Grace Grows (21 page)

We said good night to Gram, who was sitting in her wheelchair with her purse in her lap. Ty kissed her cheek.

“This is the first time you’ve brought a girl to see me, Tyler,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“It means she’s special,” Ty said.

“Well, it was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Sinclair,” I said, eyeing the door.

“And I hope it means you’re treating her well. Respectfully and thoughtfully.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And it’s a two-way street, young lady. Come closer, I’m going to give you some important information. Tyler, leave us.”

I looked at him desperately. He shrugged and left me alone with her.

She peered at me over the top of her glasses. “Do you know what matters most to a man? Besides access to your privates?”

“What?”

“Tender, loving kindness. Never fail to give it.”

“Okay.”

“Especially to that young man.
Especially
to him.”

I think I gulped audibly. “All right.”

She looked around the lobby. “Now where is Jean? I am going to miss
Law and Order
!”

I had to ask. “So, how did I do?”

“You certainly exceeded my expectations,” Ty said.

“Do you think your grandmother was impressed?”

“Hell yeah. Probably not as much as Dennis.”

“He’s creepy.”

“He’s always been insecure.”

We were driving on the country road that led to the even more rural road where their house was situated. It was inky dark out.

“I guess you noticed,” Ty said. “My sister has a strong personality.”

“She’s beautiful. And scary. She offered to buy me a tattoo.”

He looked at me. “No shit? Look, if she likes you, she’ll kill for you. Maybe literally.”

“Gosh.” That was something to think about.

“At the very least, she will take names and majorly kick ass on your behalf. She punches really hard.” This said in the wincing tone of one who knows.

Ty had the radio on, low. I could just make out the delicate notes of a sonata.

“Your grandma really loves you.”

“She taught me to play piano. She used to be cool.”

“Does Rebecca play?”

“She can, but doesn’t.”

“But you
have
to play.”

He smiled. “You’ve got me all figured out, Gracie.”

“I wish I had known my grandparents,” I said. “The only one who was alive when I was born was my dad’s mom, but she died when I was three. I got my first name from her, Susannah. I look like her.”

“Yeah, you look kind of like your dad, in the eyes.”

“Shut up.”

“If he were pretty.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“How come you don’t like him?” he asked. We were pulling into the drive. No one else was home yet.

“I do. For the most part.” He turned off the car. I unbuckled my seat belt and changed the subject. “Did you really work at a funeral home? What did they have you do?”

“Carry boxes. Answer the phones. Help embalm people.”

“You did not.”

“I swear it.”

“How could you do that?”

He shrugged. “It was interesting.”

“I guess I’m too afraid of death. Are you afraid?”

He was quiet for a while. “Well, I don’t want it to hurt. And I don’t want to be embalmed. And I don’t want to get to that moment and realize I didn’t experience some things I wished I had.”

“Like what?”

“It’s a pretty long list.”

“Just tell me one thing.”

“Well, I’ve never been out of the country, unless you count the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. I’d like to go see some things.”

“You’ll get to see the West Coast soon.”

“That’s true.”

“How long will you be there?”

“I don’t know, maybe a few months.”

“Are you nervous?”

“I get a little freaked out sometimes. It’s a whole new ride.”

“You’ll be all right, Ty. Just . . . take care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay, Grace. Thanks for coming here with me.”

“It’s been good to get out of my world for a while.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“April.”

“Are you scared?”

He’d know if I lied. “Yes.”

“Of what?”

“Forever.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“Well . . . you don’t meet a guy like Steven every day.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s . . . good. A good person. Dependable.”

“What did he think of you going out of town with me?”

“He doesn’t know.”

He looked at me. “You didn’t tell him?”

“He’s in Munich,” I said.

He was still looking at me.

“I—I’ll tell him about it later.”

Ty nodded. Looked away.

I felt I had a burning need to tell him something. I struggled to clarify what it was. “Ty—you’re leaving soon, and I don’t know how long you’ll be in California, or when I’ll see you again. Maybe not for a long time. I just want to tell you . . . I want you to know that . . .”

He was so still, waiting for me to get on with it.

“Sorry.” My eyes were starting to water. I wiped them. “I just want you to know how much I want everything to go well for you. I . . . hope your life is
so
good. What you said to my dad, about my being your friend. I feel that way, too.”

He looked at me for a long time, then opened his door and got out of the car.

I followed.

He kissed my cheek at the bottom of the stairs and went to the piano. I went up to check my messages. Steven called while I was at the party to tell me he would be home early from Munich, tomorrow night, rather than Tuesday. Time to get back to my real life.

When I got into bed Ty wasn’t playing anymore. He must have gone down to the basement.

I turned off the bedside lamp. The curtains were open and I saw that Miss Gish had broken through, high in the sky. Her cool light slid across the bedcovers.

I wondered what he thought about while he lay in this bed, searching this darkness, a boy struggling to speak.

Sunday morning Jean made a late breakfast, fried ham and French toast. She and Nathan ate with us. Rebecca, Jean said, had gone out for a run.

“Grace, we’ve loved having you visit. Haven’t we, hon?” Jean asked Nathan.

“Sure have.” Nathan obligingly glanced up from his food.

“Think you might come again sometime?” she asked.

