Amazing Grace (3 page)

“What does a sixteen-year-old need with grey hair?”

“Platinum silver is super hip now. Do you think I'll get it when I'm your age?”

I shrug.

“Will I get breast cancer?”

Now I see my three-year-old Melissa, afraid of thunder and lightning. “No. Your mother doesn't have it, so you'll be fine.”

“That's a total lie.” She stares at me. “It's pretty messed up that you still smoke.”

“That's me. One messed-up broad. Do you smoke?”

“God, no. It stinks.”

“What about weed?”

She laughs. “I can't believe you're so nosy.”

“So that's a yes.”

She cocks her head to one side. “Are you here to do some sort of intervention? You know nothing about my life and I don't appreciate you thinking you can fix me. I thought you were visiting, like a normal person. If you want to be a shrink, go work on Dad. He's fucked up.”

She waits for my reaction.

I give her back her dog and walk to the door. “You shouldn't swear. Good night.”

CHAPTER TWO

I'm an early riser, a five-in-the-morning person. Sleep has never been easy for me. It's often the enemy, in fact, and so over the years I've developed a system whereby I take cat naps during the day. That way I only have to sleep about four hours a night. More often than not, in the hours before dawn, I reach over to my bedside table and grab my iPad so I can log in to my missing persons websites. They're from all over the world. It's comforting to know that there are other people out there like me.

Searching. Always searching.

I'm truly sorry our dinner ended on a sour note last night. I want to make amends by whipping up buttermilk pancakes, if I can find the ingredients in the endless wall of handle-less grey cupboards that wrap around three walls of Jon's kitchen.

First things first. Standing on the heated floor of the bathroom, which is kind of great, I'm trying to figure out how to turn on the shower. There are chrome openings on every surface. After messing around for a couple of minutes, I give up and have a shallow bath.

With my old jeans and pullover on, I feel better. It takes me a while to make my bed. You can put your back out trying to lift a mattress that's two feet deep. When I open the bedroom door, there's Beulah curled up on the floor. She's shivering.

That's enough.

I pick her up and put her inside my sweatshirt to warm up, but it's hard to hold a dog like that when you don't have a bra you can stuff it into. Once she's toasty, I put on my old sweater and put her back in the pocket. It seems to be her favourite place.

There's something I have to do before I make pancakes. I take my bathrobe and tiptoe down the main hall. The kitchen light is on, so I figure Jonathan must be up. When I walk in, a middle-aged Asian woman is sweeping the floor with a broom.

“Oh!”

She looks up and nods. “Hello, miss.”

“You work here?”

“Yes.”

She takes the dust pan and empties it in the sleek garbage can.

“Jonathan makes you come in this early?”

“I live here. Yesterday was night off.”

“I'm Jonathan's mother, Grace.” She hesitates before shaking my hand, as if unsure she should.

“Yes, I know. Mr. Willingdon said you were coming. Can I get you something to eat?”

“No, heavens. I was going to make buttermilk pancakes for everyone. Would you like some…I'm sorry, I don't know your name.”

“Linn. But no, Miss Grace. I will cook for you. You are guest.”

She seems adamant, so I give in. “That would be nice. But before you start, do you have a sewing kit and scissors?”

Off she goes and comes back with the requested items. “I can put on button.”

“No, thanks.”

When I get down on the kitchen floor and spread out my bathrobe, she looks a bit horrified. “I'm making Beulah a nice warm outfit.”

I cut a piece off the bottom of my bathrobe and proceed to make a sweater. I'm good with a needle and thread and making patterns. By the time I hear the other two stir, Beulah is in her soft jumper with collar and cuffs. She dances around me when I put it on her. Linn and I smile at her antics. Then Beulah wants up, into my pocket. What am I going to do when I leave?

Linn steers me into the dining room, where the table has already been set. There are three different newspapers to read from. She pours me a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. “Would you like to eat now, miss?”

“I'll wait for Jonathan, thank you.”

Linn picks up a remote and points it at the window. Ivory shades begin to rise up as if by magic. I get up from my chair and walk over to the floor-to-ceiling windows, but step back—I'm sure I'll fall to my death if I get any closer. New York City is at my feet. It is a spectacular view if you like concrete buildings, but since they don't turn me on, Beulah and I go back to the table.

