Saving Gracie (8 page)

CHAPTER 13

GRACE

First week down. TGIF. Grace contemplated the rest of her night. Bath. Dinner out. Sleep. Lots of sleep
.

Once home Grace moaned as she submerged herself in the large garden tub with a blanket of sweet gardenia-smelling bubbles carpeting the water’s surface. She rested her head against a spa pillow and closed her eyes, her nose barely visible above the water line. An hour later she jerked awake. She flailed, arms flying outward, sending a wave of luke-warm water over the tub’s edge.

Adam hovered above her, making spider-dance finger movements on her scalp.

“Easy, easy.” Adam stepped back, dusting bubbles spatters off his jacket.

“Oh. It’s you.” Grace stifled a yawn with a foamy hand.

“Don’t sound so thrilled,” Adam teased. “I assume we’re eating out?”

“Only if you insist on food.” Grace stood and grabbed a thick towel to brush bubbles off her wrinkled skin.

“Mexican or Italian?” Adam changed into khaki shorts and a polo shirt.

“Either.” Grace walked into the large closet, wrapped in the over-sized towel. “You decide.”

“Where’s Hannah?

“Here, but staying at Jennifer’s tonight. We’re flying solo.”

“Good. I need to run something by you.”

Grace stopped dressing and stuck her head out of the closet. Adam combed his hair in the mirror, his usual smooth brow now lined with something she couldn’t read. He dropped his eyes when he saw her. He half-smiled and walked out of the large dressing area. Grace’s mind bounded to alert status. “About what?” she yelled.

“We’ll talk later,” Adam’s voice replied, barely audible.

Grace felt her stomach drop. “I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like that,” #2 mimicked. “What are you? Three?”

Grace clenched her teeth, running fingers through her snarled hair. Bitch. “Cut me some slack.” Grace pulled a silver sleeveless cowl-neck blouse over her head and moved to her makeup area. “I’m doing a lot better, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“An unpaid job bossing kids around. Yeah. Loads better,” #2 smirked.

“Now wait just a damn min—”

A knock on the door silenced both #1 and #2. Hannah’s head popped through the dressing room’s double doors as Grace reapplied her steam-streaked makeup.

“
Leaving
,” Hannah signed.

Grace motioned for her to enter. “Come in, let me see,” she signed.

Hannah slipped through the double doors and did a runway walk and turn, fashionably tossing her flowered LL Bean backpack over her shoulder.

Grace smiled and gave a “thumbs up” to her daughter’s V-neck sparkle Aero tee and oversized silver-hoop earrings. Her nails were painted glittery purple.

Hannah gave her the “
I Love You
” sign and blew a quick kiss.

Grace signed the same, watching her daughter leave. She sighed. “Such a sweetheart. Was I that sweet?” forgetting #2 had tuned in.

“Nope.”

“Shut.
Up
!” Her Hannah-smile vanished as she tightened her lips, trying to apply lip-gloss.

“Oh, shudder.”

Ten minutes later Adam and Grace were out the door. Adam chose Mexican.

After being seated at the restaurant they ordered their usual small pitcher of frozen margaritas and a bowl of queso to start, then a platter of fajitas for two. The waiter reappeared shortly with two frosted mugs rimmed with salt, filling each with the icy green slush. They sat in silence, Grace slurping her Margarita.

“Feeling okay?” Adam still wore the half-smile, half-frown distant look.

She refilled her mug. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Adam cleared his throat. “What I said earlier—” Adam started, but stopped when the waiter sat the sizzling entrée in front of them. “I think I might—”

“Guacamole, por favor,” Grace said, sucking down more of her frozen drink. She rolled the fajita meat in a fresh corn tortilla and reached again for her mug, finding it empty.

“I need to go to Chicago,” Adam blurted.

Grace poured the remaining dribbles of margarita from the pitcher and then grabbed the waiter by the arm, uttering the other Spanish phrase she knew.

“Dos mas.” She pointed to their empty glasses.

“Dos mas?” The waiter glanced at Adam.

