The Color Of Grace (24 page)

Saturday and Sunday progressed very similar to Friday
evening. I avoided everyone and everything, only sneaking out of my room to
scavenge for food and use the necessities. Mom left me alone, which made me
think she really had decided she’d been wrong. Didn’t matter, though; it
wouldn’t change what she’d done to me and how she’d made me feel.

I was afloat, utterly alone, in this
vast sea everyone called life, and I saw no land or rescue in any direction. It
was frightening, and I wasn’t sure what to do. So I hid.

Chapter 18

I looked up the symbolism for gray.
Sorrow, security, maturity. Sorrow and maturity sound about right. I’ve just
lost my mother for good, and it’s left me feeling wrinkled and old, a sheet of
white paper that had been exposed to too much pain and faded to gray. But security?
That drifted off in a thick, gray fog and left me bare to the elements. I wish
I had someone to lean against and help me through this era of my life.

* * * *

When Monday rolled around, I didn’t want to go to school.
But it was something to do, something to get me out of Barry’s house and away
from my mother. It was also something solid and real. School, classes,
homework. It was reliable, a pattern and consistency I could cling to.

But as I walked in the front door and looked around at the
clusters of people chatting and laughing, I felt sick. School was normal, but I
was not. I felt changed.

With mechanical steps, I made my way to my locker and stored
my books and bag. Art would be my first class of the day. I almost looked
forward to going and burying myself into my project. I finally had an idea for
my big courthouse display; working on it would be a welcome release from
reality.

I’d just shut my locker and had turned to head toward Art
when I jerked to a halt.

Across the way, Ryder studied me, his eyes squinted in
confusion.
What’s wrong
? He mouthed
the question.

I blanched, worried about how he could tell anything looked
off about me. I glanced down at my clothes, making sure I’d dressed properly
enough. Everything seemed to be in order, so I lifted my face. He’d taken a
step closer as if he wanted to come to me.

I wanted it too, so I started toward him. I have no idea
what I would’ve said or done, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve disgraced myself;
therefore, it’s a good thing Todd appeared before I could reach Ryder.

“Hey,” he said. “I tried to get a hold of you this weekend.
Emailed, texted, called your phone. You never answered.”

I opened my mouth, not sure what to say. The words that
blundered out were, “I had a fight with my mom.”

He frowned a moment as if to say that totally didn’t excuse
why I hadn’t answered a call, or text, or email. But then his eyes crinkled in
sympathy. “Did she ground you?”

I shook my head, unable to describe the specifics.

Seeming to finally catch on that I’d experienced something
traumatic, he softened the expression on his face even more, quietly asking,
“Do you want to talk about it?”

Again, I shook my head.

“Do you want a hug?”

I paused. A hug. A hug sounded heavenly.

Sucking in a breath, I nodded.

Face lighting with surprise but immediately followed by
pleasure, Todd opened his arms. I stepped between them. When he pulled me tight
against him, I even rested my face on his shoulder, closing my eyes as I soaked
in all the support he provided.

Everything that had previously vexed me about this boy
slipped away in his compassionate embrace. I didn’t even care if Ryder was
right and Todd was only using me to irritate his best friend. He was offering
me a shoulder to lean on when I needed it, so I took it with the utmost gratitude.

Relaxing, I began to enjoy the sensation of my cheek against
his cotton t-shirt, the smell of dryer sheets emanating off him. He was warm
and human and I gobbled up the comfort—whether it was sincerely given or not.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw over Todd’s
shoulder was Ryder staring at us, his jaw slack and mouth hanging open. I
looked away, because sometimes looking at him just hurt too much.

Lifting my face to Todd, I said, “Thank you,” meaning it
from the bottom of my heart.

Reaching out to tuck a piece of hair
behind my ear, Todd smiled. “No problem.” After he cast a glance over his
shoulder, he let out a smug grin and returned his attention to me. “So, what’re
you doing tonight? Want to do something together?”

With an irresistible urge to avoid Barry’s house as much as
possible, I gave my second nod, and Todd beamed as if he’d just won a new car.

“Cool. We can hang out at my place.”

“Okay.”

So, we did.

It wasn’t awful. Away from his friends, Todd could be
decent, if a little awkward about how to treat me. I could tell he wanted to
shut me alone in his room and try to get touchy-feely, but his eight-year-old
sister took a strange and sudden liking to me. Every time Todd tried to shoo
her away, she thought of something else to say to me.

Much to Todd’s disgruntlement, I spent most of that night
coloring with her and letting her braid my hair. The next night, he asked me to
a movie. I accepted. I think he kept trying to take my hand or meet fingers
with me in the popcorn bowl, but I was so into the show, I only noticed his
failed attempts when it was too late.

Wednesday, he didn’t ask to do anything. Once he’d caught
this particular fish, he was ready to throw it back. Ryder totally ignored us
whenever he saw us together in school, so if his theory was true that Todd was
only using me to get his goat, then maybe that’s why Todd lost interest. His
attention to me no longer bothered his friend, so his own strayed.

That was a miserable night. I called Bridget’s house, but
Joel—who answered the phone—said she wasn’t home. So I tried Schy and Adam, but
neither of them was home. It was my night to cook. I rushed out a salad, threw
in some canned chunks of chicken, and then made my plate to go. After eating
alone in my room, I snuck down to the kitchen to find Mom and Barry had already
cleared the dishes. Maybe that was her way of saying sorry to me.

If so, it wasn’t enough.

Thursday, I didn’t see Todd in school, so I called him afterward.
He answered his cell phone on the first ring.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual instead of desperate.
“I didn’t see you in school today.”

