Blessing in Disguise (55 page)

Yes, that was it. A dog. She could hear it whining softly, the way Roo used to when he was in a strange place.

What kind of a nut would break in with a
dog?
Suppose the Purina Strangler got tired of hunting dog biscuits and came upstairs after her? No matter how scared she was, she wasn’t going to lie around waiting for that to happen.

Hannah slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, and crept out into the hallway, her legs nearly buckling with every step. Descending the stairs, she hugged the wall, where every footfall wouldn’t creak. At the bottom, she cautiously rounded the newel post and peered through the darkness of the living room to where an odd glow was illuminating the kitchen.

He was standing silhouetted in the open refrigerator’s light, a thin boy in a dirty orange parka, his white face stamped with red patches of cold, his sneakers caked with dried mud. Beside him crouched an equally scruffy-looking golden retriever, its nose up in the air, sniffing at the wealth of smells that were wafting from the refrigerator.

The boy must have heard her, because he looked up sharply, wearing an expression that wavered between shock and embarrassment.

“Hi, Chris,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“What are you d-doing here?” he stammered.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I thought nobody’d be here. I ... I was hungry. The back door was unlocked.”

She stared at him, wondering how Dad, or even Grace, would have handled this. Chris had to be in some kind of trouble ... and she’d bet anything that right now Grace was tearing her hair out looking for him. But Hannah had a feeling that grilling Chris would be the wrong way to go.

“Anything look good in there?” Hannah asked, suddenly aware that she was wearing only her flannel pajama top, which came halfway to her knees. But Chris was, well, almost family. She strolled over and peered into the fridge.

Chris shrugged, but she could see his shoulders slump with relief. “Not much,” he said. “Some old bread, and a carton of eggs. Some cheese, but I think it might be moldy.”

“How about I make us an omelette? You can cut the mold off the cheese, and toast the bread.” She leaned down to scratch the dog behind his ear and was rewarded with the thumping of his tail against the kitchen floor. “What’s his name?”

“Cody.”

“Nice dog.”

“He’s okay.” But there was no mistaking the utter devotion in Chris’s eyes.

She was putting out eggs, Tabasco sauce, wire whisk, a bowl with a chipped rim that Ben and she had used for pitch-the-penny, when she felt a light touch against her elbow. She turned, and there was Chris looking at her like a cornered spy in a James Bond movie who’s just realized that his life is in the hands of his captor.

“You won’t tell, will you, Hannah?”

“Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

“You mean it?” He caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“Is there a three-letter word that starts with ‘y’ and ends with ‘s’?” What she didn’t say was that, with a little urging on her part, she was pretty sure she could get
him
to call home.

Chris started toward her, and for a panicky second Hannah thought he was going to hug her ... but then she saw he was just reaching for the cheese on the counter behind her.

“Check the cupboard under the sink; there might be a can of dog food in there somewhere,” she told him, her back to him while she rummaged around in the spice cabinet for some paprika. “Can opener’s in the drawer by the stove. And don’t you dare open it anywhere near me, or I’ll puke.”

“Hannah?” She turned to find him standing at the sink holding a rust-speckled can of Alpo in one hand and a can opener in the other. He looked so pitiful, she really
did
want to hug him.

“What?”

“Thanks for not being a jerk.”

“It’s not easy, but sometimes I can manage it.”

“If my mom found out I’d hitchhiked up here ...” His voice trailed off.

“Yeah, I know. Mine will skin me alive for taking her car. In the meantime, why don’t we both just shut up and eat?”

She waited until after they’d devoured their omelette before saying what was on her mind. “Look, I know it’s none of my business, but
shouldn’t
you give your mom or dad a call? I’ll bet they’re pretty worried.”

“They’ll get over it.” A hard look made Chris look suddenly older than thirteen.

“I know how you feel,” she sighed.

“You do?”

“Sometimes, around my mom and dad, it’s like being in the middle of a war zone. It’s mostly my mom—she’s always after me for dirt on
your
mom. Maybe that’s partly why I gave Grace such a hard time: if she wasn’t in Daddy’s life, maybe Mom would stop bugging me. Not that she cares about me,” she added bitterly.