Adam shook his head, held up his index finger and waited for the waiter to exit. “The company wants to open an office in Beijing.” Pause. “We’re supposed to meet with the big-wigs in Chicago next week.”

Grace closed her eyes, her body swaying in time to the guitar and trumpet trills from the nearby mariachi band. Visions of her bed and mounds of pillows floated above her like a bubble. She felt her head lolling.

“Grace.” Adam touched her arm. “Did you hear me?”

She plucked the bits of conversation from her tequila-fuzzed brain. “Someone’s opening an offith in Chicago.” Grace yanked at the neckline of her blouse. “Man, ith’s hot in here.” She opened her eyes. The room spun like a bad carnival ride. Whoa. She’d only had two margaritas. Or wath it three? No, two wath her limit.

“Are you drunk?” Adam stared at her.

Grace belched loud enough to catch the attention of people sitting nearby. “Of courth not.”

Adam nodded to their neighbors and offered a “so-sorry”smile.

“I belched,” Grace giggled. “Out loud.” She hiccupped. “Doethn’t that remind you of Joth?”

Adam flagged the waiter for the check. Thirty minutes later Grace was carefully escorted to her bedroom.

“I wanth to lie down for a thew minutes,” Grace slurred. “I’m justh a little thleepy.” She crawled up on the soft bed and nose-dived onto the covers.

“Honey, why don’t you get into your pj’s?” Adam said.

Grace flopped onto her back and tried to focus on one of his three spinning faces. “Thath’s a good idea,” she blew out. “Then I won’t hath to change later when I….” Grace’s voice drifted off.

Adam pulled her to her feet. “Need help?”

“Nah, got it,” she said and plowed into the doorframe. “Ouch.” She bounced back, grabbed her nose, and then stumbled through the door opening.

Steadying herself against the dresser, Grace shrugged out of her clothes and somehow into her pajamas. Struggling with the buttons on her top, she made her way back into the bedroom.

