Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2) (12 page)

Grace drove home in a daze. She half expected the car radio to spontaneously sputter to life and play the theme from the
Twilight Zone
.

Logan’s declaration of love had completely broadsided her. Maybe if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in her own dramas, she might have been able to see it coming. Despite his outrageous claims to the contrary, they
had
been spending more time together, both in and out of bed.

But marriage? She shied away from even contemplating it. Rationally, she knew Logan wasn’t Harry. He had proven that time and again. But her immediate, visceral reaction to Logan’s proposal—if his offhand statement could even be called that—was to run as far and as fast as possible.

Living together would be a big enough commitment, as far as she was concerned. It didn’t legally bind her to anything. And if things didn’t work out—she winced at the thought, but it had to be considered—then at least there would be no drawn-out divorce to negotiate, no need to work out the legal niceties that would grant them both their independence.

As for his autocratic decree regarding her job choices...she was still too angry for words. Where did Logan get off telling her how to manage her career? She was an adult, with at least as much education under her belt as he had. She could damn well make her own decisions.

She didn’t need anyone to tell her how difficult and emotionally draining it would be to work for the non-profit. With a clientele consisting almost exclusively of battered women, many of whom were bound to be indigent or homeless, and likely to have comorbidities that included mental illness or addiction, how could it be otherwise? Especially when resources were limited and long-term social support networks inadequate.

She knew that success stories were few and far between. But they did exist.
She
was one. Granted, she’d had advantages that most of these women probably didn’t have. But her experiences at least gave her some insight into where the women might be coming from, and what the road ahead entailed. That alone would provide a common starting point on which to build a foundation of trust.

Could she see herself doing this kind of work full-time without burning out? If she was going to be completely honest, the answer was probably no.

And did she really want to risk losing the golden opportunity of a tenure-track academic position? Again, in full honesty, no.

So where did that leave her?

Working, as she told Logan, an eighty hour week? Full time at the university, part time at the shelter? Was that even sustainable?

In the end, the solution came from an unexpected source: a grand rounds lecture on treating post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, in victims of domestic violence. The speaker was a professor who held joint appointments in the psychiatry and health policy departments. Her area of interest, it turned out, was developing cost-effective outreach programs for women and children affected by domestic violence. And she was very interested in hearing more about Grace’s idea for a collaborative effort between the university and the non-profit sector.

Best of all, she was willing to back Grace’s proposal for establishing a satellite office that would offer comprehensive medical and mental health services specifically for the women and children who sought refuge at the non-profit’s shelters. Senior psychiatry and family medicine residents would rotate through this office as part of their training, under the supervision of Grace and other faculty physicians.

If Grace could get buy-in from the university’s institutional review board, she might also be able to set up a research project to study the outcomes of various therapeutic approaches in this particular patient population.

It wasn’t guaranteed—there would be multiple bureaucratic hoops to jump through—and she would still have to spend time doing administrative work to set everything up and oversee the project. But this would allow her to fulfill her research and at least part of her teaching obligation, while providing the care the non-profit’s clients so desperately needed.

If everything worked out, full time would still be on the order of sixty hours a week. Not exactly the laid-back schedule Logan was suggesting, but definitely manageable. She couldn’t wait to get started.

“A letter came for you today,” Ruth said over dinner.

“Oh?” Grace gave up trying to cut the black bean burger patty on her plate. At least Maria had stopped serving her meat. The next step was convincing her that vegetarian entrees didn’t need to be charred to be well done.

“It’s on the sideboard.”

“I’ll take a look later, thanks.”

Ruth wiped her lips with a napkin. “It was forwarded from your old address in New York.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Looks like an invitation.”

“Fine, you want me to open it, I’ll open it.” Grace retrieved the thick vellum envelope from the sideboard.

“Well?” Ruth prompted, after watching for several minutes in silence while Grace examined the contents. “Who’s getting married?”

“What? No one. Why would you ask that?”

“It looks like a wedding invitation.”

“It’s not.” Grace set the papers aside.

“Well, then, don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It’s an invitation to a commencement ceremony.”

“You mean graduation? Yours?”

“Yes.”

“When is it?”

Grace pushed aside her plate. “In three weeks.”

“That soon?” Ruth glanced at the ever-present walker nearby. “I wonder if the doctor will let me travel by then.”

The remark took Grace by surprise. After years of lukewarm, pro-forma telephone exchanges, her grandmother all of a sudden wanted to attend Grace’s residency graduation? Though on reflection, she supposed it made sense, in light of some of the other conciliatory gestures Ruth had made over the last few weeks.

Before they got too carried away, Grace decided a reality check was in order. “Neither of us is traveling anywhere any time soon, Grandma.”

“Why not?”

“You’re barely five weeks out from surgery. The orthopedist said at your last appointment that it’ll be at least three months before you can get on a plane.”

“I don’t recall that.”

“Then it’s a good thing I went with you. Because I distinctly remember him saying that.”

Ruth humphed. “Fine. But just because I can’t go, I don’t see why you can’t.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I have Maria. You go, and make sure to get lots of pictures.”

Grace shook her head. “I’ve had enough of New York for a while.”

“Grace, you listen to me. You worked hard for this. You deserve to have your accomplishments recognized.”

“What, an unrestricted medical license isn’t enough?”

Ruth ignored her sarcasm. “I know the last few years haven’t been easy for you. But Harry is gone. The press is off your back, finally. You should go. Have fun, celebrate, then come back. Don’t let the past dictate your future.”

Grace frowned. Her grandmother was telling
her
to let go of the past? She opened her mouth to call Ruth on the double standard, then hesitated. Did she really want to fight about this now?

In the end, Ruth forced the issue. “Grace, you know I only want what’s best for you. That’s all your grandfather and I have ever wanted.”