Linn is pouring me a second cup of coffee when Jonathan shows up. He looks miserable as always, but he's dressed impeccably. There's something attractive about a man in a suit. A vision of Fletcher wearing one crosses my mind. No dice.

Linn pours him a cup of coffee as he sits at the table and brandishes a linen napkin.

“Thank you, Linn. Good morning, Mother. I trust you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Linn serves us pancakes, which she didn't have to make but I appreciate. Jonathan always loved them. My son eats a plateful while looking at his Blackberry and glancing at the newspapers. How does he take in all that information at the same time? If he's purposefully trying to ignore me, he's doing a good job. It's like I'm not here.

My coffee cup clatters back on the saucer, a little harder than I intended. “How can I help with Melissa?”

He puts the paper down. “I don't know. Talk sense into her? Talk to her mother when she gets back. Tell her that life isn't all about her. What do grandmothers generally say? The ones who don't talk like sailors, I mean.”

“It's a bad habit. I'll stop.”

He looks at me with a sceptical face.

“All I can do is try! Jesus.”

He leans back in his chair. “A whole half-second. A new world record.”

“Holy God. No wonder Deanne left you. Do you always walk around with a poker up your ass?”

Jonathan bangs his mug on the table. “Believe it or not, I'm a great guy when I'm not with you.”

“Then why the heck do you want me to come live in New York?”

“Who said that?”

“Melissa. Is it true?”

He looks like a little boy. “The fact that you've never even entertained the idea says everything.”

This is not going well. “Just take a deep breath, Jon. I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I did come to support you. If you'll let me.”

He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them. “I don't know what to do.”

We both turn when we hear Melissa approach. She's dressed to leave and has her school bag over her shoulder. She's already texting with her mitts on, the ones with no fingertips. “Later.”

“Just a minute!” I say. “Come and have some breakfast. You can't go out with an empty stomach.”

“I'll get a Starbucks on the way to school.”

Linn comes in with more pancakes. “Melissa, your favourite.”

Melissa sighs and rolls her eyes. “What part of ‘I don't like pancakes' do you not understand? They're Dad's favourite, not mine, and if you paid more attention you'd know that. And by the way, you weren't supposed to put my new sweater in the wash. What is it with adults? You're all hopeless.”

She walks out the door.

And her father and Linn remain where they are.

I hand Beulah over to Jonathan and then I'm out the door, running down the corridor. Missy has her earphones on and doesn't hear me. I grab her from behind, scaring the life out of her.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” She tries to escape. Fortunately she has about six layers on for me to grab. I haul her, squirming and yelling, back down the hall. We go back into the apartment and I push her into the dining room, where Linn is still holding the platter of pancakes and Jonathan is still holding Beulah.

“You apologize to Linn for your rude and dismissive comments. Who do you think you are? Show her the respect she deserves.”

“You can't treat me like this!”

“Why is it okay to bully Linn, but not you?”

“I didn't touch her.”

“Your words touched her! Do you know how awful words can be? They're the most powerful force of all. Now say you're sorry to Linn.”

Melissa huffs and puffs and looks at her dad to intervene, but he keeps his mouth shut. “All right! I'm going to miss school thanks to you.” She turns in the general area of Linn but doesn't look her in the face. “I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry for what?” I prompt.

Melissa clearly wants to hit me. “I'm sorry I was rude. It won't happen again. Can I go now?”

“Have fun at school.”

She marches over to the front door and slams it shut as hard as she can. I scoop Beulah out of Jon's hands and sit back at the table.

“Was that helpful?”

Linn can't keep the grin off her face, and she disappears into the kitchen.

“You shouldn't have put your hands on her. Technically, that's assault.”

Okay. Now I know what I'm dealing with.

While Jonathan is at work and Melissa is at school and Linn is cleaning an already spotless apartment, Beulah and I go snooping.

In Melissa's room.

I have no qualms about her privacy. She doesn't pay the rent here. It's a huge job, because the kid has so much stuff, she just piles it out of the way. One girl does not need forty pairs of jeans. I grab a garbage bag and toss in half of them. I'll ask Linn to take them to Goodwill. I'm her favourite person at the moment.

