Healing Grace (12 page)

A welcome knock on the door put an end to her dilemma as Randy and Eddy came stomping in to claim their hot chocolate after shoveling snow from her sidewalk.

“Ted wasn’t kidding back in August when he told me about the snow in Michigan.” She pinched Eddy’s tasseled hat and pulled it off, smiling at his rosy cheeks and runny nose.

Randy unbuttoned his coat, but left it on. “Who’s afraid of a little snow?”

“Didn’t you have snow in—achoo!—in…” Eddy managed to rub his nose on his sleeve before she could reach him, “in Ten—” The rest was muffled under Grace’s tissue and command to “blow.”

Randy’s assessing eyes made her tense. They might have reached a point of common familiarity, certainly respect, but not the level that called for this type of inspection. There were plenty of things he didn’t need to know about her and her past, for instance, that would certainly unlevel the playing field.

If he could check her out, she could return the favor. He had let his hair grow a little longer for the winter so that instead of looking like a bristle brush over his scalp it covered his head in a smooth wave, softening his expression. In fact, everything about him was softer than their first meeting on her front porch last spring. Whatever the reason, he no longer terrorized her, even if she wasn’t as comfortable with him as with his brother. She answered Eddy.

“Not like here, Eds. It snows a little, but doesn’t usually stay around much. Sometimes we get great ice storms.” She tried to measure up to their excitement.

The little boy helped himself to the cocoa mix on her kitchen table, leaving a dusting of the brown powder. “Hey, Grace, where’d you get the turkey card?”

She snatched Elizabeth’s card and stuffed it in a drawer. “Just someone I knew in Tennessee,” she said quietly. “Don’t I need a snowman for my yard? Let’s make one after hot chocolate!”

* * * *

“Hey, Grace, grab your coat and come on. You’re gonna love this—it’s right up your alley! Oh, and bring some of your goo—the hot stuff with the Capcaisin.” Greg Evans was on the run, pulling her along with him. “Hold down the fort, Nancy, and reschedule until three o’clock, okay?” He didn’t stop for her affirmation before hauling his carry bag out the door and to his car.

“We don’t do a lot of house calling, but once in a while,” Greg started to say, before concentrating on getting out of the parking lot past the unsmiling elderly couple driving in, and down to the old country road leading out of town, driving over the hard-packed snow as if it wasn’t there. Grace still couldn’t make herself go over thirty-five.

“Anyway, once in a while I’ll go up and see a few people who can’t come in to the clinic.”

“What do you mean, ‘right up my alley’?”

“A lot of your Tennessee folk came up here in the nineteen forties and fifties to work in the auto industry, which is, for all practical intents and purposes, no longer the promise and hope for the future that it once was. Of course these people, second and third generations of them now, stayed and continue to live like they always did—no offense.”

“None taken, I’m sure,” she replied a little huffily. What—did everyone really think all hill folk were backwoods country idiots?

She caught Greg’s glance and twisted her lips in a terse smile.

“It’s not a crime to be poor,” Greg commented.

“It’s not a crime to be a hillbilly, either. Not everyone from my home is backwards or indigent.”

Greg touched her hands. “No one said they were. I thought you might like to meet some of these folk. You know, you told me that you did this kind of thing back around Woodside.”

She relaxed. “You’re right. I miss that, going up to see some of my patients. I used to keep an emergency pack in my car and everything. People knew my number, and I’d go when I had to. Sometimes Jonathan would become annoyed when I went alone out at night.” She turned to look out of the car window, watching carefully which turns Greg made. “So, what’s the case today?”

“It’s Elvira Brown. Everyone calls her Granny B. Severe arthritis. I’m trying to get her to do some simple exercises, but, well, you know what they say…”

Grace snorted. She followed him out of the car and treaded carefully through wood soot-dusted piles of snow to a faded house with a stream of smoke climbing from a chimney.

“She always has a plate of rock-hard cookies or shortbread or some of her preserves set out.” His voice whispered conspiratorially as they knocked on her dilapidated door, “Stay away from the lemonade-looking stuff. It’s made from sumac.”

She raised her brows. “Lemonade in winter?”

Greg only laughed.

The trouble with Thanksgiving is that Christmas comes right afterward.

Grace searched through the gaudy boxes of Christmas cards in East Bay’s variety store. The flash of a familiar bulge caught her eye.