“Oh, yeah. I spent most of the day in, uh, English. I was
late turning in a paper so the teacher let me come in between classes to finish
it.”

It sounded like a lame excuse to me, but if he didn’t want
to be honest, I really didn’t care. I desperately needed
something
 
to get me out of
my house. Now if he’d wanted to say, “Yeah, I was trying to avoid you,” then
maybe I would’ve left him alone. But I went ahead and asked, “Do you want to do
something tonight?”

He stumbled around before telling me he had to go to a play
at his little sister’s school. I swallowed some pride and asked what he was
doing the next night. Friday.

“I’m hanging out with Yates tomorrow night. It’s guys’
night. You know.”

“Oh, okay.”

I didn’t ask about Saturday—cutting my losses there—but hung
up with him moments later, worried I’d just lost an outlet to get me out of the
house

Friday, I had chemistry with both Todd and Ryder. Ryder
completely ignored me; Todd smiled and greeted me but his manner was very vague,
telling me he’d definitely lost interest.

My mom had to work late that night. Since Barry had played a
part in convincing her I’d turned into some kind of loose-morals teenager, I
didn’t feel like socializing with him. I planned to stay the entire evening
inside my room.

Except fate intervened.

I had to go to the bathroom

To this day, I wish I would’ve held it.

As it was, I did wait out my bladder for as long as I could,
but eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Being that the clock read the time
as a quarter after ten at night, I hoped maybe Barry had already gone to bed.

I snuck from my room and made a mad dash to the bathroom.
Afterward, I fully planned to slip silently right back to my room without
anyone being the wiser.

But he appeared almost as soon as I opened the restroom
door.

I gasped and jumped back.

“Sorry about that,” he said, flashing me a genial grin as if
I hadn’t been avoiding him as much as I had my mother all week. “But I rented
another movie. Want to watch it with me?” He held up the Blu-ray case, showing
me the title of some romance I knew I never would’ve watched with my real
father, no matter how close we’d been. Way too steamy.

I shook my head. “No, thanks.”

Barry frowned. “Grace, what’s wrong?”

What was wrong?
What
was wrong?
 
What house had he been
living in for the past few weeks? My mother and I had started World War Five
and I had solidly placed him on her side. He was the enemy. I didn’t mingle
with the enemy.
That’s
 
what was wrong.

But I shook my head. “Nothing.”

He didn’t buy it. He gave me a concerned look and stepped
toward me, grasping my arm. “Is it Todd?” he asked.

Again, I shook my head. “No.”

Barry wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure? You two spent a lot
more time together this week. He hasn’t…tried something…has he?”

I wanted to roll my eyes. Why was he asking about Todd of
all people? Why didn’t he care that I hadn’t talked to my mother since last
Friday? Why didn’t he want to powwow and try to concoct some kind of plan to
get Mom and me back together?

I didn’t want to confess Todd was no longer interested; I’d
lose my biggest reason to leave the house these days. So, I lied, saying, “We’re
fine. Everything’s fine.”

I guess my lying abilities hadn’t improved any because Barry
kept watching me with this strange, probing stare.

Ad-libbing, I said, “He had to hang out with one of his
friends tonight because the friend had been getting jealous of all the time
he’d been spending with me.”

There, maybe a partial lie was at least a little more believable.

It must’ve been.

Barry answered with, “Oh. Then what’s wrong, honey?”

Honey? Cursing the fact I was facing him—because it took
everything inside me not to wince over the endearment—I shook my head.
“Nothing.”

I grew increasingly freaked out. He knew good and well what
was wrong with me. I was fighting with my mother. Duh.

I just wanted to go to my room and get away from him. But he
stood, blocking my path. I couldn’t think of anything to say to convince him I
was fine. Feeling more and more nervous by the moment, my mind went completely
blank.

Then, to my own horror, tears filled my eyes.

“Oh, Gracie,” he whispered and reached out, wrapping his
fingers around my arm and pulling me close to him for a hug. I started to
tremble, standing stiffly in his embrace, too afraid to push away from him as
everything inside me screamed for me to do.

“Baby, don’t cry.” His voice soothing, he stroked my hair.

I had no idea what to think. Was he just being fatherly? Did
he have any clue he was scaring me to death? I squeezed my eyes closed, not sure
how to react, forcing myself not to overreact.

Until he kissed me.

It wasn’t one of those fatherly pecks on the cheek either.

I was trying so hard not to let him know he completely
freaked me out because I didn’t want to offend him if this was just his way of
being a dad. And then he dug his fingers in my hair and tilted my face up. Eyes
still closed, I was wondering how I was going to politely wiggle my way out of
this when I felt the press of his mouth against mine.

This was the first time a man—a grown man, not just a boy my
age—had ever kissed me. I could actually feel how old he was. Grandpa cologne
assaulted my nose as his lips—all dry and squishy-soft with a slight shake as
if he suffered from Parkinson's disease—mashed against me.

Blurting out a screech, I yanked away from him.

Hoping he’d accidentally slipped, as if maybe he had leaned
a little too close and, oops, brushed his mouth across mine, I looked up with
huge eyes, covering my mouth with one hand.

He pulled back, not looking startled at all. In fact, the
sicko smiled.

I shoved past him and full out sprinted to my room.

“Grace!” he called, hurrying after me.

In fear, I yelped and slammed my door, bolting it and not
caring if he heard this time.

Pressing my back to the exit, I covered my mouth and started
to cry as I’d never cried before, not even after the dreaded doctor’s visit. It
hurt, actually hurt to heave out the sounds that ripped from my chest.