aren’t on speaking terms, and it’s working for both of us.”

“You may think it’s working, but when something bad happens you’ll want to have God on your side.”

“God takes sides?”

“What? No...of course not. Well, maybe.”

It just showed Maxine knew as little about God as Clen did. Besides, the worst had happened, and God didn’t lift a finger, if God had fingers. And Clen could easily guess Maxine’s response if she started a debate about that.

Hoping to cut off further abbey discussion, she waved her hand with its short, unpolished fingernails at Maxine, then slipped the brochure into her briefcase. “I’ll read it later.” She wouldn’t, but since Maxine had to suspect that, it wasn’t precisely a lie.

“I heard from Sister Thomasina last week.” Maxine delved into her purse again, then held out an envelope that Clen declined to accept. “Don’t you want to read it? She asked about you.”

Clen shook her head, wishing she hadn’t put the brochure away. Wishing she had something with which to deflect any discussion of Sister Thomasina.

“I thought you two were such great friends,” Maxine said.

Clen had long ago given up trying to figure out what she and Thomasina were—her feelings for the nun a confused mix of love, anger, and puzzlement accompanied by a dull ache. “That’s so far in the past. Nearly twenty years.”

“Seventeen.” As their fortieth birthdays approached, Maxine had become a stickler on the mathematics of such statements.

“Let’s just say, it’s another circumstance where moving on works better than looking back,” Clen said. “Remember what happened to Lot’s wife.”

Maxine sat fiddling with the pages of the letter. It was a continuing mystery to Clen how Maxine, who’d had only casual interactions with Thomasina during their years at Marymead, had established such a steady correspondence with the nun. But perhaps Thomasina was simply being courteous, responding whenever Maxine wrote, and Maxine wrote to everyone she knew, constantly. The thought of all that writing made Clen tired.

“Fine.” Maxine put the letter away. “I’ll tell her you’re peachy.”

“Thanks, Maxie. You’re a peach, yourself.”

“So, about the abbey?”

“I expect the reason it appeals to you is because you live with teenagers.”

Maxine tried to look stern, but her lips betrayed her. “You’re probably right.” She frowned. “You don’t need to put on your tough girl act with me.”

“Better to laugh than to cry.”

“She really had a triple-D bust?”

“They were the most humongous breasts I’ve ever seen. In fact, when she stood up, I fully expected her to tip over.”

Maxine giggled. “You are so bad.”

“Obviously.”

“Oh, Clen, he’s a louse and you don’t deserve what he did to you.”

“Actually...”

“What?”

“It’s just...I always felt deep down it was too good to be true. A man like Paul, falling for someone like me? The first time he asked me out, I figured he’d misdialed and decided to be nice about it.”

“Oh, stop it. You’re funny and smart and great-looking, and you deserve someone so much better.”

“I’m not petite, not blonde, and most definitely not endowed.”

“He married you.”

“And I don’t know why. Neither does he. I asked him. He couldn’t answer.”

“Well, he was lucky to have you, and dumb as a Brussels sprout to mess it up.”