Meet Me in Barcelona (8 page)

“Hi, Gracie,” Carrie Ann whispered back. Without warning, Grace felt a lump in her throat, and tears invade her eyes. She bit the side of her mouth to keep from crying. Carrie Ann noticed it though, swooped up the information, and then threw her arms around Grace. Jake took the champagne glass out of Grace's hand seconds before it would have smashed on the ground. Carrie Ann smelled good, like vanilla and lemon, and she held Grace tight. “Finally,” Carrie Ann was saying over and over again. “Finally.”

Grace opened her eyes and saw Jake standing behind Carrie Ann. He was totally confused. And dare she say—hurt? Grace pulled away. “Jake,” she said, turning to him. “This is Carrie Ann.” Jake held out his hand, but instead Carrie Ann threw herself into his arms and hugged him the same way she'd just hugged Grace. Claiming everyone around her, just like she always did. Jake soon pulled away and looked at Grace.

“I'm her sister,” Carrie Ann said. She looked at Grace.
Your turn.
Challenging Grace. Was she going to refute it?

“Carrie Ann was my foster sister,” Grace said.

“I thought you said your parents took in all boys,” Jake said.

Carrie Ann grabbed Jake's hand and put it on her breast. “They're real,” she said. Jake removed his hand as quickly as possible and threw Grace another look.

“This trip?” he said to Carrie Ann. “Was this you?”

“Surprise,” Carrie Ann said. “Not just foster sister, Grace.”

Grace opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“How so?” Jake said.

“Blood,” Grace said. It came out in a whisper.

“Sisters by Choice,” Carrie Ann said. “We cut our fingers with a knife. We pressed our blood together. We took a vow. SBC forever.”

“We're not twelve anymore,” Grace said. She surprised herself by saying it out loud, carried by a flash of anger.

“SBC,” Jake said. “The card.” He looked at Grace. She looked back without blinking. “You knew?” he said.
You lied,
he meant.

“I wondered,” Grace said.
I lied
.

“Are you getting married?” Jake asked Carrie Ann.

“Are you proposing?” Carrie Ann shot back. Grace took Jake's hand and gave it an I'll-tell-you-everything-later squeeze. He didn't squeeze back. Carrie Ann reached out and took Grace's other hand. Carrie Ann used to do this with Stan. She would grab his hand and then Grace's hand, as if sealing the three of them together forever. Grace used to absolutely loathe feeling his clammy, chubby hand in hers. The thought made Grace drop both hands. Her temple began to throb along with the pulse of the crowd.

“Are you okay, Grace?” Jake said.

“She's claustrophobic,” Carrie Ann said.

“No, she's not,” Jake said.

“Are you kidding? She's always hated small spaces. Don't you see how shallow her breathing is? The sweat breaking out on her forehead?”

“Grace?” Jake said.

“I need to get off this roof,” Grace said. She imagined going to the edge and hurling herself over.

“I've got you,” Carrie Ann said. She looped arms with Grace. “I know this great Irish pub where we can get cozy and catch up.” Grace glanced at Jake.

“By all means,” he said, pointing to the door. “I would love for somebody to catch me up.” He was looking at Carrie Ann. But he was talking to Grace. The exquisite, nocturnal drama had just begun.

Carrie Ann ushered them into a taxi and rattled something off in what sounded like fluent Spanish. The taxi sped off. For a split second Grace wondered if she should be paying attention to markers so she could figure out how to get home. How had this even happened? Just like when they were kids, Carrie Ann was taking the reins. At least this time Grace had Jake with her. He wasn't going to cave to Carrie Ann's every whim like poor Stan. Grace was going to have one drink with Carrie Ann and then make an excuse to go home. Book the next tickets back to Nashville. As the taxi zoomed through the streets of Spain, Carrie Ann chattered about local sights. Did she live here? If Grace didn't know better, she would have said that Carrie Ann was nervous about something. About seeing her. And here Grace was planning her escape. A familiar curtain of guilt descended on Grace. Carrie Ann had gone to a lot of trouble. Grace should be thrilled to see her. They weren't kids anymore. Surely Grace could handle her now. How was it that Grace was always immobilized by ambivalence when it came to her SBC?

