The Secret Between Us (24 page)

John smiled sadly. “He saw you. And we both know his stuff flies off the shelves. He’d have found the empty box in no time.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck and said, “That’s shoplifting, Grace. It’s a crime. People go to jail for shoplifting—six months, a year.” He paused. “You don’t want to go to jail.”

“I deserve to,” Grace said, doubly disgusted with herself because, no, she didn’t want to go to jail.

The police chief sighed. “I have to call your mom.”

Grace uncrossed her arms, then crossed them again. “You don’t. She’ll be here any minute.”

He glanced at the street. “You want to wait inside?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want to see Jill. She didn’t want to see Dylan. More to the point, she didn’t want them to see her.

“Wait here,” he said and walked back up the alley, leaving her all alone with no one to make sure she didn’t run off—and the disgusting part of
that
was that she wouldn’t. Running off wasn’t the point. What good was breaking the law if you escaped? What good was breaking the law if there was no one to tell you how bad you really were?

Sinking down against the van’s tire, she pulled her knees to her chest, put her chin on them, and closed her eyes. She heard cars passing on Main. She heard squirrels nosing around the dumpster. She heard the rattle of the air conditioner that Jill refused to replace, and she wondered whether anyone would come out, find her here, and ask questions. If they did, what would she say?

She was suddenly totally confused. Pressing her face to her knees, she wrapped both arms over her head and held on tightly, then more tightly again, because it was like her whole world was crashing down.

She didn’t hear anything now. The noise in her head drowned everything out, but suddenly someone was touching her hair, and calling her name in a voice that was frightened and urgent and gentle all at the same time. Grace started to cry.

Deborah pulled her up and held her.

“Shoplifting?” she cried. “What is he
talking
about?”

Grace couldn’t answer. All she could do was sob.

“What
happened,
Gracie?”

Grace exhaled pitiful little wails.

Deborah rocked her, much as she’d done when Grace was a child. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay. Nothing is that bad. Nothing is that bad.”

“
I’m
that bad, I
am,
” Grace wept.

“It’s been a hard time for all of us, but nothing is lost forever. Tell me, Gracie, what did you
do
?”

“I drank two beers.” The words were muffled, but her mother must have heard, because she made no noise at all.

Finally, sounding confused, she asked, “At
school
?”

“At
Megan’s
that night.”

Deborah froze.

“I’m so bad!” Grace cried.

“The night of the
accident
?”

“You must hate me,”
she wailed, and she wanted that, wanted it because she deserved it—but she didn’t want her mother to leave. She wanted to be a child again, like Dylan, innocent even when she did things wrong.

“I don’t hate you,” her mother said and, incredibly, the arms around her tightened. “I could never hate you. You’re
part
of me.”

“The bad part!”

“The
best
part! You are, Gracie. I don’t know what happened today, but I know there’s an explanation. You’re a good person, and you’re not a thief.”

Grace couldn’t stop crying. “I stole…a man’s life…it’s my fault.”

“Absolutely not,”
Deborah insisted, whispering now as she pressed Grace’s head to her chest. “We would have hit him regardless. My eyes were on the road, and I didn’t see him either. Did I scream out to warn you? No. He came from the
woods,
Gracie. He ran into us!”

“But I was
drinking,
” Grace cried.

“You walked a straight line to the car, and talked like you always do. I’d have seen if you were drunk.”

“That doesn’t
matter.
”

“You drove perfectly. I was watching.”

Grace tried to pull away so that she could
see
her mother, somehow make her
understand,
but Deborah wouldn’t let her go. “I
drank and drove.
Why do you keep
denying
it? I should have been able to see Mr. McKenna, but I didn’t. I’m
not
you, Mom. I blew a track race and failed a French test and handed in what I
knew
was a lousy English paper, and everyone is making excuses. The
whole world
is disappointed in me, only no one will come right out and say it. A man is
dead.
”

Her mother didn’t argue. And suddenly Grace couldn’t fight. Arms going limp, she just seemed to melt into Deborah. Here was a safety she hadn’t felt in days. Her mother was warm and strong; she had answers; she was a shield, and Grace needed that now, because there was so much she didn’t understand, so much she didn’t know how to handle. It no longer mattered if Deborah had lied, it just didn’t matter anymore.

Grace’s sobs gradually stopped, but she didn’t move. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to think, just wanted to be held and protected, there with her mother on the gravel in the shadow of the bright yellow van.

Deborah stroked Grace’s
hair. Newly washed and still damp, it smelled of mango shampoo. It was nine at night, and the girl was asleep beside her on the sofa. Seeming to need constant reassurance, she hadn’t let Deborah out of her sight for more than a minute since they had left the alley. Deborah realized that between worry and fear, Grace had worn herself out. She suspected that the girl hadn’t slept a full night since the accident.