I couldn’t see how, or why. Here I went with the dissembling. “That would be nice.”

“You’ll bring her, won’t you, son?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I went upstairs to get my bags and took a last look at his room. When I came back Ty was noodling on the piano.

“Hey,” he said. “Listen to this.” He played a pretty tune, humming along.

“That’s pretty.”

“I don’t have the words yet. What do you think it should be about?”

“Well, love, obviously.” My eyes drifted up to the deer head. “Or taxidermy.”

He laughed, that genuine, happy sound of his. “Come on, I want to show you one more thing before we go.”

I followed him again into the woods. It was an overcast November day, chilly, the trees like Chinese calligraphy against the rice-paper sky. The leaves on the ground were mostly muted, but here and there I saw a mottled, bright canary or cabernet. We passed the remains of the burnt tree. It was far less ominous to my sober brain.

We walked for at least fifteen minutes, mostly in silence, till we came to a wire fence as tall as me. He climbed over. I stood there and looked at him.

“Come on.” He pointed to a foothold. “Put your toes there.”

I set my toes in the indicated spot and slung my other leg over the top of the fence. He grabbed me by the hips and hauled me over.

“Are we trespassing?” I asked.

“Yes indeedy.”

We went up a steep hill that made my legs tremble. By now I could hear running water. We got to the top and were standing on a cliff that overlooked a lovely, wide creek. He helped me down a succession of steep steps hewn into the rock face. We walked upstream, around a bend, and came finally to where the water roared.

I had never seen a real-life waterfall. It was probably a small one as they go, only a couple of stories high, maybe ten feet wide.

“I want to touch it,” I said.

I climbed on top of a big rock to get as close as I could to the curtain of water. He stood below and held on tightly to my other hand while I reached for it. The water was in a mad, heavy rush. It battered and stung and slapped my fingers away.

“Ouch!” I laughed at the sting and looked down at him. We were enveloped in a fine mist. “Your hair is curling like crazy.”

He smiled up at me with such generous, uncomplicated joy, with that light in his eyes that I knew so well. And something happened. The stubborn, stuck thing inside me finally dislodged and moved out of the way.

Looking at him, I saw with perfect clarity:
You are my heart.

I understood, finally.

Then, now, and forever, he was
everything
. No one else was even close.

Oh, God. Oh, God.
This
was what love felt like.
This.

I was terrified.

He saw it and his face changed. He said, “It’s all right, baby. It’s all right.” He helped me climb down and held me a long time, making soothing sounds until I stopped crying.

“I want to go back,” I finally said.

We went slowly. It took a while to get back up the cliff face. He would have kept an arm around me, but once we got over the fence I moved away.

The smell of woodsmoke. A cardinal, darting low across my path. His worried face, looking back at me every ten yards or so. His back, solid, strong, in red-and-black–checkerboard flannel, leading me through the trees.

At the burnt tree I stopped. “Wait.”

He turned and came back and I grabbed his head and pulled him down. I opened my mouth on his. He made a rough sound and my feet left the ground. Then all of me was there, on the ground, on the leaves, and my jacket was open and my sweater and bra were shoved up to my neck and his mouth was hot on me and his hand was in my jeans—in my panties—and
oh, God!
I could not do this.

I set my hands on his chest.

“Stop!” I said, desperate not to make the most disastrous mistake of my life.

His head came up and I could see that he hated me. Understandably.

“Please.”

He moved off me. Watched me pull down my sweater and zip my jeans. Reached into his own jeans and made an adjustment.

I stood up. He knelt there still, looking up at me.

I touched his hair, with both hands. I touched his face. I wanted to lie back down with him. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t speak. I didn’t have words, anyway. I grabbed his hand and pressed my mouth against it, in devotion. In sorrow and apology.

Then I ran.

ruin and resolution or the smell of cloves still makes me sad

Terrible silence in the car, all the way back to Manhattan.

When he dropped me off, I did not go into my building. I got into a cab and asked the driver to take me to the first hotel I could think of, the Waldorf. I had been there for afternoon tea a couple of times. Ordinarily, I would have lingered in the lobby, absorbing the gorgeous mosaic floor and the gigantic arrangement of lilies on the table by the elevators. Today, an EconoLodge would have served my purpose just as well. And been within my budget.

I got a room with a king-size bed. Stripped naked and retreated under the covers and cried until I passed out. Four hours later I woke to my ringing cell. I crawled out of bed and staggered around in the dark until I found Big Green, but I was too late. It was Peg.

I threw the cell on the bed, went to the bathroom, and drank three glasses of water. I was completely parched from my crying jag. And my stomach hurt. I was hungry. I turned on the bedside lamp, found the room-service menu, and ordered a seventeen-dollar bowl of lobster bisque and a ginger ale.

The cell rang again. I put on the complimentary white terry robe and waited for room service. The guy rolled the food in on a cart. I tipped him and sat on the edge of the bed and ambitiously buttered a roll. The cell rang. I tried the soup but only managed a few spoonfuls. The cell rang. I gave up on the soup.

I wheeled the cart out into the hall and got the extra pillows out of the closet. Drank some of the ginger ale and got back into bed. I built a pillow fort all around me for protection and looked to see who had called.