Grounded (13 page)

He turned. Dressed in the same clothes as last night: jeans, denim shirt, and navy fleece vest. She had no idea what he'd slept in, since she hadn't had anything to offer him—

Don't go there, Grace
.

“Good morning yourself.” He tipped his head toward the window. “Something's going on across the street, but can't figure out what. Did you hear the siren a while ago?”

“No.” Curious, Grace joined him at the picture window, suddenly conscious that she hadn't brushed her hair or put on any makeup.
“Just some shouting and someone gunning their engine.” She peered through the window. It had stopped snowing and blowing, but a foot of fresh snow covered everything.
Everything
—lawns, sidewalks, roofs, cars, the street. No city snowplows had come up Beecham yet—

“Whoa!” Jeff nearly spilled his coffee. “What is that guy doing?”

“Where … oh!”

From the direction of the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, she again heard an engine being gunned, and suddenly a large green pickup truck came roaring down the sidewalk across the street, plow affixed to the front, sending a large spray of snow over parked cars on that side. She gasped. “He's … he's plowing the sidewalk!”

Jeff snorted. “You think? Using a plow for a sidewalk is like cleaning your teeth with a rototiller. Uh-oh … there go a couple of bushes. Who
is
that guy? Do you recognize the truck?”

She nodded. “It belongs to the guy directly across the street—Middle Eastern family, Iraqi maybe? He's got a yard service.” Her eyes followed the truck as it growled its way down the block, and then focused her gaze across the street at the two-flat one building over. A woman in a headscarf that showed only her face stood in the open front door, looking anxiously after the truck that was now halfway down the block. “That's his wife, I think, over there at the two-flat—except that's not their house. The two-flat belongs to an elderly lady …” Grace frowned. “Wonder what that's about?”

A few other people came out of their houses at the commotion. One man hollered after the big pickup, throwing up his hands at his ruined bushes. For half a minute there was a lull as the truck turned around down by the corner … and then it roared back up the sidewalk again, clearing a wide path. People jumped. “Is the guy nuts?” Jeff asked—but at that moment they both heard intermittent blasts from a siren and saw an ambulance following behind the truck, skidding to a stop in front of the two-flat.

Grace caught her breath. “Oh no! Must be the old lady.” Almost forgetting Jeff standing beside her, she watched as paramedics jumped out of the ambulance, one disappearing inside the
house accompanied by the woman in the headscarf as two others unloaded a gurney. They had trouble wheeling it up the unshoveled walk and finally picked it up, hefting it on their shoulders as they waded through the deep snow.

“Hey, where's your shovel?” Jeff said suddenly. He grabbed his gym shoes, now dry and sitting by the front door, stuffed his feet inside, and reached for his jacket. “They're going to need that walk shoveled when they come out.”

A few minutes later, Grace watched as Jeff slogged his way across the street, red scarf wrapped around his ears, shovel in hand. Another man—it was hard to tell who it was all bundled up in a parka—also showed up with a shovel, and set to work. Then the driver of the pickup joined them. They'd only cleared the steps and a few feet of snow on the front walk of the two-flat when the paramedics came out the front door again, someone swathed in blankets now strapped to the gurney, carefully lifting their burden down the front steps. Jeff and the other men dropped their shovels and, together with the three paramedics, helped lift the gurney up over the snow to the area cleared by the pickup plow where the ambulance was idling.

Once the gurney was loaded, the back doors of the ambulance slammed shut, and the ambulance began backing up the way it had come, the siren pumping short warnings as it slowly disappeared from Grace's sight. After a minute or two, she heard the regular siren begin to wail and then slowly fade into the distance.

She breathed a quickie prayer they'd found Mrs. What's-her-name in time—though she had a momentary doubt God would pay any attention to her prayer, since she'd basically gone AWOL in the prayer department. She watched at the window as Jeff stood talking to the other two men a few minutes; then he shook their hands and started back toward the house.

Grace opened the door before Jeff had time to ring the doorbell, and he came in stomping snow off his gym shoes and brushing off his jeans. “Looks like it's their turn for another go in the dryer,” she said wryly.

