Meet Me in Barcelona (13 page)

“Only if you really want to tell me,” Grace said, hoping to sound as if she didn't care. There. That felt better. Why hadn't she said that back then? Because she was never prepared enough to deal with Carrie Ann. Grace couldn't believe how quickly she was regressing into a little kid again.
I'm an adult,
she reminded herself. Almost thirty.
I am an adult almost thirty, and I am in Spain with my boyfriend.
How many times did she have to say it before she felt it?

“My therapist thought it would be a good idea if I went back to some of the old places. The ones that haunted me.” Grace felt her chest start to constrict. This store was so small. She wanted out. “So I started with the Gales. Lydia still lives in the same house,” Carrie Ann said. “But she tore the barn and the tire swing down.”

Grace wanted her to stop talking. She didn't want to hear any of it. Except maybe how poor Lydia was doing. She'd changed so much with the whole incident. Was she all right now? Was she still an artist? Did she still believe that it was a child's birthright to draw outside the lines?

It was partly Grace's fault. All the hideous things that had happened to one of her favorite people in the world. Even if it wasn't
entirely
her fault, she had to take some of the blame. And it killed her. The guilt was poison running through her veins. But she didn't dare probe into Lydia's wellbeing any further. No matter how well they were getting along, information was Carrie Ann's weapon of choice. Grace could never let herself forget that.

“And you—fell in love with Stan?” Grace just had to ask. Carrie Ann turned on her with a disappointed look. “Stan's right,” she said. “You've never been able to see the real him through your goggles of disgust.”

“Stan said that? About me?”

“Of course. He knew you abhorred him.”

“That's a little strong.”

“Is it, Grace? Is it?” Carrie Ann left Grace standing dumfounded and headed back into her private dressing room. Grace reluctantly went back into hers. Which didn't mean she had any real privacy. The rooms were side-by-side and they could hear every zip and breath each other took. After a few minutes Carrie Ann started talking again as if she'd never stopped. “I had no idea about his temper—until last year.”

“What happened?”

“He got crazy jealous, that's what. Of everything. If I talked too long to the female cashier at the grocery store, he would go nuts.”

“Did he—was he violent?” Grace looked at herself in the mirror. She didn't look anything like Carrie Ann. The dress hung on her, whereas it hugged Carrie Ann's curves.

“I have pictures of all my bruises, every one of them, if you ever want to see them.”

Grace didn't answer at first. What did you say to that? Wimpy, whiny, Stan Gale an intimidating abuser? It was unfathomable on so many levels. She felt better when she slipped back into her jeans, and top, and cowboy boots. Now that felt like her. “That's horrible, Carrie Ann. Nobody deserves that.” She couldn't imagine Carrie Ann's putting up with that. “You didn't leave after the first time? I'm not trying to blame you—”

“No, I get it.” Grace heard the curtain open, and then another one, and soon Carrie Ann was standing in Grace's little room in her bra and panties. Carrie Ann turned and looked at Grace through the mirror. “I used to think that of battered women,” she said. “That they were weak. And stupid.”

“Carrie Ann. I didn't mean—”

“I never thought I'd let a man hit me. Every time I said, ‘next time I'm going to leave.' But he was always so sorry. I'd think—he's different. He has a temper. He didn't mean it. We'll get through this. All that bullshit I used to judge other women for thinking.”

“I'm so sorry. I'm glad you got out.” Speaking of out, Grace wanted out of this tiny dressing room. She draped the dress over her arm and tried to step out. Carrie Ann grabbed Grace's wrist.

“You're so lucky to have Jake.”

Grace looked at her wrist. Carrie Ann let go. “I know,” Grace said. She stepped out of the dressing room.

Carrie Ann walked back into her own dressing room and without bothering to shut the curtain again pulled her green dress over her head. “Is he going to stay mad at you for a long time?”

“No,” Grace said. “He's not like that. He'll probably call me any minute now.”

