Forever Grace (24 page)

“If my husband asks, I tried to stay out of this,” she said. “I really did, but I can’t. Grace, what is going on with you and Sean?”

“I—uh—” Grace stood frozen, damp tea towel in one hand and plate in the other.

“Because I meant what I said earlier, about him not wanting kids, and if he hasn’t been honest with you—”

“He has,” Grace interrupted. “Very honest. And I’ve been honest with him. We’re friends, Gwyn. Nothing more.”

Gwyn raised a slender eyebrow. Her hands remained on her hips. “Are you sure about that? Because the two of you together…”

Grace clutched the towel tighter. “The two of us what?”

“You just…work. If I didn’t know you’d only just met, I would have thought you’d been together for years.”

The past week rushed back at Grace in a whirl of images. Touches. Laughter. Tears. Ease. Sean’s trek through the woods to see them each day. Josh kneeling to remove his shoe. Sage sidling up to perch on the edge of the couch while he read to Annabelle. Lilliane serving him tea as she chatted about her school science project. Sean pulling her into his strong, warm arms and assuring her everything would work out. Except not everything would.

She closed her eyes.

Gwyn touched her hand. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes…and no.” Grace set the tea towel and plate on the counter. She scooped back her hair with both hands, then crossed her arms and leaned back against the cupboard. “I do like Sean. A lot. And under other circumstances, things might have worked out differently. But I have four kids to think of, and yes, he’s made it clear that might be a problem.”

Both of Gwyn’s brows shot up. “Might be?”

“He skirted around the possibility of seeing where things went, but I can’t. I don’t have room in my life for that right now. We’ve agreed I need a friend more than…anything else.”

“Sean. Sean McKittrick skirted around the idea of—” Gwyn shook her head. “I can’t even make sense out of those words.”

Grace could think of no response. She picked up the plate again and dried it.

“And you’re sure,” Gwyn said. “That you want to be just friends?”

“I have no choice,” Grace said quietly. “It’s not just me I have to think about.”

“They’re permanent, then.” Gwyn’s voice softened. “The kids, I mean.”

The admission took everything Grace possessed. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Grace nodded, unable to reply past the thickening in her throat. She gazed out the kitchen window overlooking the deck and the lake beyond. Down on the dock, Sean balanced on one crutch while he showed Sage how to skip a rock across the water’s surface. Josh had already mastered the skill and appeared to be coaching Nicholas and Maggie. Katie and Lilliane were on their bellies staring down into the water. Gwyn’s husband patiently followed Annabelle from shore to dock-end and back to shore. For a heartbeat of a moment, everything felt normal. Ordinary.

Grace almost smiled.

And then her cell phone rang.

Sean watched Gareth swing Annabelle into his arms as he strolled down the dock to join him. All the others were at the far end, on their bellies along the edge, peering into the water while Josh explained to them how the frogs would burrow into the mud to survive the coming winter.

“Pinecone!” Annabelle announced as she and Gareth reached him, holding out her find to him. Not seeming to need a response, she went back to examining her treasure.

Gareth cleared his throat. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?”

“Well, what are you going to do about Grace?”

“There’s nothing
to
do. We’re friends. Nothing more.”

“Bollocks,” his cousin said bluntly. “You’re more than halfway in love with her, and you know it. And anyone with half a brain can see she feels the same about you.”

“We may have chemistry, but that’s not the same as love. And it’s certainly not enough to make either of us throw away our good sense.”

“So you’ve talked about it. With her.”

“Not that it’s any of your business.”

“And you’ve agreed on this friendship thing.”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re both idiots,” Gareth said.

Sean sighed heavily. “The kids are permanent, Gareth.”

The words stopped his cousin in his tracks. Gareth stared at him. “Their mother…?”

“In a coma. Beaten by their father. It doesn’t look like she’ll recover.”

“Bloody hell.” Gareth looked over at the kids lined up along the dock edge, then at the little girl he held in his arms. “Bloody, bloody hell,” he said again. “That poor woman. What will she do?”

“Raise them as best she can, I imagine.”

“With the help of
friends
?”