Suspected? Knew. Hadn’t she seen those dark circles under Grace’s eyes?

But so much had been going on. Deborah had been so fixated on her own worries, many of which had to do with Grace, that somehow she hadn’t understood. She had thought she was acting in her daughter’s best interest, but she hadn’t realized how the lie would hurt Grace. When a child feared she wouldn’t be loved, that was bad. When a child had to resort to theft to get the punishment she thought she deserved,
that
was bad.

John couldn’t have been more understanding. He had given them privacy, staying at the mouth of the alley until Deborah had walked Grace into the bakery. Deborah didn’t know what he had heard of their conversation, but she didn’t care. What mattered was Grace.

At that moment, she was feeling selfish, savoring the closeness, wanting it never to end. It had to, of course. Grace had to grow up, separate, and make her own life.
I’m not you, Mom,
she had said. The words echoed in Deborah’s mind. She had to accept that maybe, just maybe, Grace’s needs were different from hers.

The weight of that hit her. It was easier to think she knew everything than that there might be things about her own daughter she didn’t know, precisely because she might not like some of those things. But she couldn’t control Grace. She could only raise her in a way that gave her the tools to live her own life well.

Deborah wasn’t sure she’d done that. Grace had to start feeling better about herself.

Gently, she eased herself out from under the girl, who continued to sleep. Taking the phone, she went to the top of the stairs. She didn’t want to go farther, didn’t want to let Grace completely out of her sight, but she turned half away and called Greg.

“It’s me,” she said when he picked up. Then, not knowing quite where to begin, she blurted, “Greg, I think I need you to come here.”

“To the house?” He sounded surprised, which was understandable. He hadn’t been to the house since he had walked away. They exchanged kids at a rest stop on the highway, halfway between their homes. She hadn’t once asked him to visit.

“Yes,” she replied, feeling her way along. Establishing a relationship with her ex-husband wasn’t something she had planned. “It needs to be here.”

“Dylan has his heart set on seeing the puppies. I can’t bring them down.”

“Maybe you can come here Friday and take him back Saturday?” It was a lot of driving, but it couldn’t be helped.

He didn’t argue. Rather, he asked, “What’s going on?”

Unexpectedly, her eyes filled with tears. “We need to talk.”

“About?”

“The accident. Grace.” She swallowed. “How we handle things.”

“What is it, Deborah?” he asked, suddenly sounding so much like the man she had married that she started to cry. “Are they okay?” he asked, frightened.

It was a minute before she could speak. She pressed her hand to her mouth, feeling like Grace, overwhelmed, confused, and needing to lean on someone she loved. Because she did love Greg. She didn’t want to be married to him any longer—she knew that for sure, could finally think it without anger—but there had been feelings once, feelings strong enough to evolve into something more appropriate for what they needed to do now.

Chapter 19

Dylan was ecstatic. “He’s coming
here
? Oh,
wow
!” Seconds later, his face fell. “But what about the puppies? I was supposed to see them.”

“You will,” Deborah said. She would find a way, even if it meant that Greg drove Dylan back to Vermont and she drove there Sunday to pick him up, which probably wasn’t a bad idea, especially if Grace went, too. Car time could be good time.

Grace, though, was not pleased hearing that her father was coming to Leyland. She seemed more nervous than anything else that Friday morning, and sat in the kitchen biting her nails.

“I haven’t done any homework,” she said.

As far as Deborah was concerned, it was no wonder that Grace couldn’t focus on work. Between yesterday’s incident and now Greg’s pending visit, Deborah was having trouble thinking about work herself.

“Want to stay with Aunt Jill today?” she asked Grace.

Grace did. Confession
was exhausting, and she couldn’t deal with school. But she did feel better. A weight was gone from her chest. She still had to tell her dad what she’d done, but it helped knowing that her mom was on her side.

She slept for much of the morning but was downstairs in the bakery when Dylan came in after school. He went back and forth between Jill and the buttercrunch donut holes, and never stopped grinning, which was pretty amazing for a guy who’d had the kind of bad news he had received barely two days earlier. Grace wanted to know his secret.

“Doesn’t your eye hurt?” she asked after fixing them both SoMa Shakes.

He stirred the drink with his straw. “Yeah, but only once in a while. It’s okay. It explains things. Like why I’m not as good in school as you are.”

Grace might have told him that his eyes had nothing to do with brains, which, being a Monroe, was something he would soon learn.

But he went on. “It explains why I
trip
all the time and why I was
so
bad at baseball. Even Dad agreed. He wasn’t mad that I quit the team. Neither was Poppy.”

