Grounded (28 page)

“I
know
. I get it.” Grace heard the sharp note in her voice. She tried to soften her tone. “Maybe we can brainstorm when you come to work—is tomorrow good for you?”

Oreo was down to his last can of cat food—not to mention that “Mother Hubbard's cupboards” and the refrigerator were pretty bare too. Grace made a run after lunch to the grocery store, plus
did a couple other errands she'd put off. But she kept a wary eye on the time just in case Estelle Bentley made good on her declaration to come over after work. Sure enough, Grace had no sooner put the groceries away than the doorbell rang.

Six minutes after four.

“Sorry to be late,” Estelle puffed, sinking down onto the couch. “But I'm still gettin' used to Harry workin' again—he was always the one who got DaShawn started on his homework after school. I had to make sure the boy applied the seat of his pants to the seat of the chair before I could leave—not easy after he got used to lazin' around all last week durin' spring break.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Would've asked his dad to supervise, but Rodney's out too—lookin' for work, hopefully.”

“Would you—” Grace started, intending to offer some tea, but was taken aback when Estelle started to laugh.

“Would you look at me?” The laugh grew louder. “I forgot to take off my apron when I left Manna House and not a soul said anything to me about it!” She patted the large white apron. “An' I had seven women sewin' tote bags an' learnin' to read patterns for two hours. Even DaShawn said nary a word when he got home from school.” Her dark eyes crinkled. “An' how long were
you
gonna sit there with me all decked out in this here apron without telling me?”

Grace grinned. “I don't know. I didn't really think anything of it. My mom used to wear an apron all day around the house.”

Estelle rolled her eyes upward and patted the top of her head. “Well, at least I took off that ugly net cap I gotta wear when I'm cookin' at the shelter. Now, you better tell me first thing if you ever see me comin' home wearin'
that
.”

Her new neighbor followed Grace into the kitchen, chatting away as Grace made a pot of herbal tea and prepared a tray with a plate of almond-and-chocolate biscotti. Once they'd settled back into the living room with their teacups, Estelle said, “Well, I came to pray and I don't want to take too much of your time.” She set her cup down and pulled a worn Bible out of her tote bag. “Came across
this prayer the apostle Paul prayed for his friends in Colossae, and it seemed a good place to start. Do you mind?”

“No, no, of course not.” Well, this was different than what she'd expected.

“Well, Lord,” Estelle began, her eyes scanning the open page in her Bible, “I want to thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, as we pray for my dear sister here, ever since I heard of her faith in Christ Jesus and of her love for all the saints—especially her love for the young people who attend her concerts. Her faith and love spring from the hope stored up for her in heaven, ever since she first heard the truth of the Good News. This same Good News is going out all over the world and bearing fruit everywhere by changing lives, just as it changed her life from the day she first heard and understood the truth about God's wonderful grace …”

She was reading from her Bible, but paraphrasing it as a personal prayer—for her. Grace felt a little uncomfortable about all the spiritual things Estelle was saying about her, but she closed her eyes and listened to the rich voice, which was becoming more passionate.

“… For this reason we want to keep on prayin' for her, askin' that she would be filled with the knowledge of your will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding—especially, Lord, as she seeks the focus you want for this upcoming concert tour. And we pray that she would walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing you, bein' fruitful in every good work and growin' in the knowledge of God, strengthened with all might”—Estelle's voice rose, almost as if she was pleading with the Almighty—“accordin' to your glorious power. Give her great endurance and patience, joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified her to share in the inheritance of the saints …”

Estelle's voice dropped and the powerful words hung in the quiet room. Grace hardly dared to breathe. The silence stretched for a long moment and she opened her eyes. But Estelle's eyes were now closed, her face tilted upward, glistening with perspiration, and she was moving her lips as if praying silently.

Grace waited, the words of the prayer still ringing in her ears.
“… that she would be filled with the knowledge of your will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding …”

Finally Estelle opened her eyes and smiled. “Amen!”

Grace blew out the breath she'd been holding in. “Whew. Where did you find that prayer?” Her question came out in a squeak.

“First chapter of Colossians. Look it up and pray it over yourself!” Estelle reached for her tea and munched on another biscotti. “
Mmm
, these are good.”

But a rumble of thunder in the distance caused her to rise. “Better get myself home before that thunder chases rain this way. You know spring is really here when these late-afternoon showers roll through most every day.” Giving Grace a warm hug, she opened the door, and then paused. “Bible says to ‘pray without ceasing.' I'm going to go see Mother Bentley tomorrow after work, but … how 'bout Wednesday, same time? I'm excited to see what God's gonna do for this tour of yours.” She laughed and waved a hand in the air as she headed out the door. “Halle
lu
jah!”

Grace wasn't sure she deserved most of what her neighbor had prayed. Thanking God for her “love for the saints”? Implying that she was “bearing fruit” and “changing lives”? But she did want to read the last part of the prayer—the part about asking God for “wisdom and spiritual understanding.” She needed that for sure! And the part about endurance and patience … she needed that, too.