“I hope so, Grace,” Carrie Ann said. “I'd really hate to be the one to come between you.”

Grace wanted to walk back to the apartment, but Carrie Ann insisted on a taxi. As they bumped along, Carrie Ann reached over and took Grace's hand. “I knew we'd get back in touch,” she said. “We're sisters. Signed in blood.” Grace wanted to remove her hand, but didn't know the proper amount of time to wait so that Carrie Ann wouldn't be upset. Ten seconds? “Listen,” Carrie Ann said when Grace finally pulled free. “I have enough of Stan's money to travel for a few months. What do you think?”

“That sounds great. I'm happy for you.”

“Not just me. You and me.”

“Not going to happen.” Grace didn't mean for it to come out so harsh, at least she didn't think she did, but the stress over her mom, and the camera, and Jake, and the heat made it impossible to be diplomatic.

“I see. Not even going to pretend to think about it.”

“I have things going on at home. I don't even think we're going to stay here the full ten days.”

“Because of your mom?”

“I told you not to talk about my mom,” Grace said.

“So much for thinking you would care.”

Grace wasn't going to rise to the bait. “Just because I can't drop my other obligations, doesn't mean I don't care.” Grace's cell phone rang. She jumped. Her heart lifted when she saw the screen:
JAKE
. She snapped it open. “Jake?”

“I'm sorry,” Jake said. “I didn't mean to storm off.”

“It's okay. It's okay. I'm so, so sorry about your camera.” Next to her, Carrie Ann rolled her eyes. Grace scooted closer to the passenger door.

“Don't be. I'm going to buy another one,” Jake said.

“I'll pay for it.”

“Nah. This trip is about your mother, remember? It's on me.”

“Really I want to—”

“Shhh. We'll worry about it later. I'm not getting anything too fancy—just something that will do the trick. And guess what?”

“What?”

“I already uploaded all the videos we took, so those aren't lost.”

“That's great.”

“We still have some catching up to do.”

Yes, Grace definitely had some catching up to do. She was going to come clean with Jake, tell him the whole tale. Then maybe they'd get all their sightseeing in and head back to Nashville. She wanted to end things on a good note with Carrie Ann, and the longer they hung around together, the less chance there was of that happening. “I'll be ready when you are.”

“Where are you now?”

“In a taxi. I'm on the way back to the apartment.”

“I'll be there in a little bit myself. What do you say we hit the Miró museum, just the two of us?”

“I'd love to.”

“Good. You going to have any trouble from Carrie Ann?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. See ya in about an hour.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” Grace hung up and snuck a glance at Carrie Ann. She was looking out the window. Grace heard an intake of breath. Carrie Ann was crying. “Carrie Ann?” Grace felt a physical pain in her chest, a visceral ache. Her insides literally churned at the sound of Carrie Ann crying. By the time Carrie Ann had come to live with them, she had already been in ten foster homes. She had refused to even unpack her suitcase for the first three months. Had slept with it at the foot of her bed, as if they were going to spirit her away in the middle of the night. Grace's first feeling of real pride, of accomplishment that made her heart feel as if it were going to burst in her chest, had been the day Carrie Ann let Grace help her unpack her little suitcase. That hadn't been easy for that tough little girl; she had to soften a part of herself just to let Grace in. And somewhere along the line, Grace had lost sight of that. After all, wasn't that the point of having a family? People who would love you through it all, warts and all? Grace had forgotten that too.

Carrie Ann was right. They were sisters. Grace had promised her that all those years ago. That was something else she'd forgotten about families; you were stuck with them. A hundred unopened letters. Grace had lied about her mother's hiding them from her. She was the one who had written RETURN TO SENDER across every single one and stuck it back in the mailbox. Grace reached over and took Carrie Ann's hand. “Don't cry,” she said.

“I don't think I can get through this alone.”

“You're not alone. I'm here. I'm right here.”

“You're not. I've lost you.”

“You haven't.”