Grace felt a little twist inside. Poppy was another worry. Being a Barr was nearly as bad as being a Monroe. “When did you talk with Poppy?”

“I called to tell him about my eyes. I told him that once they’re fixed, I’d hit him a home run.” He frowned at his drink and bobbed the straw more. “Maybe I’ll hit it for Nana Ruth.” He looked up again. “No. For Poppy. He wants it more.”

Grace felt something akin to sympathy. She knew exactly how Dylan felt. Poppy was about expectations, which were awful when you couldn’t meet them. It was nice to have a ready-made excuse.

When Deborah called to say that she was heading out to make house calls, Grace made a decision. She wanted to tell Poppy herself what she’d done.

Leaving the bakery, she started down the street. After two blocks, her grandfather’s house came into view. It didn’t look as big to her now as it had when she was a child, and she hadn’t even included the office back then. Little had she known how big a part that office would play in her mother’s life and, indirectly, her own.

Heading there now, she quietly let herself in. The waiting room was empty. The receptionist waved her in but kept talking on the phone. Grace was trying to decide whether to sit down when the nurse, Joanna Sperling, came out, wearing pink scrubs and exuding a confidence that Poppy’s expectations had never been able to dent.

She opened her arms and gave Grace a hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Are you getting too busy for us?” When Grace smiled and shook her head, Joanna added, “Your mom just left. Want to try her on her cell?”

“I’m here to see my grandfather. Is he with a patient?”

“Last one, and he’s nearly through. Go on down and wait in his office. They’re finished in there.”

Grace didn’t look at her mother’s office as she passed. She didn’t look much at Poppy’s either, just sank into a chair and waited.

“How’s my girl?” Michael said, entering the room with less than his usual energy. He seemed subdued.
Older
. “You just missed your mom,” he said.

“I came to see you.”

He rested against the edge of the desk. “You look very serious.”

She might have said no. But she couldn’t lie anymore. “I have to tell you something.”

“Something about the accident?”

She caught a breath. “You know?” She would be furious if her mother had told him.

He smiled kindly. “Everyone knows. It was in the
Ledger.
”

“Not everything,” she said. When he frowned, seeming truly puzzled, she realized that her mother hadn’t told after all. She would have to do it herself.

But that was why she had come. It was a test. “I was driving that night, Poppy. It was me.” She saw her grandfather sit back in surprise. “It was me,” she repeated to make sure he knew. When he didn’t react, she stated it even more clearly. “I was the one who was driving the car when it hit Mr. McKenna.”

“Your mother
lied
?” he asked.

“The police never asked, so she didn’t tell. Now there may be a civil suit, and if there is, the truth will come out. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t mean to hit him. I didn’t see him.”

His cheeks reddened. “Why didn’t your mother tell me this?”

“She was trying to protect me.”

“From
me
?”

“From everyone.” Grace felt very small. “You’re disappointed in me. I know you are.”

“I’m disappointed in your mother.”

“It wasn’t
Mom,
it was
me,
” Grace cried, because she was tired of people making excuses for her, “and that isn’t even the
worst
of it, the
worst
is that I was drinking.”

This time he gasped.

“Don’t get mad at Mom, because she didn’t know it until yesterday. My dad doesn’t yet, but he’ll find out tonight. I just wanted to tell you myself. You drink, so I though maybe you’d understand.” When he looked stricken, she quickly added, “That came out wrong.”

He lowered himself to the chair beside hers, bringing Grace immediate relief. He was more imposing standing up, more approachable sitting. “Why were you drinking?” he asked quietly.

It was an interesting question. Neither her mother nor Jill had asked it. “There was a group of us. It seemed like a fun thing to do. My friend’s parents were out.”

He sat back. “At least you weren’t alone. If you were with friends, it’s social. Kids experiment.”

Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “They don’t do it and then drive.”

“Sure they do. Sometimes they kill each other in the process.”

“So I killed
Mr. McKenna,
” she cried. “How can you excuse it?”

He frowned. “I’m not. I’m—” he paused, then said, “rationalizing.” He studied her for an agonizing minute, before saying, “I wouldn’t want you to drink because I do. It is
not
a good thing. It can hurt every other part of your life. And it just hides the real problem.”

Grace had overheard enough to know what he meant. “Your problem is Nana Ruth.”

“My problem is
no
Nana Ruth,” he replied. “What’s yours?”

“Pressure,” she said. Curious, she asked, “When you drink, what does it do for you? Do you feel light-headed?”

“I hate myself.”

“No, Poppy. While you’re doing it. What do you feel?”

“Lonely.”

“But is it better once you’ve had a couple of drinks? I mean, does it make you forget?”

