A Graceful Mess (28 page)

Looking over at the nightstand, the clock shines four-thirty a.m. in red numbers. I have been tossing and turning all night. Deciding to get up and grab a glass of water, I slowly move Parker’s arm from across my body and slide out of bed and out the door. Tiptoeing down the hallway into the kitchen, I open the cabinet and fill up a cup with cool tap water. The silence in the house is comforting, but tonight for some reason I can’t seem to relax. Josie is lying across the couch so I decide to sit out here with her for a while. Maybe petting her will relax me enough to fall asleep. Sitting on the couch, I stare outside into the darkness. I don’t know how Parker lives out here all the way in the boonies. Don’t get me wrong the cottage is nice. He has done a wonderful job on the inside, but it is so secluded. It would freak me out being all alone here. My mind continues to wander as I feel something rub against my leg. Jumping up suddenly, I bend down and look around the cushion and floor near the couch. I don’t see a bug or anything, but instead a small notebook sticking out of the cushions. Bending to pick it up, my eyes squint in the darkness to read the small initial on the cover.

B

Why is this here? I took all of the letters and notes Brody had written back to my parents.

Holding the leather notebook in my hand, my stomach feels queasy. I do not want to read anymore strange letters about how he loved me. I wonder why the journal is here though; I thought I took everything back with me and that the police kept all of the original documents? Opening the cover and flipping through the pages, I can tell it’s some sort of diary. Each page has an entry that is dated and signed. Some pages are shorter than others, but most of them are filled with ink from top to bottom. My eyes skim the words.

Grace is mine.

That little virgin is getting it hard tonight.

Why God, why does she even love me? I am a disgrace.

Reading the words written from his hand is almost as bad as hearing his voice. It’s like my brain reads the sentences as he meant for them to be spoken. Feeling creeped out, I shut the journal and set it on the table. The contents are nothing I don’t already know. Brody Hendricks is a sick, sick man. Giving Josie a kiss on the head, I make my way back down the hallway and crawl in bed with Parker.

I’d like to blame the crickets and owls for keeping me awake, but I know they aren’t at fault. The journal, the harsh words written are taunting me. Every time I close my eyes it’s like Brody is standing right in front of me. To make matters worse, once I finally drift off I have that stupid dream again, the one that plays in my mind on repeat. I don’t know where I am, but I am so scared. Of a storm, I think. I am crying out…for Brody.

My body jolts up as I fight the tangled sheets that surround me. Parker hushes me as he turns on his side and enjoys his peaceful slumber. Making my way out of the bedroom, I fight the urge to sprint down the hall. Knowing what waits for me at the end of the hallway scares me to death, but the simple fact that the closure I so long for might be waiting at the end is worth my sleepless night. Josie follows me step by step until we both reach the couch. There it is, the journal, resting on the coffee table where I left it. A strange mix of emotions fills the air around me. It’s like my brain is shouting at me, it doesn’t want me to open it, but my gut is telling me to. For some reason, I feel like I have to open it. My heart is lying down the hall, sleeping, but what if I’ve been tainted by Brody? What if one day I wake up and I am as crazy as he was? Like he marked me and plagued my life. Fighting the thoughts of what if, I know it’s either now or never. Bending down, my legs rest against the edge of the couch cushion as my arm reaches in front of me and picks up the journal. The material is worn. You can tell at one time the color was a much richer chocolate. My fingers graze the pages reminding me that at one time Brody sat for God knows how long and filled these pages. Shivers run down my spine and I open the cover and take a deep breath.

The first few pages are filled with little drawings. Like a child’s notebook would be. By the seventh page there is a date, and words. Words that remind me of a place. A place that reminds me of my dream.

March 13, 1996

I leave tomorrow. I am going to miss is my best friend. She keeps crying on the playground. I wish she was coming with me.

Goodbye orphanage, goodbye Grace.

B

Confusion overwhelms me as lightning strikes in the distance. The light flickers as Josie scoots closer to me, and lays her head on my thigh. She hates storms almost as much as I do.

Brody had a childhood friend named Grace. What are the chances of that?

Inquisitiveness pulls me by my fingertips, and helps me flip the page.

March 15, 1996

Yesterday was the worst day of my life. I would rather her be adopted, instead of me.

B

My brain doesn’t have time to comprehend the words as my fingers quickly flip through pages.

August 19, 2001

Starting high school in another place, another town, another piece of shit home, blows. Actually it more than blows, it sucks big donkey dick and this foster family is so uptight. Here goes nothing, welcome to Iowa City High School.

B

Bile rises in my throat.

Iowa City High School?

There has to be some other explanation.

No, no, please God. Please don’t tell me this is true. Does this…does this mean he knew me before high school?

