The Color Of Grace (28 page)

After shutting off the faucet, I took him to his bed.

When I pulled the sheets back for him, he automatically slid
under the covers. The light from the bathroom filtered over his face. I watched
him stare up at me with red, puffy eyes and the most solemn, heart-rending
expression. As I tucked the blankets in around him, he continued to watch me.

“Thank you,” he said before letting out a long sigh and
closing his eyes.

I nodded and made my way to the couch.

Chapter 21

I have no hue. I’m colorless,
invisible. My mother looks right through me, refuses to stop and listen to what
I’m not saying.

* * * *

Warm and cozy, I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to open my
eyes to a new day, didn’t want to face reality. But it was morning and I needed
to get home. Mom was probably freaking out, wondering where I was.

So I opened my eyes and stared directly across the room at
Ryder’s face. In his sleep, he faced me, looking peaceful and perfect, his
light brown hair settling into a fetching, scattered mess across his head with
his dark eyebrows peeking through and his eyelashes resting against the tops of
his cheeks. He slept with his mouth open but not gaping, just enough to show
off a bit of his upper teeth and let air in. The blankets I’d piled on him only
hours ago hid the rest of him under a bulk of blue covers.

I wanted to remain on his couch, inhale his scent from the
pillow under my head, and continue staring at him for the rest of my life. But
we’d both get into major trouble if I lingered much longer.

Slinking as quietly as possible, I crawled out from under
the throw blanket, folded it, and set it as neatly as possible on top of the
borrowed pillow. After I changed back into my clothes in his bathroom, I copped
a sweatshirt out of his laundry hamper and pulled it over my head, seriously
doubting he’d get mad at me for borrowing it.

After tiptoeing back into Ryder’s bedroom, I crept to his
window and glanced at him one last time. He looked so serene and relaxed; I
hoped he rested for a while longer. He needed the recuperation.

It was still cold out, and the walk home took about twice as
long as it had taken the night before.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I returned to Barry’s.
Maybe a police car out front and my mother tearfully describing the last thing
I’d been wearing. But nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Everything inside me had changed, and yet nothing here
looked different. I peeked into the garage window and spotted Mom’s car parked
beside
his
. Glad she was home, I had
nearly walked in the front door, ready to get a tongue-lashing when it struck
me.

What if they didn’t even know I was gone? My mom hadn’t
gotten off work until two a.m. and Barry thought I’d probably locked myself in
my room all night.

Changing my course, I scurried around the side of my house
to where my window still hung open a crack. I wedged my frozen fingers into the
fissure and pushed up with all my might. It wasn’t as easy to crawl inside as
it had been to crawl out last night. For a moment, I didn’t think I was going
to be able to hike myself up onto the ledge. But the more I worked, the more I
panicked, and the stronger my adrenal glands pumped. The boost to my system
heaved me up and finally I was in, tumbling inside with an audible thump.

I remained frozen on the floor of my bedroom, hoping I
hadn’t broken anything—namely myself—and praying no one had heard the
commotion.

When a knock sounded on my door, I jumped so hard pain
spiked up my spine.

“Grace?” my mom called from the hallway. Her voice made me
want to cry, made me want to dash to the door, throw it open and leap into her
arms so I could weep out all my troubles. Until she added, “You can play the
silent treatment all you like, but I will not let you starve yourself. Stop
ignoring my knock and come out for breakfast. Right now.”

Wondering how many times she’d knocked, I scrambled to my
feet, kicking off my shoes as I went. I was reaching for the doorknob when I
remembered I was still wearing Ryder’s sweatshirt.

“I’ll be right there,” I called, ripping the cold shirt over
my head and tossing it toward my bed. Then I glanced down to find I was wearing
exactly what I’d had on last night when my mom had left for work. Hurrying, I
changed into sweatpants and my own warm sweatshirt. Then I closed my window and
exited the room, only to let out a squawk of surprise to find Mom standing in
the hallway, resting her back against the wall opposite my door with her arms
folded over her chest.

Pressing my hand to my chest, I rushed out the words,
“What’re you doing?”

She pushed away from the wall. “I’m making sure you don’t
starve yourself,” she muttered. Reaching out, she grasped my arm and manually
walked me to the kitchen. I stumbled after her, glad I’d changed—not only
because I now looked like I’d just crawled out of bed but because she surely
would’ve been able to feel the outdoor cold on my other clothes if I’d kept
them on.

When we entered the brightly lit kitchen, the morning sun
streaming through a wall full of breakfast-nook windows, I spotted Barry
already seated at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. I stumbled to a
jarring halt—jerking Mom off balance. He didn’t even acknowledge my entrance
but paused his reading to lift a forkful of biscuits and gravy to his mouth.

I wondered what I should do. Point and scream, “
Pervert”
? How could I confess to my
mother what this harmless-looking man had done last night? And make her believe
it?

“Sit,” Mom instructed, letting go of me
so she could follow her own order, slipping into the chair directly to the
pervert’s right. I usually sat to his left, across from her. But I didn’t even
want to get that close to him today.

Mom paused and glanced up at me when I didn’t move, and
that’s all the prompting I needed. I eased into the chair opposite her.

“Morning,” Barry murmured in my direction. The mere sound of
his voice made me lose my appetite, not that I was hungry to begin with.

Mom reached for her own biscuit off the serving tray and
split it open, looking more awake than she should after working half the night.
As she buttered her biscuit, Barry turned the page on his paper as if
absolutely nothing was wrong.

