Forged in Grace (10 page)

Then the blackness comes.

When I wake, I
’m in a four-poster bed. The scent of roses perfumes the air around my head, and weak late afternoon sun scurries toward the horizon. Every surface of me aches, as though someone has spent an hour poking me vigorously all over. I expect to find bruises to back this up, but when I turn back the downy coverlet and sheets to investigate myself I find nothing but my usual lunar surfaces.

I am still at Drew
’s. At my side sits a tray with a thin, yellow soup and a glass of water with ice and a sprig of mint. I gulp the water. The ice crashes into my teeth and makes my gums throb, but I don’t care. I haven’t been so thirsty since the hospital, when medications stole any moisture the fire hadn’t licked away.

Slowly, I rise. When my bare feet meet cool wood floor, I wonder which of them removed my shoes. Was it Drew? Did he stop for a second to admire the smooth pedestal of my toes, which bear neither calluses nor bunions because I don
’t walk barefoot or wear high heels? I haven’t jogged since I was fifteen. I feel a tingle of embarrassment at the thought that he might have undressed me.

I weave my way out to the living room, and find Drew and Marly leaning forward on the couch, whispering. Though their bodies are not quite touching, they
’re looking at each other with a tenderness, a familiarity, that suggests they share more than platonic feelings. When Marly spots me she calls out, “You’re awake!” and shifts away from Drew as though intentionally putting more distance between their bodies.

“
Thanks for the lovely nap,” I stretch my arms out in front of me. “I really hope neither of you carried me.”

Drew frowns.
“You don’t remember getting into bed?”

“
I don’t remember anything after Ray and his daughter left. It was like being taken under by a wave.”

Drew makes a thoughtful sound, and Marly says,
“I knew it would work!”

“
You don’t know that anything happened for certain,” I say. “I made the guy puke, and pissed off his daughter. That’s all we really know.” In truth, though, I know something more happened this time—an echo of that dark, stone-heavy source in his body hangs over me like a pall. Relief that something happened, that perhaps the pain and the visions of all these years have a purpose runs up against something else. Responsibility. Is this what Adam feels after he administers help to ailing patients? I can picture him flopping onto his bed at the end of the day with the burden of all his worries—and I have a sudden absurd wish to be there, rubbing the tension out of his shoulders, offering a drink.

I ease myself into a blue armchair so soft it feels as though it is digesting me.

Marly shakes her head. “I
know
it worked. Drew can check in on him. Maybe he can offer testimonials for the next one?”

I struggle to sit upright.
“What next one? I’m done with this, Marly.”

Marly
’s flawless face crumples with disappointment. “Grace, every one of those people came to see you work. I was staggered by their faith.”

I want Drew to rally for my side, to point out that I collapsed after doing one short healing. If that
’s what it was.

But Drew says,
“I wish you could have seen it from our perspective. It was like you were
one
with the man. I know how that sounds.”

The two of them sit there nodding like religious zealots.

“Grace, do you trust me?” Marly asks.

What runs through my head is:
Lie! Lie! Lie!
“Of course.” These are the most painful words I’ve said today.

“
Good,” she says. “That’s all I need to know.”

Chapter Eleven

Marly paces back and forth in front of The Mirage with its campy palm trees and volcano grotto. It rises like a strange storybook in a dream behind her, intimidating and powerful in its gaudiness. I stand hidden beneath the brim of a hat so encompassing in its protection—from sun or unwanted glances—that Marly refers to it as my “sombrero.”

A small crowd has gathered nearby, when suddenly the fake
“volcano” gives off a great rumble, and disgorges murky red lava into the air. Marly shrieks and stares at me as if she’s expecting me to run screaming.

“
Don’t worry—it’s not real enough to freak me out,” I say.

“
So the anxious look on your face,” Marly says, “Is it because you’re nervous?”

Prior to Vegas, it
’s been a long time since I’ve had anything to be nervous about—and suddenly I’ve got tons of new opportunities. I suppose they call this living. “A couple days ago I sort of hoped I couldn’t repeat what happened, but now…”

She stops pacing.
“Look, it’s no big deal if nothing happens; we don’t make any promises. But don’t you have just a little bit more confidence in yourself now?”

I know she
’s referring to the phone call we received several days ago from Ray, the man with the “cancer stones.” The tumor, he said, had shrunk in a dramatic way that only chemo and radiation usually achieved. My first bit of medical “proof” that perhaps I helped him to heal. Or so I have to believe.

“
I don’t know what I’d call it, but it’s not confidence.”

“
Well just pretend. We’re due to go in!”

I follow Marly into The Mirage lobby, jittery with nerves, but unable to turn away.

