Saving Gracie (10 page)

She’s crying? Cherry doesn’t cry.

Something is terribly wrong. White-hot fear filled Grace’s throat. She scanned the parking lot and spotted a woman behind the wheel of a badly dented gunmetal gray Crown Vic, the door to the backseat open. Oh God. Cherry’s mother? She felt the woman’s piercing stare. A sickening knot formed in Grace’s stomach.

The harsh June sun beat down, sending rivers of sweat down Grace’s back. She hugged the child, swaying back and forth, keeping an eye on the woman across the parking lot. Cherry slowly loosened her hold, allowing Grace to pull back enough to look at her. Tears streaked the grimy face of the child who never cried.

Grace slid Cherry to the ground. “
Are you okay?
”

“
Don’t go!
”

“
I’m sorry
.” The sign of a closed fist circling her heart mirrored the agony on Cherry’s face. “
I have to
.”

The child’s anger shifted to desperation, rounding her own heart with an open hand. “
Please
.”

“
I’m going to get my son
.” Grace felt her lip quiver. “
I’m so sorry
.”

Cherry stomped her foot. “
No!
”

How could she make Cherry understand? The mother’s steamy glare across the parking lot added to her growing despair. She grabbed a Kleenex from her purse and wiped the smudgy tear-stained face, then swiped it across her own. Her eyes dropped to the pavement, her mind spinning. She had to think fast.

“
Maybe
.” Grace pursed her lips, second and third guessing the forth-coming proposition. “
Maybe, I can visit you this summer. Okay?
”

Cherry paused, sobs shuddering her small frame. She searched Grace’s eyes. “
Promise?
”

Maybe
quickly turned into
promise
. Grace gave a quick nod, then immediately regretted her agreement. What potential damage lay ahead if she couldn’t keep her promised-maybe?
Too late now.

Cherry’s shoulders relaxed, only offering Grace minimal relief. Leaving her purse and lunch bag behind, she took Cherry’s hand and headed across the blazing parking lot towards the angry woman and the army tank car.

Grace introduced herself as the interpreter for the Bluebirds and told Cherry’s mother she also had a hearing-impaired daughter.

The woman took a drag from the Marlboro dangling from her lips. “Yeah well, shit happens.” A jagged scar lined the woman’s left cheek from the outer edge of her eye to the corner of her angry mouth. Her hair, a dulled maroon color with canary highlights, hung around her calculated threatening glare. She never offered her name and showed no indication of engaging in further conversation. That is, if “shit happens”
counts as conversation.

Grace helped Cherry into the littered backseat of soggy McDonald’s bags, shriveled French fries, a frayed plaid blanket and a pile of dirty clothes. She brushed the child’s tangled bangs out of her eyes and gave her what she hoped to be a confident smile. Grace closed the door. Dread. Dread and remorse topped her emotional dictionary.

Cherry’s mother yanked the gunmetal combat car into drive and spun the massive vehicle into a 180. Grace stood perfectly still, not wanting to become a moving target. However, not moving classified her as a sitting duck. A no win situation. She glanced around the parking lot for potential witnesses when the badly dented Crown Vic blasted past. Grace caught sight of a small hand, barely visible at the window’s edge in the cluttered backseat. Cherry, the wild child of the entire summer program, strapped in the backseat next to stale French fries and dirty clothes, signed, “
I love you
.”

A sob caught in Grace’s throat, the stench of burned rubber filled her nostrils. Her heart hurt so bad she thought it would explode. She’d never felt such desolation, not even when her mother died. She squeezed her eyes shut and raised her face to the blinding ball of fire overhead. Streams of sweat trickled down her scalp, weaving through her waved and frizzed hair. She dropped her head forward and focused on the pavement, forcing herself to move. Her feet felt like lead weights tethered to her legs, her lungs void of involuntary in-and-out movement.