It doesn't take me long to find the dope or the pills or the alcohol. She's not very inventive when it comes to hiding places. The top of a closet and a Kotex box are where you look first. At least I have evidence to back me up.

Then I spy her laptop. Melissa is so sure that her father wouldn't dare look at it, she's still logged on. What I see when the screen comes up is Melissa biting her lip in an attempt to look sexy, holding her t-shirt up around her neck and exposing her breasts. I scroll through her pictures, hoping this is a one-off, but she has several inappropriate images, and worse, she's posted them online.

A deep anger comes to the surface, along with the need to get rid of it. I get dressed in my down jacket because the six televisions in this apartment are blaring that it's cold outside. Beulah is now happily tucked into my jacket, her little head poking out enjoying the sights. She's the only thing that keeps me from weeping.

I walk for a long time. How I wish I was on my hill with the dogs. I want to run away from this place. It's too noisy, too busy, too vast. There's no air to breath, no silence to enjoy, no stopping on the sidewalk to look up at a patch of blue sky. Big cities frighten me. I'm alone here. Even when Fletch isn't home, I'm never alone in that trailer.

By the time I get back I have a plan, but then Melissa texts her father to tell him she's going to a sleepover at her best friend's house.

I'm wolfing down Linn's amazing pad Thai for dinner. “And you believe her?”

Jon hasn't even changed out of his suit. He looks done in. “I'd like to believe her. I'm almost too exhausted to care.”

“Jonathan, did it ever occur to you that you could quit your job and do something else?”

He gives me a smirk. “Tell Grandfather that I'm going to paint pictures in Paris, or sail around the world? How do you think that would go over?”

“Who cares what he thinks?”

“I do, Mother. He's got me completely involved in every aspect of the business.” He takes his fork and pokes at his forehead. “I've got it all up here. He doesn't trust anyone else, which is paranoia, but that's what I'm dealing with. If I go, he'll cut me out of his will. He told me so. And the company I've been slaving away for will belong to someone else.”

I refill my empty wineglass. “And would that be so bad?”

Now he drops his utensils on the plate, and takes that starched linen napkin and wipes his mouth. “Bad? I have a daughter I'm trying to raise here. How am I going to do that with no job? You know darn well Grandfather will make sure no one hires me in this city.”

“So move.”

He leans back in his chair. “I've worked all my life for this company, and I think Dad would be proud of me. This was his legacy. I'm not going to throw that away just because Grandfather can be difficult. It's a terrible thing to say, but he's not going to last forever. I'd like to pass it on to my daughter.”

I finish this glass of wine and set it on the table. “Speaking of daughters, you need to see something. Come with me.”

He reluctantly gets up from his chair and follows me down the hall. I open Melissa's bedroom door.

“You can't go in her room. That's private.”

“Parents your age believe a lot of bullshit.”

It's all on her bed. The bright assortment of pills, the bags of weed, the bong, the bottles of vodka, all on display in front of him.

“Dear God.” He moves slowly forward and puts out his hand to touch it, but covers his mouth instead.

“This is a shock, I know. She's lying to you. That's what they do.”

“But…”

“And there's this.”

I open her computer to show him the first picture. “You're trying to be her friend, but you're her father. She needs guidance.”

His face is white. “How could she do this to me?”

“Why is she doing it at all?”

“I don't know what to do.”

“I do.”

Melissa eventually shows up around nine the next night. She sees her father and I sitting in the living room and gives us a brief nod and keeps going.

“Melissa.”

“What?”

“Could I speak to you for a moment?”

She drags her feet on the shiny hardwood floor. “I'm exhausted and I have to write a paper for Monday.” She keeps looking down at her phone.

“This won't take long. Sit down.”

“Dad! I told you. I've got stuff to do.”

“Sit.”

She groans and flops on the couch. “What am I apologizing for this time?”

“For this.”

Jonathan reaches for the paper bag that is by his chair. He takes each item out of the bag one at a time and puts them all in the middle of the area rug. I watch her eyes get big. He brings out her computer and opens it. Melissa's blood drains from her face and she slowly turns to look at me. “What have you done?”

“She's done what I should have done months ago. Now I'm going to tell you what's going to happen.” He falters a little and glances at me.