Grace Doll (16 page)

He moves around the bed and leans his back against the opposite wall.

Shame on you. Shame
. I can’t look at him if I’m going to put a stop to these feelings, so I turn my attention to Oscar—where it should be.

A million memories stream in my head, captured like a film reel of my life with Oscar. How we started out as employee and employer. Years of traveling, living together that took us from a working relationship through the threshold of friendship, across cracked canyons of feeling like siblings, to partnership, and finally, to the gratifying vista of treasured companions.

“Oscar told me he was Grace’s assistant,” Brenden breaks my train of thought.

“Yes.”

“He stayed by her all those years?” The lilt of amazement lines Brenden’s voice.

I nod.

“Were they ever a couple?”

“No.”

“So, did he have anything to do with the fire? Or was that all Dad’s doing?”

“Jonathan planned it, but Oscar assisted.”

“How did Solomon find out she survived?”

“Her bones weren’t found so Rufus refused to believe she was dead.” Queasy, I release Oscar’s hand and sit back in the chair. I detest regurgitating that night, but my past has caught up with me yet again. Avoiding the inevitable won’t do anymore, not with Jonathan gone and Oscar soon to follow him. “Tell me about what happened when Rufus contacted you?”

Brenden shifts his feet, folds his arms over his chest. “The funeral hadn’t been over for an hour when he sicced one of his suits on me, asking if I’d come to his house and meet him.”

A chill shivers over my skin. Discussing Rufus is so distasteful, every word must be carefully considered before it passes my lips.“Did you meet with him?”

He shifts again, like he’s uncomfortable. “I had to, to get him off my back. He had me followed, broke into Dad’s house, ransacked my room. He’s ruthless.”

“Why would he ransack your room?”

“I don’t know, except maybe he knows about the safe deposit box.”

“Oh no.”

“The man’s out of his mind. But I’m positive it was him. Who else could it be?”

Bile curdles in my stomach. The room’s spinning, so I close my eyes.
No one owns you.
I’d repeated these words on an endless loop in the early years after my escape, hoping to convince myself that I was safe. My life was mine now, not Rufus’. As decades passed, threats of discovery diminished and so did my fears.

“It doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” Brenden says. “He can’t do anything. Grace is gone.”

I steady my roiling stomach by concentrating on Oscar. Brenden is right. Oscar and Jonathan and I rarely spoke of Rufus. If we did, it was to encourage me to take my life wherever I wanted without regard to Rufus’ ghost.

“I’m sorry.” Contrition tightens Brenden’s face. “I feel like this is my fault. Like somehow I brought that douche bag back into your life.”

Douche bag?
The vulgar expression fits Rufus perfectly. “You’re right. He can’t do anything to her now.”

* * *

I can’t convince myself that I haven’t done something wrong here. I don’t know what, exactly, but the look on Katherine’s face makes my gut ache. How much had Grace and Oscar told her about Solomon?

“This is kind of out there, but maybe if you call Solomon yourself and tell him she passed away he’ll back off,” I suggest. “He can’t refute her granddaughter—or daughter’s— claim.”

Her face drains of color—and I think I see a flash of fear in her eyes. But then it’s gone.

“Yes,” she swallows. “That’s something to consider.”

“I mean, when you’re ready. I know it’s still hard to talk about. She only passed away days ago. And…never mind.”

“No, what?”

She probably has no idea the man has a shrine to Grace Doll in his house.“Who knows what he’s going to say. That’s a conversation you don’t need right now.”

She studies me with those hypnotic eyes. My knees feel like they’re going to cave. My heart, hell, my whole chest feels cut open when she looks at me.

In the depths of my pocket, my cell phone vibrates. Again. I’d bet my soul the devil is calling. The buzz catches her attention. Her gaze traps mine in question.

“I’ll be back in a second,” I say even though I don’t want to leave. She looks small and vulnerable in the chair, the room’s sterile whiteness reflecting off her skin. I want to think she’d like me to stay—that I offer comfort and support. That she wants me.

My cell phone vibrates again. In the main area of the ER, doctors and nurses stand in clusters, talking. I quickly cross to the exit. Anger starts to bubble. I pull out the phone. Eighteen calls from Solomon.

Solomon picks up on the first ring. “Brenden—”

“Get off my back.”

“Five thousand dollars.”

“I said I don’t want your money.” I pace. The image of Katherine in the chair smacks me dead center in my heart. She deserves to mourn Grace without this loser crawling all over her. “Grace is dead.”

“I believe otherwise.”

“Believe what you want, but the truth is she died—really died—two weeks ago.”

A dense silence fills my ear. From the TV hanging on the wall of the ER, retro music spins from speakers. I know the music. A black and white movie starts.
Paradise Found
. A Rufus B. Solomon Production.

Starring Grace Doll.

“Where are you getting your information?” Rufus’ voice is lower, quieter.

On the screen, actors’ names scroll. Titles appear over a black and white image of a cottage protected by snow-covered trees, like a Christmas card.

My mouth opens, but I can’t speak the irony of the moment is bizarre. I laugh.

“Are you laughing at my expense?” Solomon barks in my ear.

“Not everything is about you, douche bag. Her granddaughter told me. She’s gone. It’s over. Leave it alone and don’t call me again.” I disconnect the phone.

I can’t stop staring at the screen. Maybe it’s because I’m here, doing this for Dad, but thrill surges through my veins anticipating seeing Grace. I’ve watched
Paradise Found
. The movie plays annually around Christmas—its New Year’s story of two lovers starting over considered a classic.