“Just gonna resth here for a couple of minuthes.” She collapsed onto the bed, her eyes closing before her head hit the pillow. Off to tequila land she went.

~~~

The sun blared through the bedroom window with relentless clarity. Grace forced a crusted eye open. The unbearable brightness brought her to a sitting position entirely too quickly. Spears of pain shot right into her eyes, feeling like someone stuck an ice pick into her occipital lobe. She fell back on her pillow, causing yet another internal brain explosion. Her tongue felt thick and super-glued to the roof of her mouth.

“Oh God.” Grace hid her eyes from the ugly light of dawn…or was it mid-morning?

“Hey, Sunshine.” Adam walked in with a steaming mug of coffee. “Need aspirin? Bloody Mary? Barf bag?”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” Grace croaked out, her head still on fire. “What…happened?”

“I have no idea.” Adam sat on the bed, creating an earthquake rumble through Grace.

“I didn’t do anything weird, did I?” Grace sat up, slower this time, raising her knees to help support her throbbing head.

“You mean besides burping your ABC’s? Adam shook his head.

Grace opened one horribly bloodshot eye and aimed it as best she could at Adam. “What?” she gasped, horrified.

“Just kidding about the ABC’s,” Adam said. “But the belching got pretty loud.” Adam handed Grace her coffee.

“Ohhhh nooo.” Grace struggled to hold the mug, which required both hands. She looked down at her pajama top, closed one eye and tried to focus. Two buttonholes threaded through one button, making one side of her pajamas scrunch up at an odd angle.

She pointed to the rumbled top. “Did I do this?”

Adam nodded. “Don’t blame me. You insisted on dressing yourself.” He scratched his head. “So…what did happen last night?”

“I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch yesterday. My stomach was empty.” Grace tried focusing on lifting the coffee to her lips without spillage. “I sat with that little girl most of the day…Cherry.”

“You’re spending a lot of time with her.”

Grace handed the mug to Adam and rubbed her eyes. How could eyelashes hurt? “You wouldn’t believe this child’s life.” She eased out of bed and old lady shuffled to the bathroom. “The police and CPS have been out twice in the last six months. Who knows what’s really going on in that house.”

She passed the mirror and froze. Raccoon-circled mascara eyes, finger-in-the-light-socket hair, lipstick smudged on her cheek; she had sunk to a new low. She leaned her throbbing head over the sink and gently splashed cool droplets of water on her face. “Not to mention Cherry’s father is in prison,
if
that’s even her father. Her mother is on welfare and she doesn’t know sign language. Can you believe it? She has a deaf child and can’t even sign.”

Dabbing at her face with a fresh hand towel, she reached for her toothbrush. She brushed, gargled, and brushed again before attempting to run fingers through her tangled hair. She picked up her clothes from the night before and immediately threw them down, kicking them across the room. The smell of Mexican food…not good. She re-buttoned her pajama top, walked back into the bedroom and eased down on the twisted pile of covers.

“Can’t the school do something?” Adam lay across the bed, leaning up on one elbow.

“They’ve tried.” Grace retrieved a scrunchy from the bedside table and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. “Ouch.”

“Hair hurt?” Adam asked.

She winced and closed one eye. “How did you know?”

Adam offered an affectionate smile. “Lucky guess.”

Grace blew out a breath, expelling heavy traces of tequila. “Cherry has horrible behavior problems and the district may send her to the state school in Austin next year. No one can handle her.” Grace rested her chin on her supported hand. “She’s only eight. Can you imagine sending Hannah off like that? I wish I knew what to do.”

“Doesn’t sound like there’s anything to do,” Adam said.

“There’s got to be something.” Grace tapped an index finger lightly on her chin, hesitant to go anywhere near her head. “I wish Mom were here. She’d think of something.”

Adam laughed. “So, your mom is steak and I’m bologna?”

“Oh God, do
not
mention food.” The thought of bologna almost made her heave. She massaged her throat, trying to relax the gag reflex. “You know what I mean.” She took a deep breath hoping extra oxygen would ease her nausea. “Remember all the research she did on Hannah? She always knew how to fix things.”

“Yeah, I know.” Adam stuffed a pillow under his arm. “Hey, switching subjects, any chance you remember what we talked about last night?”

Grace did a mental search of the few working parts of her brain. It didn’t take long. “Uh…no. Not really. What?”

“I’ve got to go to Chicago next week. The firm wants to open an office in Beijing.” His thumb traced swirling patterns over the top of her hand. “We’ve got to meet with the head honchos to work out the details.”

Grace freed her hand and pulled the covers up around her like a scared little kid. She hadn’t been left alone since her mother died. “For how long?”

“Three, maybe four days…depends on how the meetings go,” Adam answered.

“Can’t someone else go?”

Adam cleared his throat and sat up. “Jared, Lindsay and I are going.”

“Who’s Lindsay?” Jared, the CEO, she knew. She’d never heard of a Lindsay.

“She’s the contract specialist Jared hired for the project. Lindsay Durham. And, of course, I manage the overseas markets.” He patted her knee. “You’ll be fine. Hannah and Riley will take care of you.”

“Very funny.” Even though it so wasn’t. Was he being condescending or honest? But truthfully, could she be the adult? The parent? And who the hell is Lindsay?

“It’s only three days. Four tops,” Adam reminded her.

“When do you leave?” She clinched the covers tight under her chin. Adam, her security blanket, was going away. She didn’t like
anyone
messing with her woobie.

“Tuesday morning, early.”

“Should I take you to the airport?”

Adam hesitated briefly and then smoothed the covers around her. “Uh, the company has a driver that’ll pick me up.”

~~~

Grace showered. She looked better than she felt. Why had Adam let her get drunk? Yeah, she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but still, he knew two was her limit. Her head seemed three times its normal size. Damn. Tequila-no mas. Ah yes, another Spanish term. One she should have remembered.

Hannah slammed through the door just before noon. Grace grasped her forehead and used the kitchen counter to steady herself. She glanced at the clock. One hour. Two hours. Not four. No more Extra-Strength Tylenol yet. She plopped onto the nearest barstool and nibbled on a piece of wheat bread, hoping it would stay down.