“Caught ya!” she hissed, from just out of sight in the next aisle. She giggled as her pregnant friend jumped and turned pink as an eight-year-old caught holding the lid to the cookie jar. She peeked around the corner.

“Honestly!” Shelby pulled her coat tighter around her middle and looked back and forth. “I thought Davy had the bed rest cops out again. Here I was, hoping not to run into anyone I knew. After the last time, I can hardly go to the bathroom by myself when he’s home. I’m going crazy all cooped up.”

“Did you sneak out? At least the weather’s nice. I hope you only toddled these three blocks from your house.”

“Of course! How about you come have a tea with me?”

“You betcha!” Grace giggled. Midwestern slang showed up in her vocabulary when she least expected.

Back at the Brouwers’, she helped Shelby with her boots and coat and bundled her up under the afghan on the sofa.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wait on anyone else again. I’m getting used to this royalty treatment,” her friend said.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that when the baby is here.”

“You bought some Christmas cards.”

Grace nodded, wary.

“Eddy told me that someone sent you a Thanksgiving card from Tennessee.”

“Hmm.” Little pitchers…no secrets with the boy around. She might as well have taken out an ad in the paper. She bent over her steaming mug, praying her friend would drop it, yet hoping she could talk to someone about the overwhelming nostalgia. Last year she’s spent the holiday with Jonathan and his parents in the hospital. They hadn’t been able to stay long. She could do without that particular memory, but there’d been others. Her first married Christmas. Sean’s first tree and gifts. He’s stared at the lights in fascination, cooing and gurgling.

Shelby drank from her own cup of Mystic Orange. “This is your first holiday on your own, I think, isn’t it?” She held out a tissue.

Grace grabbed it like a lifeline. “Y-y-yes, it is. I didn’t imagine it would b-be so h-hard.”

A soothing touch felt like a blessing on her bent head. “It’s okay, Grace. Someday you’ll feel like things are working out, life is more than simply sleeping, working, and breathing. You’ll see. It’s about time you let go of some of that anxiety for the holidays you’ve been carting around.”

“You’ve been a great friend. You’ve made me feel welcome, helped me so much. I’m not sure I would have stayed if you hadn’t been so nice.” Grace sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“Yeah.” Shelby rubbed her bulging tummy. “Well, I doubt that I’m the reason you stayed. But thanks. Sometimes, when you’ve known people all your life, you don’t really have anyone to tell things to ’cause they already know it!”

It didn’t hurt when Grace cracked a tentative smile.

“So, you’ve been exactly the friend I’ve needed, too,” Shelby said. “Ooh!”

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she wheezed. “Just an extra tug. I think.”

Grace put her hand on Shelby’s belly so she could gauge the bubbling spasm. It soon eased. Another pillow under her knees would help, along with a foot and ankle rub. Shelby wasn’t too swollen, but enough to merit a reminder that bed rest was an order.

An enervating conduit of peace passed back and forth between them with her touch, a comfortable reminder of the gift slowly recharging inside of her. She wasn’t fully prepared to admit how much she’d missed it, even as Sean’s laughter echoed around her skull. Why now? Why were these memories surging out of their neatly labeled boxes she’d thought safely locked in the attic of her soul? A baby…so precious. She’d practiced as a midwife last year before having Sean, visiting expectant mothers and fathers, acting as doula or delivering at home. The joy of that first breath, that first cradling hold, so right in her hands. The pulsing of the warm umbilical cord reminding her of attachment, but also of the need to let go. Trust. So hard.

“There. Stopped,” Shelby declared. “The doctor said not to get too excited unless my water broke or the spasms didn’t stop. Early contractions or something, he said. You should have seen Davy sweat the first one last month!”

Grace passed off her automatic professional smile, but she worried about her friend. The story Ted had told her about the last time they’d tried to have a baby and almost died lingered on the surface of her consciousness. She’d never let anything happen to Shelby and the baby. She must remember...do nothing unusual. Only what she’d trained for. If she did everything right, Shelby and the baby would be fine.

Grace walked to the other side of the room and took her coat from the closet.

Shelby pulled the colored afghan around her shoulders. “Hey. Thanks for your concern. You make me feel safe, you know. Everyone says how great you’re doing at the clinic.” Her smile grew conspiratorial. “Mr. Jeffries won’t even see Doc anymore. He only makes his appointments with you.” She winked, and Grace laughed.

