Healing Grace (11 page)

* * * *

The doctor was not nearly as young as he first appeared to Grace, so exhausted as he sat at his desk. On closer inspection she noted fine lines around the outside of his pale hazel eyes and silver threaded through his thick blond hair. He had been surprised to know that she was the new neighbor at the Marshall place, and her primary reason for working the short hours was to care for Eddy.

“I’m not much into the local gossip,” Greg said. “I developed this habit of listening with just one ear. Then I never have to remember if I’m told something in confidence or not, though everything is supposed to be confidential,” he said, in much better health and humor, now that the mini flu epidemic was over. “I’m always amazed at what I hear at Kaye’s a half hour after an accident, though.”

Grace wondered how much he knew about Ted’s condition, and if he would talk about it.

“Ah, yes. Ted Marshall. Had to turn him over to Beardslee in Lansing,” he said in his shorthand speak when referring to medical cases, regret in his voice. “Terrible accident. No reason to think it’s the cause of the deterioration, though. Can’t put my finger on it. Should be… ah, well. But it isn’t. No known viral or organic. I checked out some interesting stuff on the net. Shouldn’t be happening.” He looked up at her. “All hypothetical, of course.”

“Of course.”

They were at a staff meeting at Bay Bridge Hospital when she met more of the medical community. The group arranged itself in a loose circle on folding metal chairs. Despite the navy padded seats the backs of the chairs were cold. Closed navy drapes and abstract prints hung on the walls, removing any sense of coziness. Deeply padded carpeting muffled the conversation and the “new” smell competed with antiseptic from the hallway that oozed in whenever the door opened to admit another arrival. Before the meeting, Greg officially introduced her to his inherited nurse. She had been ensconced when he first joined the local medical clinic fourteen years earlier, an invaluable help, the doctor said. She had only seen the backside of Mathilde Van Ooyen disappearing into the restroom at the clinic when she’d first interviewed with Greg.

“Grace, here’s our Mathilde—the best nurse at East Bay Community Clinic.”

“The only nurse, you sly one. Call me Matty,” she told Grace. East Bay’s nurse was in her late fifties at least, judging by her iron-gray hair. Her rich labials and slurring sibilants identified her as a non-native speaker. Pleasantly well-fed, Matty appeared to enjoy life. Grace did not dare compare Greg and Matty to the medical people back home in Woodside. It was past time to move on with her life. Woodside was over.

The three of them stood together before the huge silver coffeepot, embellishing the thin brown, harsh-smelling contents of their foam cups with various powdered offerings. Grace ignored the large sugar cookies and stale-looking donuts arranged on a paper doily near the pot. Matty revealed her origins during their easy conversation. As suspected, she was born Dutch. The nurse smiled quizzically at Grace, head cocked, eyebrows rising to some inner rhythm of thought as the doctor droned on with the introductions.

“I was just planning to fulfill an obligation to the university, to practice in a smaller, less prosperous community before I went on to bigger and better things,” Greg said. “I went to med school on a community grant and scholarship and the university helped pay part of the costs. Once I got here, got to know some of the people, I didn’t want to leave. Where else would be better to live?”

“Grace, dear, anything you can do to help out this poor, tired, exhausted soul. He can’t keep up with me, you know,” Matty stage-whispered conspiratorially and gave a wicked wink.

The doctor grinned. “These Dutch women are so demanding,” he responded and turned away to shake hands with another of the hospital staff.

The nurse gave Grace a soul-searching look which she took in good humor. Establishing a good rapport from the first was mutually beneficial. When Matty reached out her hands, Grace automatically met them.

“Ja, good, strong, warm, useful hands,” she happily observed, squeezing. There was no spark, no tingle; nothing but firm pressure. Her hands were warm, tough, and square with deep calluses. The older woman leaned close then and held Grace with her eyes.

“You have it, don’t you?” she asked.

A chill ran up her spine. “Ha-have what?”

“The touch. Yes, I can feel it.”

Grace tried to pull away. “I’m not sure what you mean.” She broke eye contact.

“Yes, you do. The touch of someone who feels what’s wrong and wants to fix it. The special gift that makes a healer.”

Grace gasped and let go, panicked at the woman’s potential reaction. Could she tell?

