Finding Grace (18 page)

There was a knock at the door. I answered it in my jammy jams, peeking out through the space allowed by the chain between the door and the jamb.

It was Mr. Preston, holding a shopping bag. He held it up to me. “Morning, chum. I thought I would come over and cook breakfast for our invalids.”

While he was cooking breakfast I had a long shower with the door closed. It is so nice to have a long shower. It's nice to have the door closed. Since I have been here I have
only had short showers with the door open so I could hear if Grace needed me.

I dried my hair and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I came out of my room just as Mr. Preston was serving up fried bacon, eggs and tomatoes. “That smells delicious,” I said, grabbing the plunger of coffee and my plate and carrying them to the paved area out the back. The sun was shining down through the creeping vine.

I fetched Grace, and Mr. Preston came out behind me, carrying a tray with the remaining two plates and the cups. We sat down together. Mr. Preston cut up Grace's breakfast into chunks and handed her the fork. She stabbed one of the chunks with her fork and put it in her mouth.

“I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles,” he said, piling a huge amount onto his fork.

“That's no problem,” I said. “You told me you had a bad day.”

“Yes, I think I told you I met up with my ex-wife.”

“You said that you find that stressful.”

Mr. Preston chewed for a while, frowning.

“She's doing very well and I'm happy for her.”

“Do you have kids together?” I asked, grinding some pepper onto my breakfast.

“No. She's pregnant now, though.” He poured the coffee. “My wife, that is, my ex-wife, is a wonderful woman. We met”—Mr. Preston looked up and looked me directly in the eye—“we met at university. I was studying law, of course, my father wouldn't have it any other way. She was studying arts. We got along well immediately. We had a large circle of friends. We went to parties together and we
went to the theater together. We discussed literature. We agreed about most things. After three years, we still agreed about most things, so I went to see her father and asked for her hand.” Mr. Preston paused for a moment to take a mouthful.

“We got married on a beautiful autumn day in a church, and went to the Greek islands for our honeymoon.”

Mr. Preston stopped to take another mouthful.

“We bought a house and we both worked. When I was earning enough, she gave up her job and stayed at home. She cooked fabulous meals for my business associates. She went to art classes and filled our house with wonderful watercolors and tapestries and that kind of thing.” Mr. Preston took a slurp of his coffee and refilled our cups from the jug.

“Every night I would come home and we would sit down and talk about my day and then we would talk about her day and everything was lovely.”

Mr. Preston shoved his heaped fork into his mouth.

“One day I went to work and Grace was at her desk and she was crying. I asked her what was wrong and she said that she'd been driving to work and she'd seen an ambulance and she pulled over and the car in front of her pulled over and the ambulance passed them.”

Mr. Preston paused for a moment, staring out past the end of the pavers to the garden.

“She said that she suddenly thought about how when someone is in danger or is hurt that an ambulance is called and that everyone moves so that the paramedics can get to that person in the shortest time possible. She said that all of a sudden she realized how wonderful that was. We, all of us, in this society, move so that someone we've never met can
get help. Then she burst into tears again.” Mr. Preston scraped the egg off the bottom of his plate with his knife and wiped it on the last piece of toast.

“I sat there on the edge of the desk and watched this woman crying uncontrollably, so vulnerable. Here was a woman who I'd thought was as tough as old boots just moved to tears by the most simple thing. And all of a sudden I felt an incredible wrench in my chest. I felt an urgent, frantic need to look after her and care for her.”

Mr. Preston put his knife and fork together and pushed the plate away. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hands and his mouth with it.

“I loved my wife, she was my friend and we had good times together, but at that moment I knew the feeling I had when Grace cried was the strongest emotion I'd ever had in my life. Have you ever been in love?”

I shook my head. I've had crushes, but that's not the same thing.

He reached over and picked up Grace's plate and put it in front of him. He started to pick at the bits of bacon left over.

“You know that song by Melanie C? It's called “Never Be the Same Again.' She talks about a friendship that changes into something more. It's a beautiful song. That's how I felt. I just wanted to be there when she felt sad, I wanted to be the one who would make her happy again. I just wanted to be wherever she was.”

Mr. Preston scraped the remains of Grace's breakfast onto his fork with the knife.

“I thought about her all the time. I couldn't help it.

I would walk in the street and I would see a florist and I would think of Grace. I would buy a bunch of flowers and I would take them home to my wife, and she would say, “How thoughtful,' but I knew, when I gave them to her, that the person I had been thinking of was Grace, and I felt bad about that.” He took another slurp of coffee.

“A year later I was still buying flowers for Grace and giving them to my wife. I knew it wasn't just a passing infatuation. I wished that it had been. I still wanted to be where Grace was and I felt it more and more strongly. I told my wife that while I loved her and I cared for her, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with her, and then she cried.”

Mr. Preston took another slurp of his coffee.

“I felt sad, too, because we had shared a great many things together. She asked me if there was someone else, and I hesitated. My wife took that as a yes. I tried to explain, but I knew that I was only hurting her more.”

Mr. Preston put Grace's now-empty plate onto his own. “Are you going to eat that?” he said, pointing to my plate. I shook my head. Mr. Preston leaned over and picked up my plate and put it in front of him. Then he continued, “I left. She kept that house and I moved into a unit that we had in the city. We meet for coffee every now and then. She is seeing someone else. They're going to have a baby.”

We sat silently for a moment.

“You see now it's a hopeless case. I love Grace. I have tried to meet other people and while they may be nice or pretty or clever, I find myself comparing them always to Grace, and that's not fair. I shall never be happy with anyone else. She is the one for me—end of story.”

