Grounded (30 page)

“Of course. I understand. Do you want to, uh, get together again this weekend? Or next week some time?”

Grace shook her head. “No. I'm heading to the West Coast pretty soon for a ten-day concert tour. Taking the train, so it'll be a little more than two weeks when I add travel on either end.” She saw his jaw muscles tighten. Disappointment? Frustration?

Reaching out her hand, she touched his and smiled ruefully. “I know that's not what you want to hear, Roger, but I promise you this—I promise to use the time I'm away to seriously consider what you've said.”

The gentle patter of a spring rain greeted Grace when she woke up the next morning. She stretched and then cuddled deeper under her comforter. A heavy lump at the foot of the bed moved, and a moment later a rumbling purr preceded Oreo's cool nose exploring the exposed part of her face.

“Go 'way, Oreo,” she mumbled, pushing the cat off the bed. But she couldn't help smiling.
Dinner with Roger …
a week ago she never could've imagined such a thing. But after finishing their meal—in spite of the seriousness of their “talk”—they'd walked the few blocks to the Chicago River in the foggy evening, meandering along the riverwalk for half an hour. The city was dazzling, liquid lights reflecting and rippling in the dark waters of the river that cut through the city. It had almost seemed like old times.

Almost. But not quite.

He'd offered his arm when they crossed streets and skirted puddles, and they'd chatted about the new buildings populating the city skyline and shaken their heads at the lighted boats full of tourists plying the river in spite of the chill. But he hadn't tried to kiss her when he walked her up to her door, and she didn't invite him in.

Too much water under their bridge for that—at this point, anyway.

She sat up in the bed, hugging her knees. Was it possible that the confusing and painful breakdown in their relationship could turn around? If so, why had God put her through all that pain in the first place? What was he up to?

Well. The dinner might be a glimmer of hope, but she couldn't figure it out in one day. Grace threw off the comforter and stuck her feet in her slippers. She'd made no promises, except to think about it for the next few weeks.

But a few minutes later, staring into the bathroom mirror, Grace suddenly grabbed two fistfuls of her hair, her face crumpling as old memories started to surface—memories she'd pushed deep in order to be who she was today. Even if she and Roger did get back together, things would be different. There was no way she could pretend the breakup never happened. No way to jump right back into the purity theme in her concerts. Taking several gulps of air, Grace backed away from the mirror and fumbled with the shower handles. She needed to get a grip … a hot shower would help.

Grace browsed her e-mail during breakfast—
ah
. Samantha said Barry was suggesting a practice session with the band at the studio Saturday afternoon, then at least three more evening sessions the following week. Could she put those on her calendar?
Got it
, she wrote back and hit Send.

An hour later Grace was sitting at her piano, humming through one of the songs she'd written and chosen for the upcoming tour, when the doorbell rang.

Estelle Bentley was standing on her stoop under a large black umbrella.

“Oh, uh, hi! Come in.” Good grief. She'd totally forgotten that Estelle mentioned coming over this morning.

“Don't really need this ol' thing,” the woman chuckled, shaking the umbrella and hooking the handle on the iron railing. “Rain is supposed to stop soon anyway. Am I interrupting something?”

“Just practicing, but I can use a break. Would you like some coffee? I still have half a pot.”

“Coffee sounds good. But I don't want to stay too long if you're practicin'.”

Estelle followed Grace into the kitchen. “Say, I like those café curtains in the window. Lets you look out without everybody lookin' in.” She took the mug of coffee Grace handed her, spooned sugar into it from the bowl on the small kitchen table, and lowered herself into a chair. Resting her elbows on the table and sipping from the mug, she peered up at Grace over the rim. “Can't help askin' … how did your dinner date go?”

Grace shrugged as she filled a second mug and joined Estelle at the table. “A bit awkward, but all right, I guess. He apologized for how he ended our relationship—”

“Good! More men need to know it ain't gonna kill 'em to say they're sorry!”

“Yeah, well, that wasn't all. He said he'd like to back up and ‘do it right.'” She made a face. “Which I think means talk about what he thinks is wrong with our relationship. Or me.”

Estelle cocked an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

Grace added hastily, “I shouldn't have said it like that. To be fair, Roger did say he should've given us a chance to work on our relationship.”

“And you said … ?”

Grace shrugged. “Said I appreciated his apology, but I needed time to think about it.”

“Glad to hear it, girl.” Estelle reached out and laid a hand on Grace's arm. “You've been through some mighty tough things the last few months, just from the little bit you've shared with Harry an' me. Give God some time to show you the path he wants you to take—like that verse from Proverbs we prayed yesterday.”

Grace nodded. “Thanks. Um, is that what you wanted to ask me—about going out with Roger last night, I mean?”

Estelle shook her head. “Not really. Has more to do with what you asked me to pray about in the first place—needin' a new theme for your concert tour comin' up. I'm tryin' to understand, so I know how to pray. Just wanted to ask, if you don't mind sayin',
why
you were focusing on a purity message in your past concerts?”

