Falling From Grace (70 page)

Dad seemed to puff up with pride at Robert’s statements, and Janice smiled at his reaction.

“I’m also thankful for your father, Grace,” Ameila spoke up then, and raised her glass of water to Dad.
 
“You have blessed us with your gracious hospitality, and I ask that your home always be blessed with an abundance of love and warmth such as we feel here today.”

Dad stared mesmerized at Ameila, as most men were, and raised his glass, stuttering out a broken “thank you” before nervously taking a sip of water.
 
Janice seemed amused by the display and turned to Lark, waiting to hear what she was thankful for.

“I’m thankful for meeting genuine people who don’t want anything from me that I can’t give.”
 
It was matter of fact.
 
It was succinct. It was Lark.

“Well, I guess that leaves me then, huh?” Janice laughed.
 
“I’m thankful for this opportunity at having a family, with James and Grace, and with the new baby on the way, too.
 
I am also thankful that you are here, Mrs. Bellegarde, as well as your children, who have become such an important part of Grace’s life.
 

“You have done so much for us just by being there for her, and I don’t think either James or I could ever repay you for any of it.
 
I also think it would be safe for me to say that Grace’s mother would thank you as well.
 
And, I am thankful for you, Grace.
 
If not for you, I wouldn’t be here today.
 
I know what it took for you to welcome me into your life, and for that, I will always,
always
be thankful.”

I could feel the blush rise up in my cheeks as the words reminded me how foolish and selfish I had been.
 
I turned to look at Robert, remembering that the day that had been the turning point in my relationship with Janice had also been the day that I had first met him.
 
He had changed my life in so many ways, in such a short amount of time, it seemed like there wasn’t enough time to appreciate or experience it all.
 
I wasn’t about to waste a single moment.

The rest of the meal was filled with light conversation between Ameila and Janice.
 
Dad and Robert discussed the virtues of standard transmissions versus automatic ones, and Lark and I were left to our own silent conversation.

So how’s the butt kicking going?
 
Lark looked at me, a smirk tilting up one side of her face.

It’s going.
 
I responded, lifting up my arm to show the nice smattering of bruises that spread across it.
 
I know it’s not as pretty as the one that you gave me, but it’s still quite fun to poke and watch it change color.
 
I demonstrated by pressing my finger into the center of one, causing the purple color to push away, leaving behind a small yellow dot that quickly faded through reds, greens, and finally back to its original purple when I removed my fingertip.

Hold on now, let’s get one thing clear.
 
You punched me, which means you gave yourself that nice little bruise.

I grinned.
 
It doesn’t explain why my hand bruised the way that it did, though.
 
Maybe I’m just allergic to you.

She snorted.
 
It was a typical Lark response.
 
I was waiting for her to reply with some snappy remark but instead her eyes darted to Robert, who had suddenly gone quiet.
 
Ameila, too, had suddenly stopped talking.
 
Dad and Janice both became aware of the eerie quiet that had quickly taken over the house.

“I’m very sorry, Janice
—
James, but we have to leave.
 
There’s something urgent that we have to take care of,” Ameila said apologetically as she stood up, Robert and Lark mimicking her motions with perfect synchronicity.
 
“Thank you very much for such a wonderful meal.
 
I hope that we can do this again sometime soon.”

The rest of us stood up as well, although not as gracefully or with as much purpose
—
well, Dad and Janice didn’t anyway.
 
I could see the urgency in Robert’s eyes.
 
What’s wrong?

He turned to thank Dad and Janice for dinner and then grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the door.
 
It’s time.

I looked at him, confusion and fear flooding back to me in one familiar tidal wave of panic.
 
Time for what?

He touched my face with the back of his hand, calming my jittery nerves.
 
Grace, it’s the call.
 
I can hear the singing.
 
I’m being called up.

Suddenly, all my postulating about being okay with him receiving the call went out the proverbial window as I clung to his arm, my hands suddenly slick with nervousness and fear.
 
Will you come back?
 
Will you come back to me?

He lowered his face to mine, still brushing cheek with his knuckles, and gently pressed his lips to mine.
 
It had been our first kiss in four weeks
—
and it was in farewell.

In that moment, I didn’t care that Dad was probably right behind me, or that it might seem desperate.
 
I threw my arms around his neck and pressed myself into him.
 
I felt his body tense, and prepared myself for his rejection, prepared myself to fight for just a few seconds more of being close to him.
 
Instead, his arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me in closer than I was able to against his solid steel frame.

His lips, once light and nearly imperceptible, became hard and insistent.
 
I could feel the pulse in my lips flow through his, taking with it all of my love, and returning with all of his.
 
When he finally pulled away, I realized that I hadn’t been breathing, and I gasped, the air rushing through my lungs like a bittersweet elixir.

It had only been a few seconds of time, and there had been no thoughts shared, but I knew
—
I knew that this wasn’t a “see you later” kiss.
 
It was a goodbye.
 
I stood at the doorway as he rushed out, Lark and Ameila already in his car, their faces somber, both knowing what I already knew.
 
I felt the tears flow down my face, mixed tears of joy that he had finally received the only thing he had ever truly desired, and tears of sadness because I did not know if I’d ever see him again because of it.