Mr. Preston smiled wryly.

“So now I spend my days hoping that one day she will be herself again and knowing that she probably won't.”

Mr. Preston cleaned up the rest of my plate. He is silent because he's finished the story. I am silent because I am stunned.

I can't believe Mr. Preston knows the lyrics of songs by Melanie C.

Jan poked
her head through the doorway from the living room, nearly giving me a heart attack.

“Hello there! I knocked, but there was no answer. I figured you must be out here. Hello, Mr. Preston, I didn't see you there. Just missed breakfast, have I? Oh, well, never mind, eh?”

Mr. Preston piled all the plates on the tray. “Can I get you coffee?”

“Oh, yes, please, darl. That would be lovely.”

“More coffee, chum?” asked Mr. Preston over his shoulder, as he carried the tray inside.

“Yes, please.”

“Well now,” said Jan, sitting down and adjusting her
uniform, “how's our patient today? I understand we've got some dressings to change?”

Mr. Preston came back with a fresh jug of coffee, and we sat outside for a while longer. Mr. Preston made small talk with Jan while we finished our coffees. I walked back inside to do the dishes while Jan changed Grace's dressings. Mr. Preston watched for a while and then helped dry up.

I looked at the clock. Time to go to uni. I left Mr. Preston and Jan sitting on the couch chatting and walked through the park.

I arrived at my class and sat down next to Hiro. The lecturer reminded us that we had an assignment due in a week. I asked Hiro if he would like to come over to my house and work on the assignment with me. Of course, I blushed furiously, but I got through it.

He smiled at me and said he would like that very much. I felt those shivers in my belly again. I wrote down the address and handed it to him. Our hands touched for a second. I felt electricity streaking up my arm.

Oooh, Hiro. Lay your love on me.

We agreed that I would go to the library and borrow some books and we would meet at my place in the afternoon.

I skipped home across the park singing.

Jan was ready to go when I arrived. “You look bright and chirpy this afternoon, darl,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Your mother rang before.”

I ran into the bathroom and put some makeup on and brushed my hair. I ran out again and looked from the front veranda.

Not here yet—good.

I ran around the house, picking up nonexistent pieces of fluff off the floor. I brushed Grace's hair and washed her face. I ran out onto the front veranda again.

Not here yet—good.

I ran into the kitchen and wrenched open the fridge. I took down a glass jug from the cupboard and filled it with ice-cold water from the fridge. I sliced up a lemon and threw it in the jug. I pulled three glasses out of the cupboard and wiped them with the tea towel until they were sparkling.

I ran out onto the front veranda.

I could see Hiro wandering along the street with his bag hung over one shoulder, the other hand in the pocket of his baggy shorts.

I ran back into the bathroom to check on my makeup and my hair. I flew out of the bathroom and hurled myself on the couch. I lay there with one hand behind my head, looking casual.

I heard Hiro open the front gate. I could hear his footfall on the path, up the stairs and onto the veranda. He knocked on the door.

I lay on the couch with my heart thumping in my chest.

Don't want to appear too eager. One elephant, two elephant, three elephant.

I stood up and poked my head down the hallway.

“Oh, hello!” I said, trying to sound as if I had forgotten he was coming. “Come in.”

Hiro sauntered down the hallway and threw his bag on the couch.

“This is a very nice home,” he said, smiling that beautiful, wide, friendly smile.

“Oh, yes …”

Think of something witty to say, think of something witty to say.

My mind was a blank. We stood in the living room beaming at each other.

“Won't you come and sit down? I'll just grab a drink.” I pulled one of the dining chairs out, casually, as I walked past. It caught on the edge of the carpet and fell over backward.

I picked the chair up and did a silly little jig thing that I can't bear to think about.

I walk toward him to the kitchen. At the same time, he walks toward me to sit in the chair. We find ourselves standing about fifty centimeters apart. I move to the right, he moves to the right. I move to the left, he moves to the left. I find myself doing one of those stilted bush-dance moves we were forced to do in physical education.

“Do the do-si-do,” I shout. I skip around him. Of course they don't do-si-do in Taiwan so as I'm moving backward dancing feverishly, I run into him and knock him onto the couch. He lies there looking surprised.

I can't bear to think about it.

As I am standing there looking at him flailing about on the couch, I can feel a huge blush coming. I run into the kitchen and shove my head in the fridge to hide my blush.

It's not going away! The blush is not going away!

I take out the jug of water. I'm trying to keep my back to him. I step back and feel something squishy under my foot. I move back another step and run into him again, because he's standing right behind me. I look down and bang into
him with my bottom. Fresh hot streaks of blush flood into my cheeks.

The squishy thing is his foot. He's trying to move backward, but I'm still standing on his foot so he falls over again.

This is going very badly.

I step off his foot but get tangled in his other leg. I fall over. I've still got the jug in my hand and as I'm falling I pour the ice-cold water and the lemons onto Hiro.

This is going very, very, very badly.

We're sitting on the kitchen floor in a heap. Our legs are tangled up. Hiro is drenched. He's got a piece of lemon on his shoulder.

I start to laugh. He starts to laugh. We roll around on the kitchen floor holding our bellies and laughing.

I look up and Grace is standing in the living room looking at us.

I stand up and put my hand out to help Hiro up. He smiles at me. “Can I trust you?” he asks me. I pull him up and he shakes the water out of his hair.

Oh, oh, oh, I want to hear you say, I love ya, uh ha.