Absence of Grace (23 page)

“I read a lot of mysteries, but I’ve never come across yours.”

“Thousands of books out there. Some are bound to escape notice.”

She turned from the shelves to face him. “Oh.” Her eyes widened.

“What is it?” But he knew
,
of course. When she turned, she’d seen the portrait hanging on the wall next to him.

“I didn’t realize...” Her posture stiffened and her voice had a toneless quality. “I thought Hailey sold that to a tourist.”

“I call her my melancholy lady. I’ve been meaning to ask you her name.”

“Thomasina.” Clen continued to look like someone recovering from a shock.

He cast around for something to keep the conversation going. “Was she a friend?”

“More a beloved enemy.”

He raised his eyebrows in question.

“In college. She was the dean of students. We fought over stupid things like dress codes and demerit systems.” Her words were quick and jerky.

“And now?”

“We lost touch.” She turned away, back to his books.

If it upset her that much, he’d drop it, although he would like to know more about his melancholy lady.

“Will you let me borrow your book, Gerrum?”

“Sure.” He walked over, pulled out a copy, and handed it to her, realizing, as he did so, the last time he’d felt this uncertain was as a teenager working up the nerve to ask out some now-forgotten girl. It was discouraging to feel so tentative after thinking he’d reached a balance in his life. A place where the mistakes he’d made in the past no longer burdened him with regret. A place where he was...comfortable.

They returned to the kitchen, but Clen had reverted to the woman who kept everyone, including him, at arm’s length.

“I have enough for now,” she said.

“May I see?”

She tore a sheet out of the book and laid it on top of the other sketches, then picked them up and tapped them into an orderly pile. “They’re pretty rough.” She sounded reluctant, but she handed them over.

He looked through them. One sketch was of his hands, large and blunt-fingered, with only an indication of an arm and torso. Several were quick studies of his face from different angles. It was interesting, seeing himself through her eyes. As in the Stikine sketch, she’d used firm lines for nose and jaw, given his mouth a humorous tilt, and made his eyes look deep-set and calm. For the first time, he could see the Scandinavian as well as the Tlingit contributions to his appearance.

He pulled out the sketch that showed his resemblance to his father most clearly. “I wonder if I might have this one when you’re finished with them. My mother would like it.”

“Keep it. As a thank-you for dinner.”

He considered it a poor thank-you when she turned down dessert, gathered her things, and collected Kody, leaving as if she were fleeing something unpleasant.

It thoroughly unsettled Clen to discover Hailey misled her and Gerrum was the one who’d bought Thomasina’s portrait.

Beloved enemy.
Why had she said that? She couldn’t still be grieving the ending of that relationship, could she? But apparently she was. Grieving in a quiet, steady way that had no correlate in the sharp regret she felt over the failure of her marriage.

The other surprise was the discovery Gerrum was an author. She’d asked to borrow his book in order to change the subject from Thomasina, but now she was stuck. She’d have to return the book, and that meant seeing him again when what she should be doing was cutting this off. Now.

Unbidden, a single moment from the evening replayed itself—when she’d turned to find Gerrum in the doorway, watching her. In the instant before she noticed Thomasina’s portrait, she’d wondered what it would be like to give up worrying about either past or future and simply lean into that solid strength, although no way was she succumbing to such an impulse. Not given her history with relationships.

She laid the book on the dresser and stood looking out at Wrangell’s tiny harbor. The windowpanes were crisscrossed with the lines of antennas, net booms, and masts, all lit softly by the lingering twilight of an Alaskan summer night. In the exact center was the single straight line she knew belonged to the radio mast of the
Ever Joyful
. She traced it with a finger then leaned her forehead against the window. Her breath fogged the pane, smudging the line that had become a companion of sorts on nights when the past kept her awake.

She rubbed the mist from the window to find a luminous night fog had begun to obscure the harbor.

The next time Clen encountered Gerrum, he invited her to join a tour group he was taking to Anan to see bears feasting on migrating salmon. She opened her mouth to decline, but found herself accepting instead. She offered to run the galley. He said it wasn’t necessary but he’d appreciate it.

The group included two elderly couples, two middle-aged women traveling together, and a young family with boys who looked to be about seven and nine. Even before they cast off, the two boys were jostling each other, and shortly after the
Joyful
cleared the harbor, the boys initiated a game of tag that ended abruptly when one of them knocked a cup of coffee out of another passenger’s hand. Clen stepped in with a towel as Gerrum put the engine in neutral and gestured to the parents to join him in the wheelhouse. Clen maneuvered close enough to overhear what he had to say.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cole, this is a small boat, and your boys can’t run around without knocking into other passengers. And when we get to Anan, it will be essential they behave with decorum, or they’ll put themselves at risk. Bears are unpredictable, you know.”