“Do you live here?” Grace said.

“No. But I have a friend who does.”

Suddenly, Grace saw it. The couple who had bumped into them on the beach. Had that been Carrie Ann? With the hairy guy? Did she purposefully bump into Grace and then not say anything?

“Why all the mystery?” Jake said.
Good for you,
Grace thought.

“Let's just have a few drinks first,” Carrie Ann said with a laugh.

 

The Irish pub was tucked into an alley, making patrons feel as if they had been invited to a secret and hidden club. Even though the cab driver had gone in a circle to get here, Grace recognized the area. It wasn't far off of La Rambla. At the least, she would know how to get home. “We could've walked here,” Grace said. That's when something else hit her. “Are you staying in the same apartment building we are?”

Jake paid the taxi fare as Carrie Ann forged ahead without answering. Grace had an urge to push Jake back into the taxi and leave Carrie Ann here on her own. “Carrie Ann,” Grace said. Carrie Ann stopped. She turned around. A streetlight lit the back of her hair and cast a soft glow. “This feels a bit like a game.”

“An adventure,” Carrie Ann said.

“Aren't we a little old for adventures?”

“On the contrary. We become old when we stop having adventures.” Jake slipped his hand into Grace's. She was grateful. She squeezed, and Jake squeezed back.

“We're only staying for one drink,” Grace said. “We have a lot to do in the morning.” Carrie Ann didn't answer, she simply watched Grace, and then nodded. Soon the three of them were situated at a little table in the pub, all with a full pint in front of them. Carrie Ann fixed her eyes on Grace, and once again it felt like volts of electricity were ping-ponging through her body. She had a million questions, and she couldn't even get one of them out of her mouth.

“How long did you live with the Sawyers?” Jake said.

Five years, Grace thought. Enough to completely alter Grace's life. Enough to end a life.

“Oh, since I was nine years old,” Carrie Ann said. She made it sound like she had never left.

“Five years,” Grace said. “We haven't seen each other since we were—” Grace stopped. Carrie Ann had left—had been forced to leave—when she was fifteen. So that was six years. And then Grace had seen her again. The last time was at Lionel's funeral. Grace certainly didn't want to think about that. “It's been a long time,” Grace finished lamely.

Carrie Ann nodded as if Grace had finally gotten something right. Then she lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed in familiar defiance. “All boys? That's what you tell people?”

Grace felt her cheeks grow hot. Carrie Ann always did know how to nail you to the wall when you were least expecting it.

“I have a terrible memory,” Jake said. “I'm sure she mentioned it.”

Carrie Ann let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark. “Your boyfriend is a terrible liar,” she said. She winked at Jake. “You're lucky, Grace. There's nothing worse than living with a man who is a consummate one.”

From the look on Carrie Ann's face there was a story there. Grace couldn't imagine any man living up to the larger-than-life Carrie Ann. But Grace didn't take the bait. “How did you find me?” Grace asked. Carrie Ann stared as if trying to read the intent behind the question. Grace felt her confidence draining. “It's just, I tried looking you up a few times. There was nothing.” It was true. Not a trace of the girl Grace once knew. What she didn't say was that she probably wouldn't have actually reached out if she had found her. Grace had just been curious what she would find. She'd tried Facebook, Google searches, everything. She'd been too petrified to try and look Stan up. She doubted very much if Carrie Ann had stayed in touch with them, but she didn't dare ask her either. Not in front of Jake. “Is your last name still Gilbert?”