She got out her old King James Bible and read Colossians, chapter one, and then compared it to her modern English translation. Did she dare pray this prayer for herself?

A guitar strum interrupted her musing. She picked up her cell and looked at the caller ID.
Roger
. She was glad she'd waited. “Hello?”

“Grace? So glad I got you! Do you have a few minutes to talk?

She felt wary. “Maybe a few. Depends.”

“Actually, I called to see if I could take you to dinner. Are you in town this weekend?”

Dinner?
“Roger, I don't think that's appro—”

“I know, I know how it sounds. But please, just give me a chance here. I actually called to apologize for ending the engagement so abruptly without giving us time to talk—you know, really talk—about the stresses in our relationship. I'd … I'd like to make that up to you.”

She sighed audibly. “It's a little late, Roger. What's done is done. Time for us both to move on, don't you think?”

“Well, that's, uh, that's what I'd like to talk about. I never gave you a chance—never gave
us
a chance—to even see if we could work on the problems we were experiencing.”

Oreo jumped on her lap, but Grace pushed him off. “Not ‘we,' Roger. You. I didn't know we were having any problems.” She felt her throat go tight.

“I know. I … I wasn't forthright with you. But I'd like to back up and do things right. I was hasty and I see that now. Maybe … maybe things didn't have to end up this way. But even if they do, I'd like to make amends for how I handled things. At the very least, I'd really like to remain friends. We could go out to dinner just as friends, couldn't we?”

Grace was silent. She was tempted to hang up. Let it go. Let
him
go.

But was that the right thing to do? Even if their relationship was over, if he wanted to apologize for how he'd ended it, shouldn't she give him a chance? If she was going to move on, it might be good to lay it all to rest, not hold on to any anger and bitterness …

“Grace? I know I'm asking a lot. But I don't really want to do this over the phone. That was my mistake in the first place. Please … let me take you to dinner. Are you free Friday or Saturday?”

She hesitated. He sounded genuinely contrite. But no way was she going to let this hang over her head for five days. She'd be a basket case by the time the weekend rolled around.

“Wednesday,” she said. “You can pick me up at seven.”

“You agreed to do … what?” Samantha's mouth hung open, staring at Grace as if she'd sprouted pointy ears and announced she'd just arrived from the planet Vulcan. “Dinner with Roger?!”

Grace's assistant had shown up at nine o'clock the next day, looking rejuvenated after her day off—wearing a tunic in a black, red, and tan African print over tan slacks, her perky twists redone, sporting a fresh manicure of deep red polish with white feathery designs on her middle fingernails—but “ready to work,” she'd said. Pouring a cup of coffee, Sam said she was waiting for a callback confirming the tour bus from Seattle to LA she'd lined up months ago, and she'd asked Bongo Booking to e-mail her any updated info for the ten-day tour schedule.

“So, do you want me to answer fan mail first, or do you want help putting together a song list for the upcoming tour? Using ‘Grace Meredith in Concert' as your promo title leaves you lots of room—you could even have several different sets with a different focus. Whatever we do, just keep in mind the band needs—”

“Stop.”

Sam had blinked in surprise. “Okay. Sorry. I was just wanting to know—”

“Just stop a minute. I need to tell you something. But you should probably sit down.” Sam sat. Taking a deep breath, Grace told her about Roger's call last night, and that she'd agreed to go out to dinner with him Wednesday night.

“Dinner. With Roger,” Sam said again, plopping back against the couch cushions bowled over. “You're kidding, right?”

Grace shook her head.

“Okaaay, not kidding.” Sam sat forward again, elbows on the knees of her slacks. “Grace, I know it isn't any of my business, but … do you know what you're doing? I don't want you to get hurt again. Why is he doing this? Did he give you a reason?”

Grace, sitting in the opposite chair, nodded. “He said he wanted to apologize for how he ended the engagement, without even giving us a chance to work on the problems in the relationship.”

“But—”

“I know. I told him that was all very nice—well, I didn't say it like that—but what's done is done, it's over, we both needed to move on.”

“Exactly. Good for you.”

“But he said he wanted to back up and do things right. Said he wanted to make amends, apologize for how he'd handled things, and be able to talk about what went wrong in the relationship—”

Sam snorted. “He probably had his eye on somebody else while you were gone, but it didn't work out, so now he's crawling back to you.”

“Sam! You don't know that!” Though the thought had flitted through Grace's mind a time or two.

Sam put up her hands, palms out. “Sorry. I'm just sayin'.”

“Well, don't say. Unless you know. I don't think he'd do that.” Grace took a deep breath. “Anyway, he said at the very least he wants us to be able to be friends. And to be honest, Sam, I've wished that too. At least wished I didn't still feel so mad at him for how it happened. Maybe if he apologizes—he did seem very sincere, contrite even—I could forgive him and move on. That'd be better than just stuffing it down, like I've been doing. Right?”

Sam looked at her for a long moment. “Does he want you to give him another chance?”

“I—” Grace hesitated. Roger
had
said maybe things didn't have to end up this way. She licked her dry lips. “I'm not sure.”