Grounded (34 page)

“Uh-huh. We're calling it Just Grace.”

“Ah. That's clever. Just Grace … just you in concert.”

“Well, yes, but it has double meaning, because I'm focusing on songs about God's grace.”

“Oh. Of course. Well, that's good. But kind of a departure from your previous theme isn't it? What brought this about?”

Grace hesitated. “Just … a lot has happened since my last tour, Roger—you know that. I think this theme reflects my spiritual journey right now. But just to assure you”—she made an instant decision—“I heard you when you said you didn't like me talking about you publicly. So don't worry. I didn't say anything about our broken engagement at the few concerts I've done recently and won't say anything on the tour about where we are right now. If someone asks me directly, I'll try to be appropriately vague and discreet.”

“Well … that's good. I appreciate that.”

Time to change the subject. “So, what's up with you? You didn't have to work this weekend I hope.”

Grace listened as Roger chatted easily, told her he was starting to run, was hoping to work up to a half-marathon by next year, and, oh yes, he'd been asked to teach a young adult Sunday school class on “The Christian in the Workplace” at County Line Community Church. But when they finally said goodnight and hung up, some of the excitement about her new theme had dissipated. Would Roger understand?

Grace had planned to call Jeff first thing Monday morning, but the call with Roger the night before made her hesitate. How could she talk about her new theme without telling the whole story? The thought of telling a man—even a kind, caring man like Jeff—about her past made her feel all … all exposed and naked. But toweling her hair after her workout at Curves, she knew she had to call—Jeff was her agent and needed to know her plans. Would he be willing to get on the phone with the multiple venues and ask them to refocus their promotion efforts?

Taking a deep breath, she hit the speed-dial number for Bongo Booking Agency. The receptionist put her through …

“Grace! Uh-oh. You caught me sneaking my second cup of coffee—and it's not coffee break yet. What's up?”

“I've got a new direction for the West Coast tour. All your fault, you know.”

He laughed, but she heard him close a door. “Great. I'm all ears.”

She told him as briefly as she could, making sure to mention that her prayer partner—well, that's what Estelle was, wasn't she?—had suggested she meditate on the meaning of her name. “And then it all fell into place—the theme, the songs, a new title.”

Jeff whistled softly on the other end. “‘Just Grace' … wow. I really love it. Venues have been promoting ‘Grace Meredith in Concert,' but I think we can ask them to start talking about this new theme. Posters have been up for a while, but we can target radio. It will cost a little money, but if you think it's worth it, we can cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“I do—think it's worth it, I mean. I'm willing to pay to make it happen. Could we do new posters? Maybe that's asking too much for this tour. But could you think about it? Let me know?”
Willing to pay … but able?
She'd have to trust God for that.

“I'll make it happen. God's grace is such a powerful theme. If you don't mind my asking, I sense there's more to the story. You care to share it?”

Grace had to blink back sudden tears. “I … there is, but not just now, okay?”

“You bet. I trust you. Sounds like you've tapped into that passion we were talking about—which makes me want to tap-dance on my desk.” He chuckled in her ear, and then got all businesslike. “Look, have Sam shoot me the song list you've come up with—you said you've put together a mix of contemporary songs and hymns? If she has any trouble getting permissions, have her call me. Maybe I can help.”

Relief flowed through her tense muscles. He liked her ideas. “Thanks so much, Jeff. And I just wanted you to know … I've written a new song for the tour. I've got the words and the tune, but I'll need the band to fill it out.”

“I'm really glad to hear this, Grace. You have real talent in that area, you know. I had a feeling God might drop a new song into
your heart. He has a way of doing that when the time and the theme and the soul passion is right.”

“Thanks, Jeff. I really appreciate the encouragement.” Grace's doorbell rang. “I better go. I think that's Sam. I'll have her send you the song list … Oh, Jeff? One more thing. Just thought you ought to know that my fiancé is asking for us to work on patching up our relationship. I—I haven't given him an answer, but I thought you'd like to know since we'd sort of talked about that.”

There was a momentary silence on his end. Then he said, “Thanks for letting me know. I'm glad you're taking some time to think about it.” His voice softened. “Take care, Grace.”

Sam spent most of the day on the phone, chasing down copyrights and agents. “Wish I could talk directly to the artists,” she grumbled at one point, sticking her head into the living room where Grace was at the piano working on a hymn arrangement. “I should think they'd be delighted to have their songs getting more exposure. You always give the original artist credit when you use a song—seems like a win-win to me! It's these blankety-blank third-party legal eagles who are a pain in the neck. Oh, and those annoying phone menus they make you wade through.” She pinched her nose and got tinny. “‘If you want to speak to the janitor, dial extension 0000 …'”

Grace laughed in spite of the interruption. “Jeff Newman might be able to help with the sticky ones. Now if you don't mind, I'm trying to work on some music here.” She leaned over the keys, sounding out a new arrangement for the chorus of “He Giveth More Grace” as Sam once again holed herself up in the kitchen.

They'd just decided to wrap it up for the day and take a break before leaving for the studio that evening, when the doorbell rang. Sam got to the door first. “Miss Estelle! Come in!”

With a start, Grace realized she hadn't talked with her neighbor since their trip to the women's shelter on Friday—and hadn't told her the good news.

