Grace Unplugged: A Novel (27 page)

“Hannah.” The girl smiled up with eager blue eyes. “I love how you sing.”

“Thank you!” Grace wrote
‘to Hannah’
on the top of the photo. “What do you like to do?” she asked her. “Like hobbies, you know?”

“I love to sing,” Hannah said shyly.

Grace grinned as she wrote, “keep on singing!” and signed her name. “Good for you, Hannah. I loved to sing when I was your age too.”

“We had to get Hannah excused from school to meet you,” the dad told her. “But I think it’s worth it. You’re a real inspiration.”

Hannah beamed up at her dad.

“Well, thanks for coming,” Grace told them. She pointed at Hannah. “And I mean it, keep on singing and who knows . . .” She waved her arms. “This all might be yours someday.”

The dad laughed. “Wouldn’t that be something, Hannah?”

As they went on their way, Grace looked longingly at them. It was like going back in time, like she was seeing herself . . . and her dad . . . back when they used to get along. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she signed the next photograph. Forcing a smile, she cheerfully greeted the rest of the fans. But once she got on the bus, she went back to her bed and, sliding the curtain closed, she cried.

In between stops Grace had plenty of time to learn and practice her new song. And although she knew she needed to perform it like she really believed it, the more she played it the less she liked it. She also had enough time to start reading Pastor Tim’s book. And, perhaps most important, Grace had lots of time to think . . . really think.

In Tulsa, Oklahoma, Grace was stunned to see how many fans were lined up at the radio station. It was only eight o’clock in the morning, and judging by the length of the line, some of them had been there awhile.

“What’s going on?” she asked Kendra as she finished doing Grace’s hair.

“
You’re
going on,” Kendra teased.

“I know. But so many fans, are they really here for me?”

“When your song hits number three on the charts, you should expect some—”

“Number three?”
Grace stared at Kendra. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I just read it online this morning. Hadn’t you heard?”

“No.” Grace just shook her head. “That’s amazing.”

“I’ll bet you they’re throwing a party at Sapphire,” Kendra said as she brushed some blush onto Grace’s cheeks.

After the stop in Tulsa, Grace opened up her laptop; and after reading the blurbs about her song hitting number three, she checked e-mail and was surprised to see that her mom had written. Eager to see what was up, she clicked onto it and read.

Dear Grace,

I know you probably won’t have time to answer this, but I wanted to let you know Dad and I have been following your career and your tour. We know you’ll be in Birmingham next week, and we would love to drive over to see you. Would you mind if we came?

Love,

Mom

Grace read and reread the post; and then, without answering, she shut down her laptop and shoved it into the drawer next to the bed. Part of her was happy to hear from Mom. Another part of her felt uneasy . . . bordering on angry. Mom wasn’t just asking for herself—she was asking for Dad too. Did Dad assume that he could just waltz back into her life as if nothing had ever happened? Or did he plan to confront her and lay out all her faults for everyone to see? Even if he wanted to let bygones be bygones, and that seemed unlikely, Grace wasn’t ready for that.

Eager for a distraction from her mom’s e-mail, she picked up Pastor Tim’s book, flipping over to where she’d left off about midway through. Of course, as fate—or God—would have it, the chapter was about forgiveness. His point, and she’d heard it before, was that God expected her to forgive others the same way He’d forgiven her—totally.

She closed the book and reached for her computer. Okay, she could take this step toward forgiveness. It didn’t mean that she’d gone the whole distance, but she could at least make an effort. She opened Mom’s e-mail and wrote a brief reply, letting her know that it would be fine for them to come. But she grimaced as she hit
Send
. This could be such a mistake, not to mention embarrassing. And yet, it would be good to see her parents again—hard, yes, but good.

Thanks to “Misunderstood”’s unexpected hop to the top of the charts, the radio tour had morphed into a slightly bigger tour, including a number of TV appearances in some of the larger cities. Including Birmingham.

Grace woke up early that morning. Sitting in her chair not far from the driver’s seat, she stared out the front window as the sunrise illuminated the sky. But when she saw the “Welcome to Birmingham” sign, her stomach started to tie itself into knots.

“Come on, Gracie,” Kendra called from the back. “We got about forty-five minutes to get you ready for the morning show.”

Some of the band members were starting to stir now. Grace squeezed past the bass player as she went to the bedroom in back. Feeling anxious and slightly lost, she watched as Kendra laid out some clothes for her. Thankfully it was an outfit she wouldn’t feel embarrassed to be wearing when she met with her parents—that is, if they showed. She was starting to wonder if they really would come. After all, it was one thing for Mom to want to see Grace. Dad was an entirely different story. He might dig in his heels and insist they stay home. It wouldn’t surprise her.

“So you think your folks are coming today?” Kendra asked quietly as she rolled Grace’s hair onto the curling tool.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to see them?”

Grace shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Nervous about the show?”

She shrugged again.

“Well, you’ll be fine,” Kendra assured her. “Just be yourself.”

“Right.” Grace didn’t know how to tell Kendra she wasn’t entirely sure how to do that—how could she be herself when she felt so lost so much of the time?

Grace still felt uneasy as they went into the studio. But when the assistant led them all to the green room, Grace tried to appear relaxed by settling into a chair against the wall and reading a copy of
Variety
. Meanwhile her band members, oblivious to her nerves, joked and drank coffee and visited among themselves.