The parking lot had almost cleared. She reached for her purse, igniting a volcanic eruption of propelled emotions surging through her, scorching the veins in her body with a pain she had no words to describe. She fell to her hands and knees, her limbs heavy and numb. Watering, hot eyes rapidly gave over to uncontrollable gulps of sobs as if expelling the grief of the entire world through her heart.

She sat back on her heels, heaved in some steamy air and swiped her face with palms gritty from flecks of asphalt. With one fist holding her heart in place, she used the other to pull sunglasses from her purse to hide her red, puffy eyes. Hopefully Hannah, preoccupied with Daniel, had not witnessed her meltdown.

CHAPTER 16

GRACE

Road trips to Missouri sucked. This year was no exception. Although excited about seeing Josh after four long weeks, the heart-wrenching Cherry incident had kept her awake all night.

Grace’s life kaleidoscope had suffered a major shift, the type of dramatic movement like earthquakes that change the Earth’s axis and produce tsunamis. Because of
Hannah
, Grace felt relatively knowledgeable about the deaf community. And because of
Cherry
, she realized she didn’t know shit. From her sheltered, protective view of child rearing, she wrongly assumed parents did everything they could for their children, deaf or not: stupid, and naïve.

Entire new concepts concerning hearing-impaired children took shape and space in Grace’s mind and they were the size of continents. A gap, a missing link,
something
, had failed to connect formal education with informal socialization. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

I need you Mom
, she thought, and wished for the hundredth time she could punch *1 and hear her mother’s familiar voice. She sighed and, for the sake of her family and her own sanity, tried to sequester the Cherry issue to the back burner.

Before crossing the state line into Arkansas, they stopped for a quick lunch in Texarkana. Hannah and Grace scooted together on one side of a booth while Adam placed their order.

Grace unwrapped her cheeseburger, ready for the first greasy bite, when Hannah lit into what she’d seen the day before.

“
Little girl almost knocked Mom down!
” Hannah signed to Adam. “
Then she wouldn’t let go. Wow, Dad. You should have seen it.
”

Oh God. Is that all she saw, I hope?
Grace drew circle eights in a pool of ketchup with a french fry.

Adam’s eyes shifted to Grace. “
You didn’t tell me
.”

Grace shrugged. “
There wasn’t time last night. Busy packing
,” she signed and then proceeded to shove almost half the cheeseburger into her mouth.

“
You look like chipmunk
.” Hannah giggled and puffed her cheeks out, mocking her mother.

Grace could only nod. Her overly filled mouth kept her silent, and embarrassed.

“Charming, simply charming,” #2 echoed somewhere.

I don’t know why I just did that, Grace thought.

“Liar,” #2 piped in.

Damn, Grace silently growled. I hate it when she’s right. Caught off guard, she felt ill prepared to have the still raw incident spilled out so openly on the table. Unable to sweep aside the horrible moments of yesterday, she metaphorically tried to swallow the pain.

“
What happened?
” Adam leaned in, his eyebrows together.

“
Cherry got upset because I missed today
,” Grace signed, and then winced when swallowing a large portion of the cheeseburger glob. She explained yesterday’s incident in as few words and signs as possible, omitting the “shit happens” and Cherry’s sorrowful “
I love you
.”

“
Are you going to see her again?
” Adam asked.

“
You think I should?
” Grace signed, and then forced herself to take less monster-jam-size bites of food.

“
You said you would, right?
” Adam questioned.

“
Maybe
,” Grace hedged. Oh yeah, she also left out the
promise
part.             

“
You think she understands that?
” he asked.