Sean bristled at the distinct sarcasm in the last word. “Just because we’re trying to be responsible about this—”

Gareth waved him silent. “I don’t know what Grace’s issues are, but you’re just plain scared. You’re more than a product of your upbringing, Sean. Or you could be, if you’d give yourself half a bloody chance.”

“This has nothing to do with my upbringing.”

“It has everything to do with your upbringing. Your entire life has been lived around that damned upbringing, Sean, and it’s time to let it go. I’ve known you since you were in diapers, and I’ve never seen you like this around a woman. You know how she takes her coffee, for God’s sake. When have you ever known what one of your girlfriends takes in her coffee?”

Sean scowled, but he had no answer.

Gareth sighed. “You and Grace could have something special here, if you’d give it a chance. Anyone can see that just by looking at the two of you. Do you really want to lose that—to lose
her
—because you’re afraid of making a mistake?”

Honestly? Sean didn’t know what to think anymore, beyond wishing Gareth and his questions and theories would just go away and stop making his brain hurt. He scowled and tried to regroup. To explain what had made such perfect sense to him when Grace had put it forward.

“Grace doesn’t want me getting involved with her because I feel sorry for her and the kids,” he said, “or to get involved with me out of desperation.”

His cousin’s eyebrow rose. “And you’re okay with that as an excuse?”

“Her life has been turned inside out, Gareth. Sane people don’t fall in love and commit under those circumstances.”

Gareth snorted and set a wriggling Annabelle down as the others made their way back, causing the dock to buck and shift beneath their feet.

“I have news for you, McKittrick,” he said, taking the toddler’s hand in his so she didn’t topple. “Sane people don’t fall in love, period. The insanity’s what makes it so much fun.”

“Grace,” Luc’s voice said in her ear.

“When?” she asked. It was her only question, because she didn’t need to hear him say it. She already knew. Had known the moment the cell phone rang in her pocket. She stared at the fingers gripping the counter beside her. Fingers that were attached to her, but weren’t hers. The world had moved off to a distance, leaving her alone. There, but not there. Living, but not alive. Breathing and talking, but not thinking. Not feeling. Not capable.

“About a half hour ago,” said Luc.

While I was talking and laughing and not thinking about her.
Grace examined the knowledge, but she didn’t know what to do with it, and so she set it aside until later.

“Was anyone with her?”

“A lot of people. She coded and they tried to revive her, but…” Luc’s voice trailed off.

“She would have hated that. All the fuss.”

“I know.”

She closed her eyes. “Are you there now?”

“I’m on my way over to take care of…whatever needs taking care of.”

She nodded. Remembered he couldn’t see her. Found more words. “Good,” she said. “Thank you. And thank the nurses and doctors for me, will you? For looking after her.”

“Of course.”

“And once everything is arranged, you’ll let me know when?”

Luc didn’t answer.

Grace checked the cell display. It still showed a connection, and she put the phone back to her ear. “Luc?”

Her friend sighed. “Grace, Barry was seen hanging around the hospital a couple of days ago. They think he’s watching for you.”

“I’m not missing Julianne’s funeral, Luc.”

“Sweetie, you could be putting yourself and the kids at—”

“She’s my sister,” Grace said, and just like that, the feeling returned. It slipped into her core, paused as if surprised to find itself there, and then shattered into a million shards of glass. A million razored edges. A million reflections of all that she had lost. All
they
had lost.

The kids.

Oh, dear God. The kids.

Her knees folded and she sank to the floor, her back against the cupboard and fingers tangled in her hair.

She would have to tell the kids.

She gulped for air.

“Grace? Sweetie, are you okay?” Luc’s voice held equal parts sharp concern and compassion. “Look, I’m going to give McKittrick a call and have him come and give you a—”

“No.” She rested her head on her drawn-up knees. “I’m fine, Luc. Really. And I’m at Sean’s now.”

“Oh. Then he knows?”

“He knows.”

“Good. I’m glad. Let him help? Please? Or I can come out—”

“I’ll let him help,” she whispered. “Just stay there. Stay and look after Juli for me?”

“You know I will,” he promised gruffly. “But I’ll take a drive out tomorrow to see you, all right?”