Well, that clinched it. “If I go to New York,” she said, “it’s not going to be because you want me to. And it’s certainly not so I can participate in some pretentious ritual. It will be because
I
decide to go there, so that I can visit my father.”

“I see.” Ruth’s expression remained calm, and her tone betrayed no hint of surprise. “Well, I suppose that’s as good a reason as any.”

Not quite the response Grace expected. She wasn’t sure what she wanted her grandmother to say, but a bit more demonstrable emotion would have been welcome. Maybe even an acknowledgment that she and Grace’s grandfather had been wrong to perpetrate such a massive lie that it had not only separated Grace from her father for so many years, but had actually kept Grace from even knowing that she had a father.

On returning to California a little over a month ago, Grace realized how old and frail her grandmother had become. And so she decided to put aside her resentment, burying it alongside a whole mess of other unresolved feelings. But now that the issue was out in the open, she felt a resurgence of the old anger.

“Dad was a colonel when he retired from the Air Force, did you know that?” The words spewed forth, as unstoppable as a tsunami after an earthquake. “He had a long and successful career in the military, despite what you and Grandfather threatened him with. And he’s made a brilliant second career for himself as an engineering executive.”

Ruth nodded. “Good for him.”

“He’s happily married, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. His partner’s name is Peter, and he’s a lovely man.” Grace paused. Might as well go for broke. “I’d like for them to visit me here.”

This time, Ruth took longer to reply. “Your grandfather was a good man, Grace. He very much regretted the rift between you.”

“It was his own fault. He was completely out of line, calling Dad names. As if being gay is some moral failing. Or crime.”

“Times were different. You have to make allowances. Your grandfather loved you. He wanted to protect you.”

“From what? From my own father? From a man who was every bit as good and upstanding as Grandfather himself?”

“He loved you, Grace. We both did. We didn’t want to lose you, like we lost your mother.”

“Fat lot of good that did. He lost me anyway because of his stubbornness.”

“I know.” Ruth sighed. “You inherited some of that stubbornness yourself.”

Grace started to refute that, but innate honesty forced her to back down. “Maybe.”

“Like I said, don’t let the past dictate your future.” Ruth smoothed the napkin on her lap. “If you want your father to visit, that’s fine. He can walk you down the aisle, seeing as I’m still stuck with this bloody walker and can’t do the honors.”

“What?” She wasn’t sure which statement shocked her more—her grandmother’s concession about having Grace’s father visit, or the casual mention of walking down the aisle.

“Your young man came by. Said you were getting married. Caught me quite unprepared, I must admit.”

“He told you
what
? When was this?”

“Earlier today. While you were out running.”

“I can’t believe it.”

Ruth raised an eyebrow. “I take it you haven’t exactly ironed out the details?”

Grace was going to kill him. But for the moment, she managed to curve her lips into the semblance of a smile. “Something like that,” she said.

###

Thinking about the conversation later, Grace wondered if her grandmother was onto something.
Was
she allowing the past to dictate her future?

She turned on the shower and peeled off her clothing. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of herself in the vanity mirror. For the first time in what seemed like months, she didn’t turn away. Instead, she stopped and stared at her reflection.

She had gained some weight since moving back to L.A. Not a lot, but enough to soften the sharp angles and fill in some of the hollows. Her skin looked healthier, too. A bit of color had replaced the pasty white of East coast winters.

No doubt about it, returning to California had been good for her. She was eating more regularly and exercising nearly every day. And despite some late nights and early mornings, courtesy of a certain arrogant, frustrating, indefatigable male, she felt more rested than she had in a long time.

She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes beneath the hot spray, thinking how far she’d come since those last dark days in New York. Not just physically and emotionally, but also in terms of perspective. Instead of simply reacting to forces beyond her control, she felt like she was finally taking charge of her life: clearing out the toxic waste that had accumulated over time, figuring out how to help others without being sucked under herself, planning for the future with a renewed sense of optimism.

If she were to be completely honest with herself—putting aside for the moment her knee-jerk response to Logan’s irritating high-handedness—she had to admit that a large part of her future plans did revolve around Logan. He’d gone from being a source of resentment to a source of strength.

Because he was secure in his own skin, he didn’t feel the need to constantly prove himself by putting her down, the way Harry had. On the contrary, Logan’s self-confidence allowed him to back off when needed, so she could take the lead.

And he’d come a long way from the egotistical young man she’d left behind. She couldn’t imagine the old Logan holding her while she blubbered all over his shirt, or asking non-judgmental questions and listening sympathetically to her response. He was far more understanding these days, as patient in dealing with human foibles now as he had been in his academic pursuits in the past.

That didn’t mean life with Logan would be perfect. He still suffered from the infuriating tendency to dismiss her objections when he thought it was for her own good. The nerve of him, telling her grandmother that they were getting married, as if it were all decided. She’d definitely read him the riot act over that.

And she’d take as much time as she needed to think things through. Just because Logan had acted precipitously didn’t mean she had to. Nor did it mean she would dig in her heels even further just to teach him a lesson. Passive-aggressive behavior had no place in a loving, healthy relationship—and going forward, that was the only kind of relationship she was willing to have.

No doubt about it, there would be plenty of disagreements in their future. That was inevitable when two strong-minded people came together. But as long as they were both willing to talk things through, they’d be able to sort out their differences and make it work.

After all, they had three things going for them. Experience. Mutual respect. And above all, love.

###

Later that night, Grace reread the invitation from her residency program. She traced a finger over the elegant script addressed to Dr. Grace King and Guest.

She sat for a long time, thinking.

Then she pulled out her laptop.

It was a simple thing to buy a round-trip plane ticket. She hesitated, then bought a second ticket. Just in case.