“No, it's okay—but this
is
the last time I come to Chicago without a pair of mukluks unless it's July.” He pried off his wet gym shoes and flopped onto the couch, frowning. He seemed distracted.

“Did you find out what happened?” Grace curled up on the nearby chair.

“Yeah. The old lady fell down the basement stairs, broke her hip or something.”

Grace gasped. “Oh, the poor thing! This morning?”

Jeff shrugged. “They're not sure when. Guess she was pretty incoherent when they found her.”

“Found her? Who?”

“Not sure I got the whole story, but the guy who plowed the sidewalk so the ambulance could get through—the end of your street is still blocked by cars—said his son was throwing snowballs this morning and broke one of the basement windows in the two-flat, That's when they heard the old lady calling for help down there.”

Grace was wide-eyed. “You're kidding. What if … oh, dear.” The old lady lived alone. What if the kid hadn't thrown that snowball? She shuddered. It was too awful to think about.

“Krakowski,” he said.

“What?”

“The old lady's name. That's what Farid said.”

Krakowski …
Didn't even sound familiar. “And the other man who helped?” she asked to cover the awkwardness she felt. These were her neighbors, after all.

“Jared Jasper he said.” Jeff jerked a thumb. “Came from the house next door. He was supposed to be at work at O'Hare—air traffic controller he said—but the airport's shut down. Good thing, I guess. He couldn't get his car out either.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Must be the twins' father.”

Jeff's phone rang. He dug it out of his jeans pocket. “Newman here … Yeah, yeah, that's great … Thanks. I'll be there.” He clicked off and grinned at Grace. “North Side Towing. Said they'd be here in the next thirty to sixty minutes. Guess the police called them to clear the cars blocking the intersection. Said they'd get me out too.”
He stood and began gathering his things. “I will finally be out of your hair.”

Grace felt a twinge of disappointment. Yesterday she hadn't wanted him to stay—but now his leaving felt too soon. She'd hoped for a little more time to visit, but she'd overslept, and then gotten distracted by the drama across the street. “It's been no trouble, really! But you need some breakfast before you go. Sorry it's so late.” She headed for the kitchen. “Scrambled okay?”

“Sure,” he called after her. “But don't go to any extra work for me. You've already fed me twice. Three times if you count all that popcorn we ate last night.”

Pouring a cup of the ready-made coffee, Grace grinned to herself as she whisked eggs, poured two glasses of orange juice, and stuck two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster.
All that popcorn
. And hot chocolate. And peanuts. Munching away to break the intensity of a cutthroat Scrabble game. She'd won—but just barely. And he'd demanded a rematch. Which she also won, but again just barely.

But it was fun. She'd laughed a lot. The Scrabble and easy conversation had taken her mind off her laryngitis and the awful experience at the airport and the canceled concerts … and even her broken engagement.

“Breakfast is ready!” she called a few minutes later, dishing up the eggs.

“On the phone. Be there in a minute!”

It was more like three minutes, but Jeff finally slipped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Sorry. I was talking to the office, asking if they wanted to reschedule my meeting with the client in Nashville, or if I should just come back to Denver. Found out they'd already rescheduled with the client for tomorrow, so guess I go out to the airport and take the first standby to Nashville I can get.”

She passed him the eggs. “Ouch. My guess is O'Hare will be pretty backed up after all the canceled flights yesterday. You might have a long wait…. Um, do you want to ‘do the honors' again?”

“Sure.” He bowed his head and prayed another brief and simple blessing over the food, though this time he added, “… and bless Grace Meredith for her hospitality above and beyond the call of duty. Restore her voice to full health, so she can continue to bless others with her gift of music. Amen.”

She looked up and smiled at him. “Thank you. That was nice.”

“Meant it. You've been a trouper.”

“You're the one who's been inconvenienced.”