“That was never my real last name anyway,” Carrie Ann said. Grace nodded. She remembered the story. Gilbert was the name given to Carrie Ann at the orphanage. Gilbert was the name of the police officer who had found her abandoned on the steps of the precinct. Later, a caretaker had named her Carrie Ann because as an infant she had wailed so much the staff started saying to her, “Baby, why are you carrying on?” “Carry on” became Carrie Ann. Grace didn't know if the stories were true, but she had no way to check them, and they sounded somewhat plausible.

My mother must have really loved me,
Carrie Ann used to say.
She could have put me in a Dumpster. But she didn't. She left me with the police. They probably would have thrown her in jail if they had caught her. But she was willing to risk it. Because of how much she loved me.
It always gave Grace a stomachache, listening to Carrie Ann say this with such conviction.
Mother of the year—thanks for not dumping me in the trash.
Grace for one hated whoever Carrie Ann's mother was. She hated her. She used to dream of the things she'd say to her if she ever met her.

Carrie Ann grabbed onto Grace's hands and held them, grinning as she stared at her.

“We look just the same,” Carrie Ann said. “You're still skinny and brunette and an inch shorter than me.”

“You haven't changed either,” Grace said.

“There is a difference with you,” Carrie Ann said.

“What's that?”

“Duh! You're a big famous singer now. I don't remember you singing when we were kids.”

“I was always singing. Making up songs on the spot.”

“You were? I never noticed.”

“Dragging my guitar around?”

“That sounds vaguely familiar.”

Carrie Ann had always had a way of making Grace feel as if she were losing her mind. She knew Carrie Ann remembered that she sang and played guitar. Carrie Ann used to complain about it all the time. “You once told me that only old, drunk men played the guitar.”

Carrie Ann belted out a laugh. Jake laughed too. “I did?” Carrie Ann said. Grace finally joined in the laughter. Carrie Ann always did have a way with words. Grace hated to think what Carrie Ann had seen in her other foster homes that made her think only old, drunk men played the guitar. Maybe Grace should write a song—“Old, Drunk Men”—

Jake held his beer toward Grace and looked at Carrie Ann. “She's composing in her head,” he said. Grace blushed.

“That's so sweet. Sing it for us.”

“Too soon,” Grace said. For a lot of things. Too late for others.

“How are your mom and dad?”

“Great,” Grace said quickly. Then she curled her hands into fists under the table. Carrie Ann had gone to see Grace's mother. Was she going to admit that?

“What are they up to these days?”

Grace didn't flinch. So Carrie Ann was still a liar. “Same old.” Just the thought that Carrie Ann knew what was happening to Grace's mother, that Carrie Ann had sat by her bedside and smiled, when Carrie Ann knew, she knew how much Jody had once hated her—

But that wasn't fair either. Grace had always felt her mother had never given Carrie Ann a real chance. She had been too worried that Carrie Ann was a bad influence on Grace. Of course, Grace's mother had been right about that—

“Is your father still shrinking heads?”

“Yep.” Grace could feel Jake watching her again, taking in the fact that she was uncomfortable talking about her parents with Carrie Ann.

“So,” Jake said, setting down his pint. “I'm still dying to hear what led to this reunion when you haven't seen each other in so long. And is there going to be a wedding? I didn't exactly bring a suit.”

“No wedding,” Carrie Ann said. She dipped her hand into her purse, and it came out holding a diamond ring. “Already married,” she said, twirling it in the light.

“You are?” Grace was truly shocked. It almost hurt. She'd missed out on so much of Carrie Ann's life. Grace didn't know her at all, and yet in some ways Grace knew her like she knew herself. There had been a time she couldn't imagine not being there to watch Carrie Ann walk down the aisle or vice versa. Whom had she married? Where was he? Was he good to her? Carrie Ann dangled the ring over her pint glass, then dropped it in. Beer fizzed over the side as the diamond bobbed at the surface. Carrie Ann pushed the glass away. Well, that was one question answered. Grace wondered what was wrong. She hated him, whoever he was, for hurting Carrie Ann. Grace waited for Carrie Ann to retrieve the ring. Instead, she stood up. “I'm going to the little girls' room.” Grace waited for her to ask if Grace wanted to join her. She didn't.