“Not ever’one has it,” Matty said, turning to bob her chin at the pepper-headed man at Greg’s side.

Grace relaxed.

“That one, for instance, Mathews. He has the technique, but not the call.” Matty looked at her again. “Not the gift.” She sniffed. “So, come, I’ll introduce you.”

Grace noticed the change in the atmosphere when she went out in East Bay now to do her errands. People who recognized her from the clinic or church greeted her with cautious friendliness. She enjoyed these small signs of acceptance. She had come a long way since spring when she was the usurper of the Marshall property, the stranger who bought her clothes and furniture as cast-offs from the community. Home at last. This could work. Everything could work out very well, and no one would ever have reason to accuse her of anything.

Tanya greeted her when she stopped in at the bustling café for an aromatic morning coffee and roll, and to buy her mint and pekoe tea blends and some other things the grocery stores in town didn’t usually carry. Carob was a favorite, although she didn’t ever let on to Eddy that he was not eating real chocolate chips in his cookies.

Kaye, though, was another story. The two of them clashed whenever Grace went in to order tea or buy some other goods. She even stopped trying to sit down for a cup of coffee and to read the paper, the vibes were so antagonistic. Too bad, because Grace wanted to like Kaye. The underlying problem revolved around those bothersome brothers. Snide little comments about having the attention of not one or two, but three Marshalls got on her nerves. The woman’s obvious hots for Ted, and Randy’s long-suffering looks at her, drove Grace crazy. As if she was some kind of competition. Which, of course, she was not. Even if, upon occasion, Ted made her remember just exactly what she missed about being married. Anyone who thought widows were out to catch another husband did not understand the concept of the loss. It’s not like they were easily replaceable, mix and match. But why didn’t Randy tell Kaye how he felt about her? Had the woman once rejected Randy? Ted never mentioned her, except as a community business leader and aunt to Tanya. Grace doubted Ted even noticed the unrequited lust going on in front of his nose.

None of your business, woman. Just live—breathe, eat, sleep, work, worship.
Not necessarily in that order. East Bay was no different than any place on earth with its little intrigues, busy-bodies, love and life messes. There was room for her and she was gradually adjusting.

* * * *

Greg caught her up as she left the clinic after an unusual early evening shift she’d agreed to. Today was a birthday she had no intention of sharing with anything other than a pint of cherry macadamia nut chocolate ice cream and the latest cheesy Nicholas Sparks film.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” He came running into the parking lot before she opened her car door. “Could you possibly do me a favor and take this over to the hospital? Our Internet server just went down and the admitting doc there wants to check out this file. Would it be too much trouble?”

“Of course not. I’ll drive up there now.”

Greg waved as she drove off. She saw him in the rearview mirror as she turned the corner. He cast as long a shadow as Ted Marshall. A shivery echo of the feel of Ted’s touch along her cheek made her jerk the gear when she shifted into fourth.

Eat, sleep, work. You don’t need anything else, Grace. Eat, sleep, work.

She wandered the halls of Bay Bridge Hospital not thoroughly lost, but candidly enjoying the “long way around,” as she told the couple of nurses who asked if she needed help. A faint tang of antiseptic made her feel at home and she could not stop smiling. In Tennessee, Lena had told her she was nuts, but Grace’s sense of smell was acute and she learned the brands of disinfectants almost like the vintages of fine wines.

Someone fell into step with her as she walked along. She looked up and then stopped in her tracks.

Her companion stopped, too, inquiring grin on his face. “Ah, yes! Grace Runyon, new PA over with Greg?” He held out his hand, knocking away the stethoscope that looked cozy around his neck.

“Yes. I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.” She sneaked a look at his ID badge as she shook his hand, but it was inconveniently covered by the stethoscope cords.

“Sorry.”

She could tell he wasn’t sorry at all and delighted in taking her off guard. He was probably the latest Lothario at the hospital, young and fresh, good-looking enough to know it and confident, well-dressed, and purposeful. Brown hair, clear eyes, she noticed as he introduced himself. “Tom Rawlins, DO, if you can believe it. We met a few weeks ago at one of the long, dull staff meetings.”

“I apologize for not recognizing you, Doctor. I’m still getting used to things and people.” She continued walking. “Don’t let me hold you up.”

“I think you might have exactly what I need.”