At the front desk Marly angles herself between me and the well-coiffed young man with an impeccably square jaw. He peers around her shoulder like she’s concealing someone famous. Then he rings our host to let him know we’re here.

Ten minutes later a woman of an age I find hard to determine emerges in a two-piece suit. She
’s the kind of small that gets called ‘petite’ and smells of a lily-scented cream I associate with old ladies. She guides us to the elevators.

“
Marly, Love,” she says, and she appears to grow an inch when she smiles and takes Marly’s hands.

“
You know each other?” I ask. Marly didn’t mention that detail.

Marly smiles at me.
“Mariam and Calvin let me rent a room when I first moved to Vegas.”

“
Oh goodness, when Calvin first started working for Cirque,” Mariam says, lips compressing as if she’s spoken a dirty word.

She passes the politeness test when looking at me, no tortured effort to make eye contact, just a sweet smile.

Before we move on, Mariam pats Marly’s belly with a knowing look. “Children are such blessings,” she says. “You’ll work it out.” Marly steps back, confused. I know in that moment that Marly hasn’t told Mariam about the pregnancy. Do Mariam and I have more in common than meets the eye?

Their suite is not extravagant, with the lived-in signs of people staying awhile: clothes tossed in heaps, books stacked by the bedside. From the other room comes a heavy sigh and a groan.
“He’s in there,” Mariam says, as though the agonized sound didn’t give it away. She points to an open suite door, where I can make out a long limb and big foot draped on a couch.

She keeps talking,
“He promised me retirement by now.” Her voice is choked, and tears ring her eyes. “I was supposed to be in a bikini on Greek islands by now, not hunkering in dark rooms while he gets the thrill of the crowd. And for what? Does anybody know his name? Is he famous?”

Marly nods and clucks under her breath. She takes Mariam
’s hand. “You’ve given up a lot,” she says as though she empathizes, though the woman sounds petulant to me.

“
He thinks I agreed to this because I’ve seen the light and am supporting his work,” she says in a low voice now. “But he doesn’t know I’m making him an ultimatum after today. It’s me or the show!”

Marly
’s nods continuously. “You deserve some time. Can I make you some tea?” She looks toward the cluttered little kitchenette with an eye of uncertainty.

Mariam
’s sniffles become fully fledged tears as Marly leads her to a little sofa that looks out through a large window onto the glowing shapes of The Strip. The view is like looking out onto a planet of its own with unusual life forms. Marly signals with a nod that I should head into Calvin’s room. My heart makes a skittery thump before I brace myself and walk in, feeling apologetic, as though I’m interrupting him.

“
I’m working in two hours,” a deep bass voice says when I enter his room. My gaze starts at his electric blue and silver wing-tip shoes. From there my eyes walk the length of emerald green trousers, up and up the expanse of legs to a barrel chest smocked in an electric blue vest and white frilled undershirt, up further to a large head with penetrating green eyes and a vividly white mustache. “So I hope it’s okay I’ve got my show-clothes on.”

“
Working?” I can’t imagine what he does. Reaches things in tall places? Then I remember Mariam referring to “Cirque.”

“
Cirque du Soleil,” he says. “A lot better than the old days of Barnum and Bailey.” He smooths his vest in long strokes, as though he’s proud of it, and what it stands for. “Mariam give you a hard time out there? She’s sure hoping you can do something about my knees,” he points to them. They seem an impossible distance away from his ankles, big blocky lumps, kin to my bulky thumbs in some odd way.

“
I—I’ll try.” My voice does not convey the confidence I hoped it would.

“
The doctors want me to take drugs, for inflammation, but they make me woozy and then I can’t work.” He props himself up. “How should I sit? Or lie, if that’s better?”

I stand staring at him, slightly surprised; whatever discomfort he feels looking at me is invisible, as though he is trained not to show it.

“Um…well, how are you most comfortable?” I gesture at the bed, which turns out to be a lucky guess.

“
Probably lying on that bed, propped against several pillows—if that doesn’t seem weird to you.”

“
Not at all.” I’d rather not tell him that I have no protocols, no clue what I should or shouldn’t do.

He rises, unfurling upward almost impossibly high, like a giant praying mantis. From the other room I hear Mariam
’s voice rise to a shrill crescendo, then ebb down beneath the steady flow of Marly’s words. I can’t hear what they’re talking about, only the static and chatter of it.

He tilts his head in the direction of the voices and frowns.
“My wife is a high strung thing. Not her fault. It’s her brain chemicals—never have been right. Keeps things interesting, I guess,” he says with a shrug.