“You're not even staying the full ten days.”

“We'll stay a few more days. And maybe you can come to Nashville sometime.”

Carrie Ann turned to look at Grace. “Do you mean it?”

“I do.”

“Thank you.” Carrie Ann squeezed Grace's hand. She leaned her head on Grace's shoulder. “Are you and Jake going somewhere by yourselves?”

“We're going to a museum. I wasn't sure it would be your style.”

“I'll go anywhere. I just don't want to be alone.”

“Okay,” Grace said.

“Do you think I can squeeze in a nap first?” The cab pulled up to the stop closest to their apartment.

“Jake said he'd be about an hour.”

“Perfect.” By the time they were back in the building and Grace had disappeared into her apartment, doubts were already creeping back in. What had she done? Not only had she promised Jake they'd be alone at the museum, but now she'd just invited Carrie Ann to come to Nashville sometime. Most people wouldn't think twice about it, but Carrie Ann would. That invitation was like another cut to Grace's finger, another vow in blood. She leaned against the door and softly banged her head.
What were you thinking, Grace?
Her mother's words came back to her.
You can't save her.

Grace flopped down in the bed and buried her face in the pillow
. Come home, Jake.
He would help her figure this out. She would tell him everything, and then together they would figure it out.

An hour later, Jake still wasn't home, and he hadn't called again. She wondered if Carrie Ann was still sleeping. Grace wished she could sleep, but she felt strangely energized. She also felt like she was forgetting something. Did she have her purse? It was on the counter. Grace began to empty it out. Something clinked on the counter. Carrie Ann's diamond ring. Grace had forgotten all about it. She slipped it on her finger. It fit. The diamond was huge. Better not get too attached. Grace took the ring off and tucked it into her purse. Then she pulled out a credit card and driver's license. They weren't hers—hers were always tucked in her wallet. The license belonged to Carrie Ann Gilbert.

How did those get in there? Carrie Ann must have slipped them in without Grace's noticing. Why would she do that? It was just as disconcerting to find something added to your purse as it was to discover something missing. She studied the driver's license. Carrie Ann looked like a pretty all-American blonde. Her address was in Atlanta, Georgia. Had Carrie Ann mentioned that? Was she living there with Stan or had they separated? Maybe with this new info Grace could find something on the Internet.

Grace took the license over to Jake's laptop. But when she went to log in, a little box popped up asking for a password. Jake had never locked his computer before. They brought the laptop primarily for video chats with her parents, so Jake wouldn't deliberately shut her out of it. Would he? Maybe that little assistant of his had sent him naked pictures and Jake didn't want her to see them. Grace was reaching now. Jake wasn't the type to hide things on his computer. But if he hadn't locked it, then who had?

Heavy footsteps echoed above her. It sounded like more than one person was traipsing around upstairs. The hairy guy from the beach? Grace would have to ask Carrie Ann about him. Or she could casually ask the doorman who didn't open any doors.

Grace went into the hall and tried to peer all the way down to the lobby. The staircases curved so that you could actually see a good ways down but she couldn't make out the desk from this angle. She texted Jake as she headed down the stairs.

Wandering nearby. Let me know when you're home.

 

The guy was back at the desk. Perfect. Even though he simply looked at her without a word or a smile, Grace walked up to him.
“Hola,”
she said. “I'm Grace.”

“
Hola,
Grace,” he said. “I am Stefano.”

“Do you work here?”

“I am here to help.” Now he was smiling, as if she had just offered him her escort services.

“I'm just wondering, have you met my friend Carrie Ann? Blonde. Also American. She's one floor above me?”

“Yes, but don't worry. I can love two girls just as much.”

“Lovely. Do you happen to know the guy she's staying with? Tall—uh—dark hair?”
And a lot of it
.

“Rafael. My good friend.
Amigos.
”

“That's right. Rafael. I just wanted to thank him for letting us stay here.”

“He is at work.”