Clen watched the two think this over. Finally, they glanced at each other, then marched out on deck. Each grabbed a boy by the arm. Gerrum leaned in the doorway to watch as the parents escorted the boys to the stern where their dad made a number of emphatic points and their mom backed him up.

Clen shared a look of amused relief with Gerrum, who then walked over to the woman who’d had her coffee spilled. “Mrs. Davis, I’m sorry you were inconvenienced. Ms. McClendon,” he nodded toward her, “will be serving you and Mr. Davis at no charge today.”

Clen took a sweater over to the woman. “I can lend you this if you’d like me to rinse the stain out of your jacket.”

“That would be lovely, dear. Always best to rinse stains out immediately.”

Gerrum got back underway and, once Clen served everyone coffee and rolls and dealt with the stain, she took him a cup of coffee. She stood next to him, braced against the slight movement of the boat. “Does that sort of thing happen often?”

“Often enough to keep things interesting.”

“Would the boys be in danger?”

“We have to hike to the observatory. Nothing says the bears can’t use the same trail.”

“Well, they’re behaving, at least for now. You handled the Coles perfectly.”

“You helped smooth the situation too. You’ve earned a trip to Anan any time you want to tag along.” He pointed ahead. “We’re almost there. Moment of truth. Now to see how Brandon and Billy do with the bears.”

Brandon and Billy did very well indeed. They came back aboard chattering with excitement about what they’d seen, and Gerrum rewarded their good behavior with a brief, highly supervised opportunity to steer the boat.

Clen had left Gerrum’s book sitting on her dresser, but after the Anan trip, she finally carried it over to the easy chair and curled up to read it. The writing was good and the plot intriguing, but what pulled her in was the emotional honesty of the main character, Gabe Skyler. His vulnerabilities and his willingness to admit when he was hurting rubbed at her sore places.

When hours later she turned the last page, there were tears on her cheeks. She had no idea how she was going to face Gerrum and hand back this book. No matter what words she used, it would be awkward. Because reading about Gabe Skyler, part Tlingit and ex-attorney, disoriented her. What else in the story was autobiographical? That horrible scene with the girlfriend?

The nastiness in Elmer’s tone whenever he spoke of Gerrum disturbed Clen, but the words Gerrum put in that woman’s mouth—calling Gabe an Eskimo in a three-piece suit. Words that were both vicious and cruel. The thought someone might have said it to Gerrum made her furious.

And what about the rest? Was it Gabe who mourned the loss of his father, or Gerrum? Was Gerrum beaten by bullies at school or was that Gabe? Yet, even if the specifics weren’t pulled from Gerrum’s life, the clarity and vigor of his fictional character made it clear Gerrum was deeply aware of others and attuned to what they might be thinking and feeling.

So how much had he seen of what she was trying to hide?

She snapped off the light and looked out the window. The mast of the
Ever Joyful
was missing from its usual place. She stared at that blankness, thinking of other nights she’d stood tracing that delicate line with her finger.

Damn the man, anyway. Wrangell was a rest stop. One didn’t establish relationships at rest stops. No point to it.

Marymead
College- Mead,
Kansas

Thomasina returned to Marymead by the time Clen’s senior year began.

Clen managed to avoid the nun for the first two weeks, but then Thomasina summoned her. “Clen, we need to talk.”

God, she hated those words. “Sure. Talk. Fine.”

“You didn’t answer my letter.”

“You sent the letter to Betty Knox, not me.” Betty came to the cafeteria to pass out the notes Thomasina had written.

“You’re angry with me.”

Clen tightened her lips.

“Are you willing to listen to an explanation?”

“I’m going to be late for class.”

“You don’t have a class this hour.”

“Okay. Explain.” Clen knew she was acting like a five-year-old brat, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

Thomasina walked over to the window and stood staring out. “This last year and a half I let myself get overwhelmed. With the work. With...” She paused, apparently searching for words. “Sister Gladys was a very dear friend. When she died...it depleted me. I think you may understand what I mean.”

Depleted. A good word for what Clen felt, as well.

“I want to apologize to you for my behavior. I knew it was a difficult time for you, with your brother’s death, but I had nothing left to offer you, or anyone else.”