I don
’t know how to respond, so I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “So it’s your knees?” I rub my palms together. “The pain, I mean?”

He shrugs.
“All my joints, actually, but my knees the most during performances. And standing. And walking up stairs. Even lifting off the toilet, if that isn’t too much to tell a lady.” He cracks a lopsided grin.

I suppose I
’ll have to get used to such confidences if I keep this up. “Not too much,” I shake my head. He stares at me a long minute, as though he’s suddenly just realized that my face is ruined, and I’m expecting a question about my accident on his suddenly parted lips, when he shakes his head. “Will it hurt?”

I don
’t mean to, but I laugh. “I don’t think so. But I’m not going to lie to you, I really haven’t done this much. It’s all new to me.”

He nods and inhales deep.
“Okay then, we’re on equal ground—that seems right. It’s you or surgery, so I’m willing to try.”

Sitting in a chair beside him fails to give me a comfortable reach, so I opt to sit on the edge of the bed, side-saddle, and rest my hands upon the first knee in question. His limbs seem made from something denser than bone. With Ray, I felt an instantaneous pull of energy. Now, all I feel is a hard lump beneath my hands.

I am about to tell this man whose wife may leave him, that I can’t help him, when Mariam’s voice rises in intensity. Every time her voice hits a shrill peak, tiny lightning storms explode in Calvin’s knees. That’s all it takes to draw my serpent out of his cave.

While cancer felt like dark stones, whatever is going on in Calvin
’s knees and other joints feels more like hot cement, like a sidewalk on a summer day. It’s clearly inflamed. I imagine little jackhammers made of ice chipping away at the cement-like texture, cooling it as I go, until it feels to be breaking up beneath my very hands. It’s like I’m working through layers of protection that have been built by his body, a wall built as if against an enemy. Mariam’s persistent voice in the other room clues me in. The more I chip away, the more he seems to relax into the bed, until he seems as soft as marshmallow.

“
Rest now,” I whisper to him, unsure how much time has passed. It could be minutes, or hours.

“
Thank you Miss,” he says softly. “It could be the mind over matter but I swear these knees feel lighter already.”

When I stand, I feel leaden and tired, as though something of him was transferred to me now. Fatigue curls my vision in at the edges. In the next room, Mariam has composed herself and is sitting tall, small hands folded over an envelope laid upon her knees. Marly stands, gazing down on the Vegas-scape.

“I know you can’t cure him of what really ails him,” Mariam says. “He won’t live to be a very old man, but if you help the pain, maybe I can get something like a golden retirement out of him. She rises and holds the envelope out to me. I see it twice, everything multiplying by two as my eyes blur. I am vaguely aware that there is money in that white rectangle. I almost feel like a prostitute.

“
You’re a miracle,” she says in a whisper meant only for me.

Or a fake
, I want to add.

“
You, too,” she says to Marly. “I’m sorry for losing it. New medication helps a little, but not enough.”

“
Don’t sweat it,” Marly says. “Let us know how he’s doing.”

Mariam nods, and then we say our goodbyes.

I lean heavily on Marly as we re-enter the elevator, which brings us quickly to the lobby. Marly holds me up as we exit and the crest of a vision begins to form. I want to pull away from it but I don’t think I can stand up straight on my own.

Marly, fourteen years old, stood on the thin railing of the bridge over Lagunitas creek. A strong breeze could have pushed her in.

“Please don’t,” I cried. “Be careful.”

“
Careful?” She walked heel to toe down its length and I could feel the beat of my blood in my ears, could all but feel the shattered bones in her body dashed across jagged rocks. “Careful is boring. Adults aren’t careful, Grace.”

She leapt. I screamed and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, she was standing in front of me on the bridge. “I’m fine,” she said, touching the tip of her nose to mine. “For now.”

The light of day has dimmed to a watery indigo that bleeds into night. A second crowd of people has formed in front of the hotel, but this time they aren
’t paying attention to the volcano. Something hot and fast whizzes by my head, but I know that lava is fake.

It takes me a moment to make sense of what I see: nearly naked dancers entertaining the crowd by spinning ropes of lit flames. Though I
’m not near enough to these spinning flaming objects to feel any heat, my body
remembers
that moment when flame launched from fabric to flesh—the back of my neck alight and scorching.

Sparks
explode into the darkening sky as the crowd “ahhhs” as one. My entire torso and head grow so hot I fan myself. Breathing makes my lungs feel full of liquid rather than air. I drop to a crouch, arms over my head, nose touching knees. Marly’s voice calls my name, telling me everything is okay, followed by a noise like a thousand grasshoppers rubbing their wings together.