“Oh. I thought I heard him up there.” Grace glanced up at the apartment. She swore she had heard a man's voice up there.

“Your boyfriend is with her.”

At first Grace didn't quite understand him. “Jake? You saw Jake go up there?”

“Sí.”

He must have been confused, but Grace kept asking questions. “How long ago?”

He shrugged. “Thirty minutes ago.”

Grace leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Listen. Have you ever seen Rafael or Carrie Ann go into our apartment?”

“I see nothing.”

“Okay.”

“That's why I am good at my job.” The smile was back.

Wait. So was he saying he had seen someone go into their apartment, but he was going to turn a blind eye? “What is your job?”

He put his hand on his heart. “Security. You feel safe with me.
¿Sí?
”

About as safe as a baby with a rattlesnake
.
“Gracias,”
she said, although she really had no reason to be thanking him. She headed back up to Carrie Ann's room. Jake couldn't be in there, could he? When she got to the door she stopped and listened. She could no longer hear voices. Had she just imagined things? And what about Stefano? Had he out and out lied? Grace knocked. No response. She knocked louder. “Carrie Ann?” she called. “Jake?”

She stood in the hall and texted Jake.

Where are you?

 

Half a minute later he responded.

Got caught up. Meet you at Miró at 3:00?

“Jake?” Grace called again. And again, there was no answer.

Call me ASAP.

Phone dying. Sorry babe. C u @ 3.

 

Grace realized she didn't even have a cell phone number for Carrie Ann. She went back to her apartment and scrawled a note on an envelope.

 

Miró Museum 3 p.m. See you there. Grace.

 

She slipped it underneath Carrie Ann's door and was halfway down the stairs when she was hit with a strong feeling that she was forgetting something. Video call her mother. That's what she was forgetting. And now she couldn't even do it because Jake had password protected his computer. The afternoon was getting more frustrating by the minute. She continued down the stairs, wondering if she should buy a calling card instead.

It was slightly cooler outside than it had been for the past few days, but Grace was hot from running up and down the stairs. It was an easy walk to the Miró Museum, first toward the beach, then up the massive hill to the right. Maybe she'd look at some artwork on her way to the museum or grab something cold to drink and just sit on the beach. She certainly could stand to calm down.

 

She bought a calling card at a small shop at the end of the street and called her mother. Her father answered. “Finally, Gracie. Your mother was worried sick.” Grace cringed, although this was an expression they used all the time.

“Jake's laptop isn't working,” Grace said. “I had to go out and buy a calling card.”

“Well, how goes it?”

“It's lovely, really. But we also broke our video camera.”

“That's terrible.”

“We were at the top of the spiral in Sagrada Família, and Jake dropped it while trying to get a panoramic sweep.”

“That was an expensive piece of equipment,” her father said.

“He was insured.” Grace had no idea the lie was going to pop out of her mouth until it was too late. At some point she had started protecting her parents from the truth.

“Ah, thatta boy.”

“Listen. How is Mom?”

“She's fine, Gracie.”

“Is she awake?”

“No, she's pretty far under or I'd give her a jostle for you.”

“Oh. Is she . . . ?”

“About the same, darling. About the same.”

“How are you holding up?”

“Fair to middling. I'll tell you—we both enjoyed that video. You and Jake have a nice chemistry together. We can tell you're really having fun. So as soon as you replace your camera, keep those rolling in. It does your mother good.”

“I wish I were there.”

“No, you don't. And she doesn't either. She wants you two to have a good time.”

“You'd tell me if I needed to come home.”

“Of course. I'm telling you to stay.”

“Because it wouldn't be any trouble—”

“The doctors are going to lower your mother's dose of medication. I think her memory will start to improve.”

“I should come home and talk to them—”

“Believe me, I gave them an earful.”

“I bet you did.”

“Once she starts remembering things I'm going to take her on a few outings a week.”

“That's really great, Dad. I'm so happy she has you.”