Estelle hesitated on the doorstep. “Am I interrupting? Just got home from work and thought I'd come by for a few minutes. Wanted to pray with you about your upcoming concert tour. But if you're busy—”

“No, please, come in!” Grinning, Grace grabbed Estelle by the hand and pulled the woman over to the couch. “We've got an answer to one of your prayers!” It all came out in bits and pieces: meditating on her name … the Bible study at Manna House … deciding to open her heart to Sam … the growing realization that “grace” was her theme … the songs that were starting to come together … and the concert title that had dropped into their hearts at the same time.

Estelle began to laugh and raised her hands. “Halle
lu
jah! Thank you, Jesus!
Ha-ha-ha
. ‘Just Grace' … Oh, Lord, you are such a
good
God!
Mmm-hmmm
…” Then with a sudden clap, she said, “Well, now, let's pray that God will smooth all the rough places—you say you've got practices every evening this week? Well then, Lord, we're asking you to give Grace and Samantha, these two dear sisters, as well as the band, extra strength and grace and good tempers as they prepare to serve you on the concert tour that's just around the corner …”

Grace eyed Sam with a grin, and then bowed her head. Estelle was already off and praying.

“… and prepare the hearts of young people all up and down the West Coast to receive your message of love and mercy and grace through our sister's beautiful music and testimony …”

Hmm. Grace wasn't sure about the testimony part.

“… And, Lord, while we're at it, I want to pray for dear Mrs. Krakowski, the former owner of our two-flat, who's lost a box of precious mementos. Lord, you know where that box is, and it would mean so much to her if it could be found. She's lost so much, Lord—her home, her neighborhood, her familiar friends …”

Grace squirmed. She didn't think Mrs. Krakowski had had many friends in this neighborhood. Everyone seemed too busy with their own little worlds …
Like me, Lord
. Her heart wrenched.
O God, please forgive me for not reaching out to that lonely old woman
. She'd missed her chance, and now it was too late.

Too late for Mrs. Krakowski. But maybe not too late for her other neighbors. Once she was back from this tour, she'd definitely try to reach out more to—

“… And for Harry's dear mother, Lord, who's lost her ability to speak with that stroke, but we're askin' you, Lord, to bring her home to us, so we can make her comfortable in these last years of her life …”

“Yes, Jesus, yes!” Sam murmured on the other side of Estelle.

“… but you also know we need to get Harry's boy on up out of that apartment, so, Lord, we're askin' you for that job you're preparin' for Rodney Bentley right now. He needs the satisfaction of honest work to keep him out of trouble, to help him turn his life around, to help him provide for his own son …”

Somewhere in the middle of her prayer, Estelle had reached for one of Grace's hands—one of Sam's too—and was gripping them hard as she prayed. And then suddenly she released their hands, sweaty now, and sat back against the couch cushions with a
whoosh
. “Amen, thank you, Jesus,
mm-hm
.” She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and fanned herself.

Sam was looking at her strangely. “Rodney … he's your husband's son? And he's living with you?”

Estelle nodded and kept fanning. “Just came up from Atlanta a while back, been lookin' for a job. He's stayin' in one of the rooms on the first floor, but we need to get that apartment ready for Mother Bentley. And … well, there are other reasons he needs to get his own place. But the good Lord knows.”

Sam started to laugh. “Did you know that the owner of Lincoln Limo lives right on this block? That big house at the end of the street. We've used them a bunch of times for transport to and from the airport—and I know for a fact that they're hiring. They need more drivers. Do you think Rodney would be interested?”

Grace couldn't help mulling over what had happened in her living room just half an hour ago, even while she tried to keep Sam's leased Honda Civic in sight as they threaded their way through rush-hour traffic. No sooner had she closed the door behind Estelle Bentley than she'd realized they needed to leave
now
if they were going to get to the address in time to make the six o'clock practice with the band. No time for supper first—they'd have to eat after. Just as well. Grace knew she didn't sing as well on a full stomach.

They'd decided to drive their own cars so Sam wouldn't have to come back to the house later, leaving Grace alone with her thoughts behind the wheel. Estelle Bentley just happened to drop in while Sam was there, just happened to throw out a prayer about Harry's son needing a job, it just happened that Sam knew Lincoln Limo was hiring
and
that the owner lived right up the street? It was like some cosmic jigsaw puzzle, where only God had the box cover and knew what the final picture would look like.

“
If
they hire him,” Grace murmured to herself. From what Estelle said, it sounded as if Rodney Bentley had been in some kind of trouble—which might explain why he'd been having a difficult time getting a job. But Estelle had started thanking God for this answer to prayer even before she'd hustled home to tell Rodney. Well, as Estelle would probably say, “God knows.” It wasn't her worry.

Her
worry reared its face as Grace pulled into the small parking lot alongside Sam's car at the rehearsal space Barry had found. It was little more than a warehouse, really. Barry's van and cars belonging to
other band members were already there. Barry had grudgingly forgiven her for changing half the song list for the West Coast tour—but what about the guys in the band? Were they mad at her for canceling Saturday's practice and changing the song list on them? After all, it meant extra practices for all of them. She'd have to make it up to them somehow. Show them how much she appreciated them. She definitely didn't want them to feel taken advantage of.