“I’m sick of being in the middle,” Chris told her. Wearing a woeful look, with dots of jelly smeared in both corners of his mouth, he looked about four. “Why can’t they just ...
stop?”

“Because they’re stuck in it, too. They don’t always know how to handle it, either.” Hannah, surprised at her unexpected insight, quickly added, “It wouldn’t hurt just to call. You don’t even have to say where you’re calling from.”

“I don’t know. ...”

Hannah backed off at once. “Suit yourself.”

Chris remained silent for a time, shoving a crust of toast around and around his plate to scour up the last bit of omelette.

Finally, in a small voice, he said, “I guess you’re right.” With a deep sigh, he rose heavily from the ladder-back chair across from where she sat. A minute later, she could hear him speaking over the phone in the next room. “Mom? It’s okay. Mom, I’m all right—don’t cry. I’m with Hannah,
I’m fine.”
He sounded as if he were on the verge of crying himself. “Can we talk about it later? I’m kind of tired right now. ...” The rest was muffled by a rattling burst from the heating vent.

Hannah was washing up the dirty dishes when she heard Chris, behind her, say, “I told her I was going to spend the night here. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” she said lightly, keeping her back turned so he wouldn’t see that she was holding her breath, hoping he’d agree to what she was going to say next. “We’ll drive back first thing in the morning.”

Chris didn’t argue.

“It’ll sure beat hitchhiking,” he said.

Even after stopping for breakfast in Great Harrington, they were back in the city by ten-thirty—but that was late enough for Hannah to escape the immediate wrath of her own mother, who would have long since left for work. Hannah carefully maneuvered past a double-parked van and pulled the Mercedes into a tight spot in front of Grace’s building. Switching off the engine, she sighed with relief. No dents, not even a scratch. The only thing Mom would have a fit over was Cody’s hair and muddy pawprints all over the back seat.

Beside her, Chris looked apprehensive. “Mom will be mad,” he said.

“No, she won’t,” Grace told him. “The worst she’ll do is hug you to death and cry all over you.”

In the elevator, going up, Chris turned to her with a shaky smile and said, “You don’t have to do this, you know.” But he looked grateful to have her with him.

Hannah didn’t tell him she had her own reasons for not just dropping him off at the curb. The person Grace would be mad at, she thought, was
her.
Maybe after she explained ...

But Hannah could see, the moment they got out of the elevator and Grace’s front door was flung open, that she wasn’t going to get that chance. Grace appeared, the look of relief on her face so huge it blotted out everything else. With a small cry, she dashed forward and flung her arms around Chris, crushing him to her.

And the amazing thing was that Chris, instead of doing his usual Incredible Shrinking Man act, was hugging her back. With Cody dancing in circles around them, barking with excitement, they looked like one of those Hallmark commercials Hannah usually found sickening. This time, though, she couldn’t suppress a smile.

Hovering in the doorway, Hannah could see an older woman who she guessed was Chris’s grandmother. She looked tired, too, but her silver hair was neatly brushed and she had on fresh lipstick. When Grace finally let go of Chris, his grandmother stepped forward to give him a brisk, fierce hug.

“You gave your mother and me such a fright,” she scolded, but the relief and affection in her voice were unmistakable. “If you weren’t so big, I’d take you over my knee and paddle you.”

Chris merely looked bewildered. “How come you’re here. Nana?”

“Nana was keeping me company,” Grace supplied. “Until you called, I wasn’t doing too well.”

“Someday, when you have children of your own, you’ll understand,” Chris’s grandmother told him with a sigh.

Suddenly, as if Grace had just then noticed her standing there, she turned her brimming eyes to Hannah and said, “Would you like to come in?” She didn’t sound mad or upset ... only grateful.

“No thanks,” Hannah muttered. “I should be getting back.” Thinking of her own homecoming—which would be nothing like Chris’s—she felt a pang. Maybe she’d stop at her father’s office on the way. But first she asked, “Is Dad around?”

“No, he’s not.” The sad way she said it caused Hannah’s heart to lurch. It was as if ... as if
he wasn’t ever going to be around.