At her raised brow, Rawlins smirked, indicating the file in her arms.

Grace felt the flame on her cheek. “Oh! Right. I’m so sorry.” She looked at the name she had written on the little drug company notepaper, clipped to the file. “Doctor Rawlins. That would be you, I presume?”

“Yup,” he replied, cheerfully. “Call me Tom. Why don’t you follow me to my office? It’s just down the hall, here.”

He held open the door for her, clicking the lights on and taking the file. He flipped it open, indicating absent-mindedly she should sit in the chair opposite his at his desk. Grace did so slowly, while looking around. A couple of nicely-framed prints of birds on the wall besides his various diplomas, two very much alive and healthy philodendrons in brass pots flowing along his book shelves, a mess of papers on a small work table under the now dark window made a comfortable tableau.

The doctor continued to read through the short file, then looked up at her. His eyes crinkled as he leaned back in his chair. “So, how do you like Michigan?”

This time of evening was not a great time to have a conversation, especially when she was tired. “Ah, just fine, Doctor.” She tried to erase the worry lines between her brows and took a calming breath. “Was there anything else?” She gathered her little clutch purse and rose, hoping to escape before she forgot to stay aloof and polite.

That brought Rawlins to his feet in a hurry. “I’m so sorry to keep you. But I wondered if you didn’t have any other plans, if you’d care to have dinner with me tonight.” He came around his desk and made a show of settling her coat over her shoulders.

What on earth? He couldn’t be…could he? “Well, um, I’m flattered.” She stared at his chin for a minute and raised her eyes to his. The hopeful expression said that, yes, he certainly was making a pass. Too bad he wasn’t remotely attractive to her. He didn’t raise a single goose bump or tingle. Certainly nothing like—“I buried my husband a few months ago, Doctor, you see, and ah, I’m simply not ready for…” She let the words fade, hoping it was enough. No need to crush a guy for trying.

“I understand. Can I call you sometime?”

No.
“Perhaps in a couple of years.” Grace walked out to the parking lot, head high, and chuckled as she got into her car, wondering if Greg had set her up. It had been a long time—twenty years, in fact, since she had been asked out on a date by anyone other than Jonathan. She doubted Rawlins was really interested, but still…

“Okay, not bad for thirty-six! Happy birthday to me.” She giggled as she drove away.

* * * *

Grace’s first Thanksgiving in Michigan was over, celebrated low-key with a dinner and church service. Snow had fallen several times, covering her driveway and showing her the real reason for a garage. Snow. So much already. Would she become used to it?

Eddy’s first school program had been held the evening before the Thursday of Thanksgiving in the school gym. She had been tickled when Eddy invited her to help him learn his two lines, and sat with Ted at the program, returning the nods and little smiles from those she recognized. They wondered, those who didn’t attend church with them anyway, what her strange relationship with Ted and Eddy Marshall was all about. Sometimes she wondered, too, but chose—always careful to tell herself—to let life happen. And it was a good life, working, breathing, giving something back, something that helped, not hurt, others. Earning her way back to forgiveness, so to speak.

Though she hadn’t sent any cards out, she’d received one from home earlier in the week. She put it on her kitchen windowsill after reading the message and turning it over and over. It took a couple of days before she could look at it without feeling nauseous. The last time she had gone into the bank, Mr. Harris, her account manager, had a folder waiting for her. It contained a letter from the lawyer in Woodside and the card.

Elizabeth Runyon’s handwriting flowed as beautifully as always. She had signed on behalf of Roger. Had her former father-in-law known?

Nice of you, Elizabeth. Yes. Very nice. And Elizabeth had been nice. When Grace’s parents died, Elizabeth stepped in. Not to take their place, but to do the things a mother had to do, to be what they needed, especially with Sean and then when Jonathan was diagnosed with cancer.

Would she ever be able to face them again? Had it been enough time since his death, his funeral? Was there some other way she tell them she was sorry, and that she was trying to make it up to them by helping others? Grace considered writing back, a little frightened that maybe they’d ignore her. Or worse, that someone would come and find her, take revenge, as she deserved. Maybe she’d write a Christmas card. Maybe even a card and letter to Lena, her closest friend. Time might be the universal healer, but not near enough of it had passed for her to feel completely at ease with her past. Maybe it never would.