The Color Of Grace (34 page)

Chapter 25

As Mom and I continued our pity-fest together, sobbing and
crying all over each other and clutching one another as if we’d just survived a
nuclear blast, Mrs. Yates set her hands on her hips and nailed Ryder with a
scowl.

“If you knew something like this was happening to one of
your friends, then why in heaven’s name didn’t you come to your father and me
about it?”

Ryder shrank back a step and opened his mouth a good second
before he thought up an answer. “I…I wasn’t even totally sure what was wrong
with her. She refused to tell me anything. How could I come to you when I
didn’t even know what was going on?”

His mother drew in a breath to respond, but he rushed to
explain, “She was scared to death and didn’t want to be home while her mom was
at work. That’s all I knew. So I figured I’d just stay the confidential,
supportive friend she needed until she was ready to talk. And then…I would’ve
come straight to you and Dad.”

Shoulders slumping from Ryder’s practical explanation, his
mom glanced at me. The hard-set frown on her face melted into a look of pity.
“I guess I can’t blame the girl for wanting a place to escape.” Then with a
regretful huff, she conceded, “And I can’t say I’m not proud of you for taking
her in when she clearly needed a friend.”

“Dear Lord,” Mom croaked as she listened to Mrs. Yates. “A
place to escape? Where are we going to go, Grace? All our things are in his
house.” Her arms tightened around me as a shiver rippled through both of us.

“You can stay here tonight,” Mrs. Yates offered. After
sending a frown Ryder’s way, she added, “In the
guest
room.”

He gave a rueful grin. “Hey, if I thought I could’ve snuck
her down the hall past your room without you noticing, that’s exactly where I
would’ve set her up.”

When his mother only darkened her scowl, he lifted his
hands. “Honest, Mom. Do you even realize how uncomfortable that couch is in my
room? I’m glad to have my bed back.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Mrs. Yates turned from
him to face Mom.

“I’m Sandra, by the way. Sandra Yates. That over there is my
husband, Michael.” She motioned to the older version of Ryder as he hung up the
phone. “And of course, you probably know Ryder.” She pointed out her son.

Mom gave an audible swallow as she wiped at her face and
glanced one by one at the three Yates family members staring back. “Um…I’m
Kate.”

“Once an officer arrives, he’ll probably take a report, and
since this is a he-said-she-said case with no proof—” With an abrupt halt in
her speech, Mrs. Yates glanced toward me. “There’s no proof, right?”

“Uh…” Rattled by the abrupt question, I bobbed my head.
“Right.”

Nodding, Sandra continued. “And since you’re the age of
consent, which is sixteen in this state…”

This time she directed a look toward Ryder, who said, “Yes,
she’s sixteen.”

“Then he might charge Dr. Struder with simple battery or
rude, insulting touching. Typical punishment will most likely be probation.”

“My mom’s a probation office,” Ryder interrupted to explain,
which made Mom and I assume the bulb-light-turning-on expression.

“We can have the police stand by tomorrow while you remove
all your items from his house, if you like.”

Mom breathed out a breath and squeezed my hands. “I would
like that very much. Bless you.” Glancing at me, she gave a tremulous, watery
smile. “Thank goodness our house in Hillsburg hasn’t sold yet, huh?”

The truth suddenly struck me. We would be going home, back
to Hillsburg, back to my old school, back to my friends. For a split second,
joy bloomed inside me.

Then I paused and glanced Ryder’s way.

He must’ve come to the same conclusion. His eyes flashed to
me, and in their depths I saw deep regret. But he forced a smile that didn’t
reach his sad gaze.

* * * *

Mrs. Yates’s guess turned out to be correct on all counts.
Barry didn’t go to jail that night, or any other night, for that matter. When
an officer arrived at the Yates’ house to take our report, I wasn’t up to
discussing the gory details with anyone else. But my mother—and Ryder’s parents—were
adamant.

“I want the book thrown at this monster,” Mom raged.

“Yeah,” Mr. Yates agreed. “Throw a book; like the Bible.
Maybe he’ll learn a few well-needed morals.”

But to my relief, the issue stayed relatively low key. There
would be no book throwing and no big long trial. I wouldn’t have to sit in a
witness stand and try to make twelve jurors believe me.

I could picture it now. Innocent tears streaming down my
face as I pointed a shaky finger toward Barry, sitting next to his lawyer.
I’m not lying. He kissed me. Honest
, I
would oh-so dramatically proclaim as everyone in the world watched, dissecting
every nuance of my voice and body language to decipher whether or not I was
telling the truth. The mental image made me shiver. No, thank you. The real outcome
would be nice and simple, easy to put behind me and move on with life.

I wish I could say the same for my mother. After Mrs. Yates
showed us to her guestroom and Mom and I huddled under the covers next to each
other, I listened to her sniff and cry as quietly as possible for the rest of
the night.

When I woke the next morning, I felt groggy and sore. I
glanced across the mattress at Mom, who’d finally passed out. Her face looked
haggard and worn as if she’d battled sleep and it had finally conquered her and
then locked her prisoner in a cell of nightmares. I wanted to shake her awake
just to take that awful look off her face, but she had to be exhausted, so I quietly
slipped out of bed, used the bathroom and eased open the door of our guestroom to
smell bacon and coffee.

I followed my nose through Ryder’s house and into his huge
kitchen to find him—not his mother or father—standing at the stove flipping
eggs. I stopped dead, my bare toes chilling against the cool tile floor.
Crossing my arms over my chest to keep in body heat, I watched him cook.

He looked just as appealing from the back as he did the
front. Hair full of bed head, one thick lock stood up on the crown of his head.
If I’d been close enough, I probably would’ve been tempted to reach out and
smooth the rooster tail down. He wore sweatpants and a purple t-shirt with a
white dragon breathing fire across his back.