“The people are very kind. I’m so glad to be here. I’ll take off now and let you two rest.”

For once her friend didn’t protest.

* * * *

A week later another of Grace’s dilemmas was conveniently solved. She laughed at the sight of her neighbors’ special delivery upon answering the door.

“We brought you a Christmas tree, Grace!” Eddy pranced into her living room. Randy carried in a fresh cut fir and Ted followed, hunched into his coat against the cold.

“Why is it that just when I’m really wondering what to do, my prayer gets answered?”

“What prayer?” Eddy galloped around the tree.

She grabbed him and hugged him tightly. “Why, how to find the perfect Christmas tree, of course! And here you are, my favorite guys, bringing one right to me.”

Whoops! The words popped right out before she considered them. Ted leaned forward, both hands folded over his cane, bemused smile on his face, while Randy spared a fleeting glance as he turned the tree for the best angle in front of her window.

“Eddy—fetch the stand, boy. I think we left it outside,” he told his nephew. A blast of cold air filled the living room when he raced out and back in again with a red metal stand clutched in his arms.

Grace tried to cover her awkwardness with exaggerated cheer as she imagined herself wiping that smirk off Ted’s face. “We’ll string some popcorn and gingerbread guys on it, Eds.”

“I’ll make you some!”

“You’re my best decorator,” she told the little boy as she helped Randy settle the pretty little tree into its stand. Randy and Ted then examined the multitude of paper snowflakes taped to the front windows, some on large lined paper, some misshapen, but all made with love.

“I think we can send over some stuff, Grace,” Ted said. He plopped into her little bentwood rocker. “Mom had a lot of decorations and most of it’s in the attic yet. We never did a lot of decorating after she passed away.”

“Oh, I couldn’t use your mother’s things,” she replied, appalled that he would say such a thing. She gave the tree a critical eye. “I’m sure now that Eddy is older you’ll enjoy decorating with him and use them yourselves. But thank you for thinking of me. I have some things of my own that I could bring out.”

A large box had been shipped up from Tennessee last month, in fact. She had directed her lawyer to close up the house there until she decided what to do, but had given him a detailed list of which of her things to send on to her in Michigan.

No more secrets back there, I guess. If they wanted me to come back, they would have asked.
Lena’s letters started coming two weeks ago—three newsy missives—catching Grace up on news of Woodside. Lena conveniently passed over anything too personal, memories that might have proved too sad.

Grace had replied with a postcard. Just an appetizer, she told Lena. It would take awhile before she felt comfortable writing at all, let alone talking about her new life. She wasn’t ready to start e-mailing her friends, either. In time. Yes, she only needed a little more time so the memories could fade a little more, for the blame to pass away. They might forgive her eventually, if there was more distance and she had more proof that she was doing good things.

She roused from her muse to catch Ted watching her, telltale sympathy in the gentleness of his eyes. Randy stared past the tree out of the big window.

Yeah, so? Widows deserve a little sympathy.

Ted pressed to his feet, gesturing for Eddy to come and put on his coat. “Well, Grace, us favorite guys gotta mosey on. I hope you don’t mind we took it upon ourselves to bring you this one. We didn’t give you a chance to pick it out or even knew if you liked living Christmas trees.”

She flushed, feeling that he read her thoughts. “I love the tree.” She buttoned Eddy’s coat and wound the scarf around his neck. “I can’t thank you all enough. I’ll see you tomorrow, then, for church? Would you three like to have dinner here? It’s the least I can do.”

She waved them gone from her porch and turned back inside, daunted by the thought of actually having to open some of the boxes from Woodside.

* * * *

On the floor of Eddy’s former bedroom, the contents of the largest carton of her belongings from Tennessee spread in a loose arc around her. Her tea the other day with Shelby seemed to breach a dam of pent-up emotion. Tears rolled non-stop down her face and dripped on her sweater. She took out the bubble-wrapped framed photographs of her parents, Jonathan’s parents, of herself and Jonathan, and finally, of Sean. She put those of Sean away to look at later and held up the one of Jonathan and herself sitting on a big rock at Acadia Park in Maine where they had vacationed once. The ocean sprayed across their smiling faces. They had been wet and so happy. There had been so many good times before he got sick.