“Carrie Ann,” Grace said.

“I don't want it,” Carrie Ann called over her shoulder. “You keep it.” Grace and Jake stared at the glass.

“She's joking, right?” Jake said.

“That's the thing about Carrie Ann. You just never know.” Grace didn't even know if Carrie Ann was going to come back to the table. The thought of her walking out now made Grace feel as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

“I'm not much of an expert, but it looks like the real thing to me,” Jake said, looking at the diamond ring. “And it ain't small.”

Go big or go home
. Grace plucked her hand in the drink and brought it out. She wiped it with a linen napkin and stopped short of putting it on her finger. Then she put it in her purse.

“Grace,” Jake said.

“I'm not keeping it. Just keeping it safe.”

“What if she accuses you of stealing it?”

“What do you want me to do? Leave it for a Spanish busboy?”

“Don't get upset with me.”

“I'm sorry. It's just she always does this!”

Carrie Ann returned to the table and didn't even glance at the glass. “I don't like this place,” she said. “Let's boogey.” Grace stood, wobbled a bit. She hadn't even finished her beer.

“Are you okay?” Jake was up like a shot.

Grace took Carrie Ann's hand. She looked at Jake. “I'm so sorry. Do you mind if we have just one minute?”

Jake was hurt. Grace could tell. He covered it with a quick smile. Always the Southern gentleman. “Of course.”

“We'll be right back.” Grace pulled Carrie Ann through the crowd. She realized, as they bumped against other patrons, that she didn't know where they were going or even what she was going to say. They found themselves in a narrow hall. To the left was a door. Grace pushed it open, still clinging to Carrie Ann's hand, and soon they were out in the hot night air, in the alley. Drunk kids stumbled along, and a few older couples held hands and smiled and shook their heads at the young partiers. Carrie Ann pulled a pack of cigarettes from her purse and held it out to Grace.

“No thank you.”

“Figured.” There was disapproval in the remark. For a split second Grace wanted to grab a cigarette and wipe the smirk off Carrie Ann's face. Carrie Ann lit hers and smiled as a couple of young men passed by. It was returned tenfold. One of them threw open his arms and said something to Carrie Ann in Spanish. She laughed and flirted back in their native tongue. But when they started to approach, Carrie Ann held out her arm and spoke to them again, this time sounding stern. They glanced at Grace, then shrugged and shuffled off.

“What was that?” Grace said.

“Boys will be boys,” Carrie Ann said.

“What did you say to make them leave?”

“I told them you were having a nervous breakdown, and if they came any closer you would start screaming your head off.” She held Grace's gaze, as if challenging her not to believe it.

Grace wasn't going to play games. “Why this trip, Carrie Ann? Why not just pick up the phone and call me?”

Carrie Ann blew out a plume of smoke and walked in a little circle. Her high heels clacked on the cobblestones. “Would you have answered, Gracie?”

“I—I—”

“You—you.”

“Don't do that. I have a right to be upset.”

“Why? Because you got a free trip to Spain?”

There's no such thing as a free trip
. “You went to see my mother, and then you lied to my face about it.”

Carrie Ann turned, her face softening. “I'm sorry about Jody. I really am.”

“That doesn't answer my question.” Grace put her arms around herself even though the night air was soft and warm. The music had followed them outside and joined in with the other noises of the night.

Carrie Ann's head tilted to one side as she stared through Grace. “You didn't ask me a question.”

“Why did you visit my mother and then lie about it?”

“I had a right to visit her. Was she or was she not my mother at one time too?”

And here it was again, another loaded one. Carrie Ann was playing Russian roulette, Twenty Questions–style. “It's not a matter of ‘rights.' My mom isn't well. You should have talked to me first.”