“All right. I’d like that.”

“Good. And about the funeral, Grace…”

Outside the kitchen window, multiple pairs of feet thundered up the stairs onto the wooden deck. Grace picked out the voices that belonged to her. Sage. Lilliane. Josh. Annabelle. All hers now. All without a mother.

All still vulnerable because of their father.

She tightened her grip on her hair. Squeezed her eyes shut. Breathed past the shards. “I’ll stay away,” she said. “But I still want to know.”

Without waiting for a response, she lowered the phone from her ear and disconnected the call. Then, with a mighty effort, she packaged up her grief until later. Until after the kids were in bed, because they came first. They had to come first.

She opened her eyes.

Gwyn silently extended a hand to her, pulled her to her feet, and drew her into a fierce hug.

“I’m so, so sorry, Grace,” she whispered.

Grace let herself be cradled, borrowing the other woman’s strength to shore up her own. “I don’t know how to tell them,” she said, her voice breaking. “I don’t know what to say.”

Gwyn drew back as the glass door in the dining room slid open. Her eyes shining with tears, she gripped Grace’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’ll find the words,” she said. “I promise.”

Then she turned to the arriving horde. “All right, listen up. My three—leave your shoes on and head back outside to the van. It’s time for home.”

Half a dozen voices lifted in protest. A single deep one cut across them all.

“Grace?” said Sean.

She met his gaze, dark with concern, clouded by questions. Clamping down on both lips to stay the tears that threatened, she shook her head in answer. Sean inhaled sharply. One at a time, the babble of children’s voices died away as the atmosphere in the cottage shifted. Even Annabelle became quiet, leaning her head on Gareth’s shoulder and watching with wide blue eyes.

Gareth cleared his throat. “You heard your mother, kids. It’s late. Say goodbye to everyone, and then out to the van, please.”

The two families exchanged quiet goodbyes and hugs. Katie, Nicholas, and Maggie included Grace in their rounds, and Nicholas paused to look up at her solemnly.

“It was nice meeting you,” he said.

Grace couldn’t help but smile. “It was nice meeting you, too, Nicholas.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the other adults, then back at her. “Are you
sure
you and Uncle Sean aren’t getting—”

“Nicholas!”

The boy jumped at the sharp tone in his mother’s voice. Without another word, he disappeared out the door.

Gwyn was next in line for a hug, pressing a piece of paper into Grace’s hand as she ended the embrace.

“My phone number,” she said. “Call me if you have questions about”—she glanced toward Grace’s bunch—“well, anything. Or if you need to talk or you just want to get together with the kids.”

“They’d like that,” Grace murmured. “Thank you.”

Gwyn hesitated, seeming at a loss for more words. Then she hugged her again. “Call me,” she said again.

Then she and Gareth and their family were gone, and the cottage fell silent, and Grace faced the kids—
her
kids—and searched for the words to tell them their mother wouldn’t be waking up after all.

Not ever.

Sean met Grace in the hallway outside the bedrooms as she pulled shut the door to Josh’s room and he did the same to the girls’ door.

“How is he?” he whispered.

“Better than I thought he’d be, but that’s probably because he’s trying so hard.” She nodded at Sage and Lilliane’s room. “What about the girls?”

“Sleeping. Lilly sang Sage to sleep and then nodded off within seconds.” Sean swallowed at the remembered image of older sister comforting younger while he’d looked on, hurting for them but helpless to make things better. He cleared his throat. “And you? How are you holding up?”

Grace leaned against the wall. “I’m okay, thanks. I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in yet.” She shook her head. “A part of me expected it—I knew she couldn’t survive what Barry did to her—but I still hoped. Still thought she might be one of those miracles you hear about.”

The helplessness returned, tightening around his chest.

“I’m so, so sorry, Grace.”

“Me, too.” Grace sighed, a tremulous whisper of sound. “Thank you for your help, by the way. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You would have managed the same way you’ve managed all along,” he told her gruffly. “Because that’s what you do.”

She laughed without humor. “I suppose. But you made it easier, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He tipped his head toward the living room. “I made tea. I thought you could use a cup.”