It was what Hannah had been hoping for, at times even scheming toward, but now, for some reason, she couldn’t remember what it was she’d so disliked about Grace. Or why she’d thought her dad would be so much better off without her.

Two days later, when Jack finally called, Grace was so glad to hear his voice that she stubbornly ignored its grave tone. He wanted to see her, to talk things over.
It’s going to work out,
she told herself, even while she was filled with dread. When he offered to drive Mother to the airport that afternoon, which would give them a chance to talk on the way back, she was quick to accept.

The ride to Newark, however, was tense. While Mother chattered on about Chris, her plans for her garden, the people she had to call about the library, Grace couldn’t keep her eyes off Jack. For, even as he smiled and responded to Mother, his eyes were sad and his jaw tight. She felt sad, too, and scared ... but, in the best Clayborn tradition, Grace kept a bright look on her face while smoothly discussing the details of the trust she was setting up to handle the money for Daddy’s library.

Finally, Jack was turning onto the departure ramp, and double-parking at the Delta curb. He unloaded Cordelia’s suitcases onto a porter’s handtruck, then sweetly, if a bit formally, bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll stay with the car while Grace takes you inside,” he told her. Not,
I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.

It was Mother, with a warmth Grace found surprising, who said, “Jack, it’s been a pleasure. When Grace and Chris come for a visit, I hope I’ll be seeing you as well. You’re welcome in my home anytime.”

Jack nodded, smiling. Grace could see his Adam’s apple working, but he managed not to let it show in his voice. “Thank you, Cordelia,” he told her with a courtliness that was almost Southern. “The pleasure, I assure you, has been all mine.”

Inside the bustling terminal, Grace walked Cordelia as far as the security gate, then turned to hug her. Mother, in a pale-pink suit and ivory blouse, smelled of gardenias. Her eyes seemed overbright. Tears—or was Grace only imagining it?

“Goodbye, dear,” Cordelia murmured.

“Have a safe trip. Give my love to Sissy.”

Grace felt stiff, awkward, as if, despite their rapprochement of sorts, an ocean of unspoken things remained between them. She felt anxious, too, to get back to Jack.

“I’d better hurry,” Mother said, glancing at her watch.

“You have more than an hour before your plane,” Grace reminded her.

“Yes, I know ... but I have a phone call to make. It’s rather important, and I promised I would call before I left.”

Cordelia lowered her gaze, busying herself by withdrawing her ticket from her handbag. Would Grace guess who it was she was in such a hurry to call? she wondered. Perhaps Nola would eventually tell her.

But Nola couldn’t know of the agonizing that had led to Cordelia’s decision. Or of the late-night call to Gabe, asking his advice. It was Gabe who once again had boiled it all down to the essence of what mattered.

“Suppose you decided against using Nola’s design ... would you be just as happy with another firm’s?” he’d asked.

“No ... no, of course not. None of the other entries even came
close
to what I’d envisioned,” she’d been quick to tell him.

“Well, then, doesn’t that answer your question? What’s it all been for, Cordelia, all your efforts, if you don’t end up with exactly what you want?”

He was right ... but still she’d hesitated. Even knowing that, with the money she’d be getting from Grace, her library, Gene’s library,
would
get built. ...

I ought to feel angry at Gene, I know. How odd it must seem
—
even to Grace, who worshipped her father
—
that I’m so willing to forgive him. There will be those who will think me noble and large-minded because of it ... and only I will know the truth. ...

Gabe.
He
was the reason she could be so forgiving toward Gene. A year ago, it might have been different. But Gabe—he was offering her a second chance, and if she didn’t learn from the mistakes she’d made with Gene, then what good was any of it?

Grace noted the almost rapturous look on Mother’s face, and thought,
It’s him
—
Mr. Ross
—
that’s who she has to call ... Probably he’s meeting her at the airport in Macon.

“Well, then ... I won’t keep you,” Grace told her.

Mother started to walk ahead, but turned for one last look and said, “Don’t let him get away, Grace. Don’t you let that man slip between your fingers.”

Grace had a swimming sense of déjà vu. Was it Win she meant? She felt the years between now and the last time she and her mother had stood together like this, in an airport, dissolve like the low mist she could see through the bank of windows on either side of her.