Concerned or patronizing? Whatever the intent, she knew he was right. I’m screwed, she thought.

~~~

The rest of the drive took place in relative silence. Hannah curled up in the backseat with her latest Stephanie Meyer book, Grace and Adam sat in the front. She glanced at Adam. His eyes were locked on the road ahead, the distance between them widening with each mile. What was he thinking about? Or who?

“Sorry, time got away from me,” he had said, his eyes darting nervously around the room. That, she remembered, was the feeble excuse offered for not calling his last night in Chicago, which only added to her growing fear. None of this behavior was her Adam. She chewed on the raw spot in her mouth. She should demand answers. But then again, she was #1, not #2. Lame.

She leaned her head against the passenger window and switched her thoughts to Josh. His letters told her absolutely nothing, except for his counselors, cabin number and the fish. Okay, she’d give Adam points for that. In Josh’s mind, he’d covered all the important stuff.

Grace watched the passing Arkansas scenery tick by with little interest. Against her will, her mind slipped back to Cherry and her skanky, maroon and yellow-haired, scar-faced, pissed-at-the-world mother. The woman had an obvious disinterest in Cherry. Because of her deafness? Grace wondered. Or is she just a bitch in general?

She squeezed her eyes shut and willed images of Cherry Harding and her evil excuse of a mother out of her mind. She opened her eyes and grimaced. No matter how much she hammered her mental delete button, the situation remained stuck in her brain.

Someone needs to help Cherry. She glanced at happy Hannah in the backseat, lost in her fantasy middle-school fiction. The thing was that Cherry’s life wasn’t fiction; the vampires in her world were real.

~~~

A week had passed since the “Cherry incident” and their return from Branson. Thumbing through a stack of mail, two envelopes caught Grace’s attention, one from Josh, the other from the school district. Not in the least bit interested in the more official looking letter, she pushed it aside and opened the other.

Mom,

Would you bring my Game Boy when you

come? I’m having fun. My best friend is

Nate. He lives in Kansas. Can he come visit?

Love, Josh

Oh, to be so young
.
Josh, home almost a week, and no mention of a new best friend from Kansas, although he had plenty to say about the Game Boy not making the trip.

Grace reread the letter. Can he visit? Visit…the
maybe-promise
to Cherry reared. She tried justifying that Cherry would probably forget. That was a lie and she knew it. Adam had been right. How does someone like Cherry, with obviously few if any friends, handle disappointment and broken promises? The child probably had a ton, but certainly no Game Boy.

She sighed, more from guilt than relief, and cut her eyes to the school district envelope. “What is this, a report card?” She opened the flap and pulled out an engraved invitation to an appreciation luncheon honoring camp counselors and volunteers the following Thursday, the tenth of July.

“Shit.” Tossing the paper aside, Grace rubbed her eyes. She stretched her arms to the ceiling, let out a frustrated growl and grabbed a note pad, deciding to focus on their Port Aransas trip.

She scribbled a few list items then stopped. Maybe a family vacation
would
help. Adam, still loving in many ways, now came with a preoccupied-distant element added to the mix. She over-compensated for the absence of couple’s conversation by rattling non-stop about ridiculous topics that popped in her mind. She ought to watch
CIS, NCIS
…one of those alphabet crime shows Adam loved, but felt she’d only embarrass herself by the complexity of the plot. Instead, she reverted to stupid comments like, “Did you see the wardrobe malfunction on
Dancing With the Stars
last night?” Or, “Do you think Tina Fey is retaining water? Her ankles look thick.”

She shook her head for clarity. Concentrate on Port Aransas, she told herself. Focus.

Jennifer, having been invited by Hannah, would fill Kathryn’s vacancy in the SUV this year, which gave Grace some relief, hoping Jenn’s presence would ease missing her mom. The girls planned lots of tan and water time. Adam and Josh had serious fishing in mind, which would leave her with large chunks of free time.

“I’ll be able to…to….” Well shit, what would she do? How many blankets does Warm Up America need anyway?

“Stupid questions result in stupid answers,” chirped #2.

Grace mentally stuck her fingers in her ears and scribbled items on the Port Aransas to-do list. Two pages later, she stretched again and pulled the calendar in front of her.

“Let’s see, next Tuesday is Josh’s party at Splash-town. Then….” Her finger stopped on Thursday. Yuk…the appreciation luncheon. I don’t wanna go, she thought, reverting to her whiney-ass routine.

“Buck up, it’s only a lunch,” she expected from #2, but didn’t hear it.