I wiped them away quickly and waved as they pulled off.
 
I knew this was coming, I told myself.
 
If I was having buyer’s remorse now, it was my own fault.
 
I stayed at the door until long after they had driven out of sight.
 
Convinced that there had been no mistake, and that they wouldn’t be returning, laughing at the bad little joke they had played on us, I quietly closed the door and helped Janice clear away the food, methodically putting the food into baggies for leftovers and freezing for later.

“Grace, I’ll wash the dishes.
 
Why don’t you go upstairs and finish that paper you’ve got to do,” Janice suggested, her face a mixture of concern and sympathy.
 
She might not have known what was going on, but she surely knew that whatever it was that had happened had changed things for me.

Slowly, I climbed up the stairs, each step getting harder and harder, my feet feeling heavier as I went.
 
I opened the door to my room half hoping that he’d be there, sitting on my bed like he normally was, a “just kidding” poised on his lips.
 
Seeing that it was empty, I felt my heart sink even further.
 
I should be feeling happy for him.
 
I knew that this was coming.
 
I just wasn’t expecting it to happen so soon.

I walked over to the window and stuck my head outside of.
 
I knew it wouldn’t be there
—
no motorcycle, no Charger, and no dark mist slowly creeping to come and find me and make things better
—
but I still had to look.

I pulled myself back in and sat on the edge of the bed.
 
Something crumpled underneath me, and I shifted over, grabbing a piece of paper from beneath me.
 
I recognized Robert’s handwriting immediately.
 
The flowing, flourished script was unmistakable.
 

Wait for me.

On the bed where the paper had been was something long and dark.
 
I picked it up and gasped.
 
It was a black feather.
 
I clutched the letter and the feather to my chest and laid down on the bed.
 
He loved me enough to come back from the dead, but did he love me enough to come back to me from Heaven?

As if nothing had happened, the day after Thanksgiving started with breakfast, followed by a long shower.
 
I grabbed my book bag and went downstairs and into the garage.
 
I rolled the used bike that Dad had bought to replace my old one outside, got on it, and started pedaling towards the library.

It was the first time in months that I had ridden one, and I don’t care how the saying goes.
 
You do forget how to ride a bicycle.
 
I fell off before I had even made it past the driveway.

“Stupid bike,” I grumbled, standing up and brushing off the dirt and grass from my jeans.
 
I righted the bike back up and got back on.
 
A few not so pretty starts, followed by a few more quite horrendous falls, and I was about ready to give up.
 
I looked around me and I could see some curious faces peeking through their windows.
 
Well, if I was going to give up, it surely wasn’t going to be in front of an audience.

Picking the bike up one last time, I climbed on it, and prayed: Balance
—
that is all I want.
 
I placed my foot on the pedal and pushed off, and smiled as the bike rolled smoothly down the street.

I rode the bike the few miles up the old wooded road towards the library.
 
If I was going to finish my paper about Poe, I would need to borrow a few books, and the quiet would be nice.
 
Graham’s dad and a few of Dad’s work buddies were coming over to watch the multitude of football games that would be playing today.
 
A house full of loud, drunk men was not my idea of a good place to write an essay.

I nearly felt sorry for Janice until she told me that she was going to visit her sister up in Newark for the day, and wouldn’t return until later on in the evening.
 
Instead, I found myself feeling quite jealous of her freedom.

As I pumped my legs, I came upon the area where I had been hit.
 
I slowed the bike down and stopped on the side, looking at the two lane road with the small dirt road shoulder.
 
There were no street lights here, but I hadn’t been hit during the evening
—
just found then.
 
I hopped off of the bike and knelt down to pick up something that sparkled in the morning sunlight.
 
It was a piece of a blinker light.
 
The orange, reflective piece of plastic wasn’t exactly hard to place.
 
I put it in my pocket to inspect later, and got back on my bike and continued towards the library.

It felt good to walk through the door when I finally made it there ten minutes later.
 
I felt at home here, felt comfortable among all of the books that had been my constant companions for so long throughout my lonely childhood, even with Graham in it.

I headed towards the back of the library, the poetry section being one of the least frequented sections there, and began looking for the books I had searched for online earlier that morning.
 
Finding just one of them, I pulled it out and settled into a chair to start reading.

The first poem was too long to read, but a few of the others that weren’t caught my attention.
 
I pulled out a notebook from my book bag and started taking notes, copying the poems themselves first, and then segmenting out specific lines that stuck out.

Miss Maggie toddled over to me, her spindly little legs peeking out from beneath her dress, and said happily, “I’m so glad to see you back here, Grace!
 
You’re looking quite healthy and chipper.”

I couldn’t help but smile back at her.
 
She was always so sweet and sincere.
 
There really wasn’t anything one could do to avoid feeling “chipper” whenever she spoke to you.
 
“Thank you, Miss Maggie.
 
How have you been?”

She waved her hand at me, as if to brush off my question.
 
“You know how I always am, and yet you always ask.
 
What are you reading there?
 
Ooh, Poe.
 
Good stuff that one.
 
Have you read the first poem?
 
It is the best one.
 
Might interest you a bit.”
 
She winked at me and toddled off, disappearing amongst the shelves.