Grace’s face fills the frame. I see her differently now. In my mind, Katherine’s image layers over the black and white picture feeding my brain. When Grace begins talking, it’s Katherine’s voice in my head.

Then I feel that compelling force. She stands across the room, her eyes on the television. Her face is blank. Does it hurt seeing Grace Doll? Does she hate herself for despising someone who never gave her what she wanted? Someone she shares a face with?

I cross to her. Her eyes remain fastened to the screen in cold antipathy. “I came out here and it was on. Ironic timing, right?”

Her gaze slides to mine. Seconds clip by. Grace’s lyrical voice in the background makes the moment surreal, me looking at Katherine, hearing Grace’s voice. She eyes me as if she’s waiting for me to say something more.

“Is everything okay with Oscar?” I ask.

“He’s resting. I need a breath of air.”

Like a robot, she turns and starts walking away toward two double doors that open automatically when she nears. Urged by a feeling I can’t identify, I follow her into a long, sterile gray hall that smells like rubbing alcohol and paper towels. We walk in silence. My mind flashes one of multiple moments just like this, when I’d walked with Mom—hooked to her IV—down the long, yellow-lit halls of Cedars Sinai.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t apologize,” she snaps. “It’s not your fault that movie was playing.”

Her profile is rigid—like her mechanical walk. She looks straight ahead. “It must be hard, seeing her all the time. She was such a huge star.”

“I don’t see her all the time. I don’t allow myself to.”

“How can you avoid it? She’s still on the cover of tabloids now and then, and her movies are always on television and the internet.”

“I don’t read garbage periodicals. I don’t watch her films on the television. And I’m not on the internet.”

I come to an abrupt halt. She continues walking. “You’re not online—ever?”

“Never.”

By now she’s a dozen feet ahead of me so I jog to catch up. “But you have a computer.”

“No, I don’t.”

“How can you not have a computer?”

She stops and shoots me a stare as if to say,
that’s the stupidest question I’ve been asked
. Chin lifted, she continues down the hall. Now that I feel like a complete idiot, I wonder at the idea of continuing after her. My cell phone vibrates in the pocket of Oscar’s coat. I pull it out. Judy.

Maybe Katherine wants to be alone. I hang back, and take the call. “What?”

“Where are you?”

“Out of town.”

“Out of town? How? You’re a child. Children don’t go out of town alone. Your father just died!”

“What does that have to do with anything? And, I’m eighteen. You remind me every time you tell me to get a job and get out. I’m out. Be happy.”

“Do you have a job?”

My eyes follow Katherine. “In a manner of speaking, yeah, I do.”

“You either do or you don’t. Which is it?”

“The beauty of being out of the house is I don’t have to answer to you.”

“How do I know you’re not going to get into any trouble?”

“You don’t.” I laugh, enjoying that I’m ruffling her.

“Come get your stuff out of my house if you’re so independent.”

Annoyed, I click off the phone. Katherine’s turning left now, following the direction of the passageway. I break into a run to catch up. My cell phone vibrates again.

Keeping her in my sights I slow. Soloman. The man texts? Or has he dictated his message to one of his droids?

Grace had a hysterectomy.

I come to a halt. Stare at the words.

I reply: You’re wrong. I’ve met her granddaughter.

Where are you?

I lift my gaze. She’s approaching another set of closed double doors. A sign says
restricted entry.
She stops and turns, pressing her back against the doors with sigh of exasperation.

Where does she want to go?

Who is she?

Queasiness trickles in my stomach. Phone in hand, I continue toward her. Questions fumble in my head.
Grace had a hysterectomy.
What exactly is he implying? He’s losing his mind.

As I approach, her eyes flick to mine and hold.

Why would Solomon make up an outrageous story? Without speaking, we walk back the way we came until we’re again in the ER lobby. We enter the area to the sound of her voice—and my brain skips. It’s Katherine standing next to me. Grace is on the TV.

She glances at the television. Her eyes widen, her lips part as if she’s horrified at what she sees onscreen.

Chapter Nineteen

~Grace~

My voice, like a macabre soundtrack, fills my body with revulsion. My eyes are drawn to the scene playing out on the television even with the horrific act that took place: the cozy living room, the couch where Rufus raped me in front of Jonathan. The photographs.

Bile surges up my throat.

I run to the restroom and vomit. Cold shakes rattle my body from head to toe. Sweat coats my skin. An old rage tears through the moral decency I’ve worked hard to restore and preserve.
Rufus.
Humiliation and helplessness reappear—emotions I thought I’d inoculated myself against decades ago.

No one owns you.

I rise from the toilet, flush it and scrub my hands, face and mouth with cool water from the sink, facing my reflection. Nothing’s changed.

A tap on the door sends my heart into a round of flurries.

The door cracks open. Brenden peers in. “Are you okay?”

I nod, unable to take my gaze from him because just looking at him lifts my soul. Brenden holds the door open for me and I exit the bathroom and, passing him, sensual energy seeps into the air, tempting me. As difficult as it is to think of my past, I’m not going to let Rufus have one more second of control over my life. I’m not the girl he took from her family. I’m not his doll.

“You sure you’re okay?” Brenden’s stays close to my side, his eyes discerning.

“I need to speak with Oscar privately.” It takes every ounce of control I can muster to ignore the sensations begging me to explore new hope with Brenden. If he wasn’t Jonathan’s son, I’d have dismissed him by now, resigned to the life I’ve lead. But my attraction to him soars through my every breath. Light-headed, I fumble through the ER and pound on the door for entrance. Finally, the nurse buzzes me through.