“After the “stupid” comment, she probably headed up to Sturgis for a biker rally.” She surprised herself, sounding just as snarky as #2. Still nothing. Where is she? Grace wondered, and then stopped.

“I’m losing it. Maybe I do need a vacation.” She blew out frustration and continued the calendar mark down. Next Saturday was the Merrill’s Annual Pot-Luck & BBQ. She twisted a curl around her finger, contemplating the idea. “I can do that.” Since her mother’s illness, she’d pretty much become non-existent as far as social functions were concerned.

Beans, she wrote for Saturday. Each year she brought a huge pot of her mother’s famous pinto beans.

“You need to make them the day before.” She heard the instructions as clearly as if she’d just pushed *1. “And don’t forget, first they need to soak overnight.” Grace changed the bean entry to Friday and added “soak beans” to Thursday.

“Got it, Mom.” Grace sighed then bit her lower lip.
Mom
. Her mom’s recipe. For the first time she wouldn’t be with them at their special little beach house in Port Aransas. An ache made its way into Grace’s heart. Their lives had been messy and intertwined…total dysfunction…but she missed it…the chaos…everything. Now with her mother gone, every event, every holiday for the next year would be a painful “first.” A tear slid from the corner of her eye and splashed on the notepad.

~~~

Josh and three rambunctious pre-pubescent friends made the most of their day at Splash-town. They landed briefly for a health-deprived lunch of nachos and Dippin’ Dots before heading back to the water rides. Grace had recruited Hannah and Jennifer to help keep an eye on the boys, which seemed like a good idea until she realized her mistake. She failed to specify which boys to watch. Oh. My. God. She had reached the end of the puberty conveyor belt…not pretty.

Thursday morning, Grace bitched and moaned about the appreciation luncheon right up till she spotted Jill in the parking lot. Bursting from the SUV, she grabbed the younger woman in a bear hug.

“Hey, I can’t breathe.” Jill’s words spurted out in short-winded puffs, her arms pinned to her sides.

“Sorry.” Grace released her grip and offered Jill a sheepish smile. “I’m just…so glad to see you.” She felt for the first time the luncheon might be bearable. Such a wuss, she knew. She pulled Jill into the cafeteria and insisted they sit together.

Halfway through the meal someone at the front table tapped the microphone. “Excuse me, is Grace Brookfield here with us today?” Pause. “Grace?”

She froze. Her neck retreated into her shoulders like a turtle. She stole a quick look at Jill, only to find her friend pointing her out to the crowd. She grabbed Jill’s arm…too late.

“Ah, there she is,” the spokesperson said. “Grace, will you come up front please?”

Grace shot Jill a can’t-believe-you-ratted-me-out
glare before stumbling to the podium.

“We’ve never given this award before,” the speaker said. “However, the vote was unanimous. Grace, on behalf of the staff and counselors of the summer program, I’d like to present you with the Beyond the Call of Duty award.” She handed the plaque over and gave Grace a hug. Applause ricocheted off the cafeteria walls. The speaker stepped back, offering Grace the podium position.

Her forehead and cheeks felt warm, her palms so sweaty she almost dropped the plaque. Grace raised her eyes to a room full of people, all watching her. Swallowing embarrassment the size of a walnut down her throat, she offered a meek thank-you before giving the crowd a shy school-girlish wave. She slipped back into her seat.

“Well said,” Jill teased.

Grace whirled around and found Jill’s smile devilish. “You knew about this?”

“Of course I did.” Jill’s smirk couldn’t hold a candle to #2’s sarcasm. “So did everyone in the room. You’re a rock star.” She gave Grace a hug. “Congratulations. You deserve it.”

“Whatever,” Grace mumbled, although secretly thrilled by the compliment. Could she possibly have done something worthwhile? On her own?

The luncheon ended and Grace surprised herself by actually having a good time, except for the award thing, which totally freaked her out. As she was leaving the cafeteria one of the camp coordinators pulled her aside. “I’d like to personally commend you on how well you worked with Cherry Harding,” the woman said. “You certainly made our job easier.”