He looked at the credenza and a photograph of his wife, taken several years before her death. “It blurs things,” he said, seeming so sad that Grace reached for his hand.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

He closed his hand around hers. “Yes, you should. Maybe you should have asked me about my drinking sooner. I keep forgetting you’re big enough to notice these things.”

“You miss Nana Ruth a lot.”

“A lot. But drinking is no solution.”

“Then why do you do it? For the blur?”

He thought about that. “I don’t know. I tell myself it won’t hurt, but it does. I tell myself it’s just one night, but it isn’t.” He looked at Grace with shame-filled eyes. “Maybe I drink because I know she’d hate it.”

“What kind of reason is
that
?”

“A bad one. One I shouldn’t be telling my granddaughter.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“Mm. That’s old.”

“Old enough to kill a man with a car.”

He freed his hand to point at her. “Do not, young lady, use that accident as an excuse for making other mistakes. See, that’s one of my problems, as your mother so kindly made clear. I’m blaming everything that goes wrong in my life on your grandmother’s death. But that’s pure denial.”

“Denial of what?”

“Responsibility. My own ability to make things better. Some things I can control, like not drinking, doing my job well, having brunch with my grandchildren. Blaming Ruth’s death for not doing those things is a crock of you-know-what. There are too many things that I truly can
not
control, like your aunt and your mom. Hell, I couldn’t even control your grandmother. She loved that bakery, just like your aunt does. And as for your mother, I’m not sure she likes practicing with me. Maybe she needs space.”

“She loves you.”

“That may be the problem. She feels obliged.”

“Obliged to do what?”

“Be what I want. Maybe not
see
that I’m doing something wrong, like drinking.”

“Are you an alcoholic?”

He considered it. “Not yet.”

“Do you think you’ll become one?”

“I don’t want to.”

“How do you keep from becoming one?”

“First, face the truth. That can be hard.”

“Not always,” Grace said. “When the truth comes out about the accident, I don’t think they’ll send me to jail, but there will be things on my record forever. That may make my life
easier.
”

“How so?”

“Once you mess up, expectations lower. I hate always having to be the best.” Her cell gave a muted jingle.

“Who expects that?” her grandfather asked.

“Mom. You. And my father. If anyone hates me for what I did, he will.” The jingle came again.

“Do you think he never drank?”

“I know he did, but he’s totally into pure living now. He and Rebecca are vegetarians. They grow most of what they eat.” There was a third muted ring.

“It’s a pastime. Grace, get that phone, will you?”

“It’s not important.”

“Get it, please.”

Grace pulled the phone from her pocket, glanced at the panel, and opened it. “I’m with Poppy,” she told her mother.

Deborah sounded frightened. “I got here, and no one knew where you’d gone.”

“We’re talking. I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

“How long will you be?”

“Not long. Poppy’s gearing me up to see Dad. I’m okay. Really.” And she was. Her grandfather wasn’t lecturing. He wasn’t ignoring how she felt. He was talking to her like she was an adult. It helped that he had problems of his own. He wasn’t perfect, either.

“Why do you need to be geared up to face your dad?” Poppy asked when she closed the phone.

“I have to tell him what happened the other night, too. But I don’t know how he’ll react. I mean, like, he flipped out, didn’t he? He just picked up one day and left. If a father loves his children, he wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“I drink. Your father left. Some would say there isn’t a lot of difference.”

Grace shook her head. “People don’t just throw away everything they have unless those things aren’t worth having. So either Mom, Dylan, and me aren’t worth having, or he threw away something good.”

“Your father is obsessive, is all. When he does something, it totally takes over his mind. Before he met your mother, he was totally into alternative lifestyles. Then he was totally into being a businessman. Now he’s totally into dropping out.”

“Except when he talks with us,” Grace groused. “He wants to know if I’m doing well in school. He wants to know if I’m studying vocab flash cards and taking practice PSATs. He wants me to keep running personal bests. But I can’t do that all the time. What if I do lousy in school? What if I do badly on my SATs, and have a police record, and can’t get into a good college?”

“You’ll still get into a good college.”

“Will you love me even if I don’t?”

“Of course I’ll love you.”

“Poppy, there’s no
‘of course.’
Look at Aunt Jill. You’re still furious at her for not going to college.”

That got him. He thought for a bit and said, “That doesn’t mean I don’t love her.”

“How can you love her and never even taste what she bakes?”

His cheeks reddened, and he looked sheepish. “Your mother left a sticky bun at the house yesterday morning. I ate it.”

Grace was a minute taking that in. “Did you call Jill and tell her it was good?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “See? That’s what’ll happen to me. Once my dad learns the truth about the accident, he won’t want to talk with me at all. He’ll
really
hate me then.”

“He doesn’t hate you now.”

“Look who’s in denial,” she cried, but her grandfather was pointing at her again.