Thunder crashes in the distance as lightning strikes causing me to jump. The journal fumbles out of my hands and falls to the floor below my feet. A small, rectangular photo falls out of the pages and lands beside it. A photo of me, when I was younger holding a small stuffed animal. The picture has been torn and pieced back together with tape, but there is no denying it. It’s my photo. I don’t even have to pick it up off the floor to recognize the face on it. Fighting back tears, I bend on my knees and kneel on the floor. The worn binding calls to me. A voice I wish I could ignore deep within me has to know more. I sit staring at the journal for a few seconds, having an internal debate with myself. Questions fill my mind, but I can’t process them. Nothing makes sense.

Come on, Grace. You’re a smart girl; piece it together.

Is it possible we could have known each other?

The only way…The only way… is if I were adopted.

It’s not possible. Brody is a psychopath. That is the only reasonable explanation. I should probably give this to the police. Then they can see how sick he really is. I mean what kind of person makes up a whole world in their head. A sick one who needs extensive therapy, that’s who. But a nagging feeling pushes me to pick up the journal once again.

May 12, 2004

She definitely doesn’t remember. I have been trying to leave her little hints, but she isn’t catching on. Her adoptive parents don’t even know who I am. It’s like she has a whole new life, the only thing that is the same is her name. Well, that and she is still the quiet girl I remember from the orphanage. Maybe one day I will have the balls to tell her. Maybe not. Hell, I don’t know. What if she hates me because I couldn’t save her then? Or worse what if she truly doesn’t remember me?

B

Oh, God. I’m adopted.

A rush of emotions runs through me.

“Parker! Parker! I need you.” Screaming at the top of my lungs, I repeat his name over and over until I see him running down the hallway with his gun held in his hand by his side.

“What the fuck? Is it Brody? I will fucking kill you this time, you sorry bastard!”

“Parker…stop. It’s not Brody.”

“What’s going on, Grace? It’s like four o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m…I’m…I think I’m adopted.”

How the fuck could she possibly know?

“Grace, sweetheart, what are you talking about? Calm down; quit crying. Come here and talk to me.” Laying the gun down on the coffee table, I sit on the couch. Her small body is kneeled on the ground, clutching Brody’s journal.

Oh, shit. The journal.

“Parker, what is going on? Please tell me this isn’t true. Tell me that it’s just a figment of his imagination. Please! Oh, God, please. How is this even possible? Why?” Her pleads sting my heart and leave me feeling hopeless in this shitty situation. It is killing me to watch her crumble right in front of me. Standing up, I walk over to where she is sitting on the floor and bend to pick her up. She wraps her hands around my neck as her face presses against my chest. Her body shakes violently from the sobs that are escaping her. The sounds of thunder and rain beating against the windows do nothing to drown out the pain. Sitting back down on the couch, I hold her like a baby and rock her back and forth. My chest is wet from the steady stream of tears that run down her face, until finally her sobs stop, along with the rain and lightning outside. The sky turns pink, purple, and orange as my eyes begin to close and carry me off to sleep.

“Grace, where are you? Why’d you just leave? Let me help you.” Clenching my cell phone in my hand, I am doing everything in my power to stay calm. I can’t be mad at her for leaving this morning. Well, I can. She just stormed out when I was in the shower. I can be mad at her for that, but I won’t hold it against her. I know she is all sorts of pissed and confused right now.

“Parker, I love you dearly and I appreciate you, but there is nothing you can do. I am going to my parent’s now to confront them. I already called and told them I had some things that we needed to discuss.”

My heart hurts for her. “Just let me come with you. You shouldn’t have to face this alone. Let me be there. We’re a team now, remember? Parker and Grace against the world. Let me be there.”

“No, you can’t come. Please just stop hounding me about it. I know you want to help, but there is really nothing you can do.”

I know I have no right to be mad at her, but dammit if it doesn’t hurt. She doesn’t want me there. Plain and simple.

“All right. Good luck. I love you, Grace.”

“I promise to call you the minute I leave. I love you too.”

The phone disconnects as my fist flies up and busts through the dry wall in my living room. I don’t even know why I am so pissed. This was not the way I wanted her to find out. Today of all days, the day I meet with her father.
Mark Jacobs.
How the fuck did she find the journal? I should have hidden it better.

“Fuck! Shit, Josie, don’t be scared. It’s okay, girl. Go lay down, I’ll be back from work soon.” Rushing out of the house, I jump into my truck and push the pedal to the metal. Gravel flies in the air and forms a cloud of dust that is visible in my rearview mirror. Speeding in and out of traffic, I make my way to the office just in the nick of time. Mark Jacobs pulls in right behind me. Taking a few deep breaths, I debate getting out of the truck and wringing his neck. This is all his fault. If he wouldn’t have given her up to begin with, we wouldn’t be here. Her heart wouldn’t be broken in a million pieces right now, but he did, and here we are. Shaking my head, my hand moves to hover over the door handle. Taking in one last deep breath, I open the door.

“Good morning, Mr. Porter. Nice to see you again.”

“You too, Mr. Jacobs. Shall we?”

He nods.

Leading the way, he follows behind me step by step on the concrete sidewalk until we reach the door. Opening the shades in my office, the sun shines brightly, but does nothing to cheer me up. My heart is numb to the exultant sunlight.