Warmth stirred under my skin. I wondered if I’d ever again
meet anyone who made me feel as tingly and alive as simply looking at Ryder
Yates made me feel.

He must’ve sensed my presence because he glanced over, did a
double take, and then grinned at me. The swelling on his face had gone down
overnight, but the bruises had darkened considerably.

“Morning,” he said, his face lighting with the same giddy
breathlessness I felt swirling inside me. Setting his spatula down and coming
toward me, he sucked his lip between his teeth before saying, “I hope you like
bacon and eggs. It’s all I know how to cook.”

I tightened my lips to keep the huge smile that would’ve no
doubt split my face clean in half from exploding across my cheeks. “I love
them,” I said, and even if I hadn’t they would’ve become my favorite dish at
that very moment.

Relief bloomed in his eyes. “Orange juice?”

I gave a nod.

Grinning the exact grin I was trying to contain, he pulled a
chair from the table that had been set for five. “Then, have a seat, my lady,”
he swept his hand out, “and it’ll be my great honor to serve you.”

I hesitated, feeling awkward about being the recipient of
such gracious service. But he looked so eager to please me, I hurried forward
and planted my tush on the chair. Ryder scooted me in and then moved away.
After opening the refrigerator, he pulled out a pitcher of orange juice, then
proceeded to pour me a glass. I watched as he set the filled cup on the counter
and piled a serving plate with eggs and bacon. While he was busy, two pieces of
golden brown bread popped out of the toaster.

Unable to sit still and watch him do all the work, especially
with his hands still wrapped in gauze the way they were, I pushed from my chair
and went to the counter where a plate of two pieces of buttered toast already
sat. Extracting the two freshest slices from the toaster, I silently buttered
them. Ryder noticed my help a second later.

“Hey,” he scolded. “Sit back down.
You’re the guest here.”

“I don’t mind.” After buttering both pieces, I put two more
into the toaster, turning just in time to catch Ryder carrying the platter of
breakfast to the table.

“The orange juice is for you,” he called, his back facing
me.

Since my mouth was morning-breath dry, I gulped down a good
dose of juice.

Ryder returned to me just as I let out a quenched sigh.

He smiled as we faced each other. But the longer our gazes
held, the sadder he began to look until he huffed out a short, depressed
breath. “You’re going to transfer back to Hillsburg, aren’t you?”

Glancing down at my half-empty glass, I nodded. “Probably.”

“Well…” He forced a smile when I lifted my face. “At least
you’ll return to your friends again.”

“Yeah,” I agreed quietly.

He stepped toward me. “I’m going to miss you, though.”

I couldn’t repeat the sentiment, even though that’s exactly
what I felt. Despite the way my orange juice had just hydrated me, my throat
went dry. “Thank you,” I blurted. “Thank you for…for breakfast, and letting me
stay over, and standing up for me last night, and…and all of it.”

He eased another centimeter forward. “No, it was nothing.”

My gaze probed his. “Maybe not to you,” I closed that last
inch between us and rose up onto my tiptoes, “but it was everything to me.”

Closing my eyes, I tilted my face and pursed my lips. A warm
mouth met mine. Ryder’s fingers grazed the side of my cheek and slid into my
hair until he cupped my head.

I felt lifted up, weightless and free while every pore in my
body exploded with excitement, buzzing out prickles of joyous sensation to all
my extremities until, oh yeah, my bare toes curled. Literally.

Nothing had ever been so sweet yet exhilarating and
completely satisfying. When I finally stepped back, I felt changed. Brand new
and sparkly.

Opening my eyes, I found Ryder looking as dazed as I felt.
Then he blinked and began to beam.

I beamed back.

Licking my lips and relishing the taste of orange juice and
Ryder, I said, “I hope we can still keep in touch after I’m gone.”

Ryder’s grin was pure ornery. “Well, I think we better.
After all, we still have to name our first kid Absolutely.”

Then he swooped in and kissed me again…until he bumped his
cut lip against mine. Wrenching back, he muttered, “Ouch.”

We grinned at each other until we started laughing.

* * * *

Barry only tried to cause a little trouble. For a few days
after the big showdown in the Yates’ living room, he kept phoning Mom, trying
to get her to believe him and take him back. But a cop friend of Mrs. Yates’s
paid him a little visit, threatening a restraining order, which would’ve
endangered his dentistry. And we never heard from Dr. Struder again.

Which was just fine with me. I was more than ready to put
the last month of my life behind me.

Most of it, anyway.

On the evening before I transferred back to Hillsburg, after
I’d survived my last day at Southeast, Mom and I visited the Osage courthouse
where my art project hung on display along with three dozen other students’
masterpieces.

For a minute, we simply wandered around, studying each
display we came across until I spotted mine.

“There.” I pointed.

But someone was already standing in front of it, studying
both prints. I could tell he was Ryder even before he turned. When he saw me,
he smiled and moved toward us.

Taking both my hands, he kissed my cheek and breathed, “It’s
perfect.”

I didn’t think anything was as perfect as he was—black eye
and all—but I appreciated his praise, flattered enough to squeeze his fingers
and blush.

Together, we stared at my pair of photographs hanging on the
wall. After a little digital touchup, I’d turned them into black and white
shots, only putting red in the picture of the glove lying alone in the snow and
red in the picture of my dad’s lumber jacket hanging on a hook in front of a
nice warm, lit fireplace. I had titled one photograph
Lost
and the other
Found
,
but I doubt I need to explain which I had named which.

Next to me, Mom gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.
“Oh, Grace,” she breathed. “Your father’s coat.” Tears sparkled in her lashes
as she grinned at the framed picture.

Even happier I’d managed to please her, I reached out and
grasped her hand.