I chickened out. With everything so normal like this, with
my mother home and Barry ignoring me, it was easy to convince myself everything
really was normal.

Mom asked Barry to pass her the grape jelly, and he did so
only to pause his reading to lovingly pat her hand and smile at her. Mom
blushed and grinned back as if they were sharing some kind of secret passion
from the night before.

I thought I might throw up.

Clearing her throat when she glanced my way, Mom must’ve
seen something on my face that made me look as if I felt left out, because she
suddenly included me into the moment.

“So what did you two do last night?” she asked.

I just stared at her, feeling empty and scared, unable to
confess,
I spent the night, running and
hiding from your sick husband
.

“We rented another movie,” Barry spoke up, answering for me.

I glanced over at him, and we finally looked at each for the
first time since I’d entered the kitchen. His expression was completely void of
all the emotion that had been in his eyes twelve hours ago.

“That’s nice,” Mom said. “What movie did you watch?”

Barry held my stare for another moment and then he looked at
his wife and named off the very movie he’d asked me to watch with him.

He started talking about our father-daughter night together,
casually spilling out all these lies until I couldn’t handle it anymore.

I stumbled to my feet, needing to escape.

Startled, Barry stopped yapping and both adults gaped at me.

“Grace!” Mom gasped.

“I’m going to go to my room.”

“But you haven’t eaten anything.”

“I—I already ate.” Covering my mouth with one hand, I staggered
away, ready to flee.

“Grace, stop!” Mom’s voice was so commanding I halted in my
tracks. Slowly, I turned to face her, careful to keep my eyes on her alone and
nowhere near the man sitting beside her.

“What in the world is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I said, but I’m almost positive my face was an
ill shade of gray and my eyes looked sunken and hollow. “I’m fine.”

My mother’s sigh filled the room. “I know the two of us have
been going through a hard time lately. But this is getting out of hand. You’re
going to make yourself sick.”

My chin quivered. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t know
what to say, yet even if I did, I wouldn’t—couldn’t—have said it in front of
him
.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said again, though my adamant statement
was so weak, I didn’t buy it myself.

“Grace Elizabeth Indigo,” Mom snapped. “Will you just talk
to me already?”

Hoping and praying she’d stand up, take my hand and add,
let’s go to your room, just the two of us
,
I continued to stand there, waiting.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Barry reach out and touch
her arm, restraining her. “She’ll talk when she’s ready, sweetheart.”

I gnashed my teeth. Lying hypocrite, I wanted to scream.
Turning away, I was fully prepared to flee. But the phone on the wall next to
me rang. I have no idea why that made me stop, but I quit moving and stared
stupidly at the jangling machine as my mom got up from the table.

My breathing picked up as I feared it would be someone from
her work, asking her to come in today…and once more leaving me alone with him.

But after she said, “Hello,” she frowned and asked, “Who’s
calling please?” as she turned to narrow her eyes in my direction. “Just a
moment.” Holding the phone out to me, she arched a brow. “Ryder Yates?”

Without answering her unspoken demand of who Ryder Yates
was, I took the phone from her with shaking fingers and pressed the receiver to
my ear.

I stood there a moment without speaking. Then I put my back
to the table and quietly said, “Hello?”

On the other end of the line, someone gave a loud, relieved
sigh. “Hi.” Ryder’s voice echoed into my ear, making my nerves wrench with
excitement and anxiety. “I guess you made it home okay.”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I wanted to tell him I’d taken his
sweatshirt and would give it back as soon as I saw him again, but saying that
in front of my mother would probably elicit too many questions, and I had a
feeling I’d already be answering enough as soon as I hung up.

“I looked up Dr. Struder’s number in the phone book. I hope
it’s okay I called. You scared me to death when I woke up and you were gone. I
had to know you were okay. So…are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” I said, hoping that would answer his question
without stirring up more from my listeners. “Everything’s fine.”

He paused before asking, “Can you talk right now?”

I shook my head. “Not at all. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay, I get it. I’ll go. I know you’re still alive, you
made it home okay, and your mom is there, so that’s good enough for now. But I,
uh, I also wanted to thank you for—” he cleared his throat “—taking care of me
last night. I’m sorry I, you know, cried all over you.”

My shoulders fell as my face filled with sympathy. “I’m glad
too,” I said, praying he understood I meant I was glad I’d been the one to be
there for him.

“Gotcha. All right then. If you need anything else, let me
know. I
will
help you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“’Bye,” he whispered back.

I hung up, staring at the phone, wishing I could’ve talked
more, told him more, told him everything. When I turned, my mind still on him,
I ended up facing the table instead of away from it and found myself staring at
my mother and her husband. Both had avidly been listening to my side of the conversation.

“Who’s Ryder Yates?” Mom asked.

I cleared my throat, then shook my head. “He…he goes to
Southeast.”

She arched her eyebrows. “Does Todd know
Ryder
is calling you?”

I lifted my chin. “No.”

“I thought you were going steady with Todd.”

With a snort, I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Mom. No one uses
the phrase
going steady
anymore.”

Wrinkling her forehead into a frown that caused her brows to
pinch together, she snapped, “Don’t get snarky with me. Just answer the
question. Which one is your boyfriend? Todd or Ryder?”

My lips moved, but no words came out. Instantly, I tried to
answer with the truth.
Neither
. But
as Barry’s stare burrowed into me, I breathed out the name, “Ryder,” hoping Ryder
would forgive me for spilling that whopper.