Of course, the first article to catch her eye was about how she and her dad were the first father and daughter to score a top-five hit with the same song. It figured. She heard the door to the green room open and supposed it was time for them to go get set up. She set down the magazine and looked to see that as her bandmates were exiting the room, some other people were coming in.

Her heart lurched inside of her chest to see her parents walking into the room. Accompanied by Pastor Tim and Sharon, they all looked so familiar . . . and yet so out of place. A mixture of shock and fear and happiness surged through her as she braced herself, standing to greet them.

Chapter 22

T
aking a steadying breath and trying to conceal how totally unsettling this felt, Grace slowly moved toward her mom, forcing a nervous smile to her lips.

“Hey, baby.” Mom gazed at her with misty eyes, opening out her arms.

Then, just like that, she and Mom were hugging tightly, and it was like neither of them wanted to let go. As they embraced, Grace could see her father from the corner of her eye. He stood nearby with lips pressed tightly together, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Or perhaps he wished he hadn’t come.

“It’s so great to see you,” Mom said when she finally released Grace. “You look good.”

Dad continued standing there like his shoes were nailed to the floor, awkwardly watching, but not saying a word.

“Thanks,” Grace told Mom. “And thanks for coming.” She smiled at the Bryants now. “Good to see you guys.”

“You too, Grace,” Pastor Tim beamed at her. “We just wanted to say hi.”

“If you’ll excuse us, we’re gonna grab something to drink,” Sharon told her. “Let you guys catch up.”

Grace just nodded, forcing a nervous smile.

“Actually,” Mom went over to join Sharon and Tim. “I think I’ll go with you. I’d like to get some coffee.” She smiled at Grace. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

Although this felt like a setup, Grace tried to act natural. And judging by her dad’s face, he was just as surprised as she was by this. They’d both been blindsided. She just stared at him now, wondering what she was supposed to say or do . . . and wishing it wasn’t so awkward.

“So . . . I guess since we’re part of music history now,” he began slowly, but his words sounded sincere. “I want to say congratulations, Grace.”

She made a small smile. “Yeah, you too.”

His serious expression softened as he studied her. “So,
how are you?”

“I’m good.”

“Mossy treating you okay?” His tone sounded more fatherly now, and it sounded surprisingly good to her.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I watched your video.” Dad looked at her now—looked at her as if he was truly seeing her. He smiled, but his eyes were still sad. “It made me realize—maybe I never really gave you the credit that I should have.” He sighed. “You’ve been gifted in ways I can’t even begin to describe, Grace.”

He paused now, running his fingers through his hair, the way he did when he was really nervous, then continued as if he was worried he wouldn’t get it all out. “I think somewhere, deep down I always knew it. And maybe that’s why in my heart I never really wanted you to grow up. Never gave you any space. ’Cause nothing made me happier than playing music. With you.”

He gave her a sweet, humble smile, and she felt her heart melting. Those times playing music with Dad had been her happiest times too.

“But right now, I’m just glad you’re safe.” His eyes were starting to tear up, and there was a big lump in her throat too. He took in a deep breath, then looked at her guitar, which was leaning in a stand near the rest of the band’s instruments. He reached for it and stroked the wood—the same way she did sometimes—and smiled. “Still using this old thing?”

Grace knew she was on the verge of tears. Swallowing hard, she tried to keep her voice even. “I guess it’s got me this far.”

He tested the guitar now, slowly playing the chords of “It Is Well with My Soul”—the same hymn they’d played together the day he’d given her that guitar for her eighth birthday. But he only played a few bars before he stopped playing. “Still sounds good.”

She nodded, blinking to hold back tears. “Keep playing,” she said in a husky voice.

As he continued to play, she reached for her bandmate’s guitar and started to play along with him. With eyes locked, they played “It Is Well” together—just as if they’d been practicing this song for years. And hadn’t they?

Before they could finish, the band members burst back into the green room. “We’re on,” the bass player announced as he grabbed up his bass. With eyes still on Dad, Grace stopped playing and handed her bandmate his guitar. With tear-filled eyes, her dad handed her back her guitar, then tipped his head and smiled—as if he was telling her to go out there and rock the house.

Taking the guitar from him, she went out to where she and her band were herded to a recording area, and before long they were all playing “Misunderstood” with so much enthusiasm that no one would’ve guessed they’d done it just like this a hundred times before. Grace could see her parents and the Bryants through the soundproof glass, but it was her father’s face that she could not take her eyes off. And when they finished the song, he gave her a smile that seemed to say it all—he was proud of her.

Outside in the parking lot, after she’d signed photos and chatted with fans, her parents and the Bryants remained outside of the bus to say good-bye.

“So where you headed now?” her dad asked her.

“Couple of stops in Texas, then, I think, Phoenix. Then back to LA. There might be more. I don’t really remember.”

“It’s so good to see you, sweetheart.” Mom hugged her again.

“Good to see you.” Now she looked at her dad. “Good to see you too.” Everything in her wanted to hug him, but it was like she was stuck. Her feet would not budge. She wished he’d make the first step, but when he didn’t, she turned to the Bryants. “I should go,” she said to them. “Thanks for coming.”