He chuckled. “Don't feel too sorry for me. Cathy—she's our receptionist at Bongo, real nice girl, got married last year—said her cousin is coming to town in a couple days and she's lining up a weekend of skiing for the four of us. Cathy thinks I need to redeem my snow experience in Chicago.”

Grace looked down at her plate.
A weekend of skiing … with “Cathy's cousin.”
Jeff forked in a mouthful of scrambles. “Never been skiing. That was next on my bucket list, now that I live in Colorado. Something to look forward to when I get back. Though”—he made a face—“not my choice for a blind date. I'm likely to make a fool of myself on the slopes. Better pray for me …
mmm
, these eggs are good. Mind if I finish up the rest in that bowl?”

Feeling flustered, Grace handed him the serving bowl, but got up abruptly to stick another couple slices of bread into the toaster, her back to Jeff.

She should have just said, “Sure, I'll pray for you,” but something stopped her. Something a little bit like jealousy.

That didn't make any sense at all.

She buttered the toast and handed one to Jeff, hoping he couldn't see through her forced smile.

Grace sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at nothing in particular while Oreo kneaded his paws on her lap and purred up a storm, as if saying,
“Finally! Some attention!”
But if Oreo was getting any attention, it was by default. Grace's mind was elsewhere.

Good thing Jeff Newman was gone. Having a houseguest made her talk too much, and the doctor said she was supposed to avoid all “nonessential talking”—a directive she'd basically ignored while he was here. What else did the doc say? … Oh yeah, drink lots of liquids and use a vaporizer at night—which she'd also forgotten after their late-evening battle-of-the-Scrabble-board.

And another thing. She was glad he'd left because … she felt confused. Why did she have such a reaction to him saying he was going skiing with a date this weekend? He was just her agent, for pity's sake! The guy was single, good-looking, personable—so of course he'd be dating. It was no business of hers.

Except that she'd enjoyed being with him. A lot. Enjoyed being in the company of a guy who seemed to like and respect her, which was no small thing in light of her recent experiences.

“Grow up, Grace!” she muttered aloud. “You're acting like a fickle teenager.” She knew as well as anybody that when a girl gets rejected, it's tempting to fall for the first guy who gives her a second glance, trying to prove she's still desirable. She'd counseled a teen or two on that very subject. The break with Roger was barely a week old. Deep down she hadn't given up hope that they might find a way back to each other.

Maybe it was a bad idea for Newman to be her agent—except she'd already told him last night the switch was fine with her, and she was looking forward to working with him. To change her mind now would raise awkward questions—like
why
. So she was stuck with Jeff Newman. It was unlikely she'd see him again anytime soon, and even more unlikely he'd ever get stranded at her house again in a snowstorm. Soon, their unusual, yet entirely enjoyable, experience would sort itself out into a proper businesslike arrangement—

Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong!

The front doorbell rang urgently. For two panicky seconds, Grace's heart felt as if it stopped altogether. She hadn't actually gone out to check if his rental car was gone, but Jeff had left at least an hour ago. Surely he wasn't back
again
.

Dumping Oreo off her lap, she tiptoed to the door and peeked through the security peephole. A young brown face surrounded by the fake fur of a parka hood bounced on the other side of the door.

Her heart quit racing.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Hey there, Tavis,” came out in a croak. Ugh. She definitely needed to rest her voice. She was supposed to see the voice therapist tomorrow.

“Hi, Miz Meredith. You want your walk shoveled?” The boy pointed to the shovel that Jeff had left leaning beside the front door. “Or is that guy who's stayin' with you gonna do it? He an' my dad were shovelin' over at the old lady's house, but just thought I'd ask.”

Grace cringed. What if it got out that a man had stayed overnight at her house? Gossip like that sometimes went viral … her career would be toast! What if—

Calm down, Grace. Nip it in the bud
. “Oh, no, he's gone. My agent was here for a business meeting and got stranded by the storm. But the towing company got his car out and he's on his way to Nashville.”
Stop it, Grace
. The kid didn't need to know all that. She willed a smile. “So, yes, I definitely need my walk shoveled, if you're up to it.”