“
Why?
” Grace felt a little taken aback. “Well, uh … because, you know, there's so much sexual pressure on kids today. Kids are confused, they think everybody's ‘doing it.' It seemed important to let young people know that
not
everyone's doing it—you know, using the platform God has given me to let kids know it's a good thing to wait until marriage for sexual intimacy …” Her voice trailed off. For some reason, her explanation sounded flat, even in her own ears, as if she was just saying
blah, blah, blah
.

Estelle nodded slowly. “Yes, but …” She tipped her head slightly to the side, her graying topknot bobbing, dark eyes full of concern. “What I meant is, why was it so important to
you
?”

The question pierced Grace. She stared at Estelle. Who
was
this woman sitting in her kitchen? This woman who took casual Christian-y comments like, “Pray for me,” so
seriously
? This woman who seemed to see right into the deepest part of her soul?

Grace avoided Estelle's gaze. “I don't know … I mean, guess it had to do with some things I struggled with back in high school. You know, I was a typical good girl, grew up in a churchgoing, Christian family. People had all these high expectations of me—my parents, the church people, even other kids in my youth group—so hard to live up to.” She swallowed. “But I was just a teenager, trying to be liked, and there was this guy …”

Grace gripped her mug, staring into the black liquid.
No, no … I can't go there. What business is it of Estelle's, anyway
? But it was as if she'd poked a hole in a bulging water bag, and the water couldn't be held back—first a trickle, then a stream …

“He—he sat next to me in assembly, last name was Metcalf—we all sat alphabetically, you know—and he was really cute, but I never thought he'd pay any attention to
me
. He was really popular, a jock, played soccer, and I was, you know, a dud—couldn't go to dances, couldn't date until I was sixteen, stuff like that.”

Estelle chuckled, nodding, and Grace glanced at her gratefully.

“But Darin—that was his name—broke up with this other really popular girl and started flirting with me. At first I just ignored him—my folks would never approve. He wasn't a Christian or anything,
not that I knew of, but … I was flattered by the attention and started flirting back. He seemed to really like me, started hanging out with me after school, and … it felt great! All his friends accepted me, the other girls were pretty jealous, but started inviting me to parties and stuff—which had never happened before. Suddenly all the Christian ‘rules' I'd been trying to live by just seemed so old-fashioned. So one weekend when my parents were away visiting one of my brothers for parents weekend or something—both my brothers were in college by then—Darin asked me to go out, and I said sure!” Grace shrugged, fiddling with her mug of coffee. “I was barely sixteen, and it felt so exciting to be driving around in a car with a good-looking guy, going on a real date. We went to a movie, don't even remember what it was, but the one he picked was R-rated and made me very uncomfortable, and I kinda wanted to go home. But afterwards he—”

Grace stopped. Getting up suddenly, she mumbled, “Uh, sorry. Gotta go …” and stumbled toward the bathroom. Sinking onto the closed toilet seat, she dropped her head into her hands. Estelle was going to think she was so rude, leaving the table like that! But … she couldn't go on.

After a few minutes, Grace flushed the toilet, ran water in the sink, and then tentatively came out of the bathroom. Estelle looked up from the couch as she came into the living room and patted the cushion beside her. “It's all right, honey. I've been around the block a few times myself. Nothin' you can say will surprise me. And nothin' you say will leave this house. But sometimes it helps to say it, 'specially if you been keepin' it locked away down in your belly, where it's been eatin' you alive.”

Grace sank down onto the other end of the couch but just shook her head, fighting back the tears. After a few long moments, Estelle said gently, “So Darin got aggressive, pushed you to have sex, right?”

The tears that had been threatening finally spilled over. “I … I didn't want to, nothing like that! I just wanted to be liked, to have fun like other girls, but he … he parked the car and was suddenly all over me, pushing me down, running his hands up under my skirt, grabbing at my breasts, even laughing when I started to struggle …”

Grace began to shake all over. The next thing she knew, Estelle had moved over beside her on the couch and was pulling her into a comforting embrace. “It's all right, baby,” Estelle crooned, rocking her like a child. “Go ahead an' cry, get it all out …” Grace leaned deeper into Estelle's cushiony bosom and wept. Oh, how she wept as the pent-up secrets started to unravel like barbwire come loose, whipping about in the wind.

Finally the well of tears slowed and Grace sat back, taking the tissues Estelle handed her. She blew her nose and mopped her face, which was probably a raccoony mess by now. So much for putting on her makeup this morning.

“I'm guessin' you didn't tell your parents,” Estelle said kindly, handing her yet another tissue.

Grace shook her head. “I—I felt so dirty. And it was all my fault, going out with that boy behind their backs. I couldn't face telling them. Spent years trying to forget his rough hands under my clothes, and I pretty much did—until that incident at the Memphis airport after my last tour, when that security agent groped me in full view of a long line of other passengers …” She shuddered.

“Oh, honey,” Estelle murmured, patting her hand. “Oh, baby. No wonder you don't want to fly anymore. But you can't blame yourself. That was date rape, pure and simple, and you—”

“No. Not that simple.” Grace pulled her hand away. “That's not all,” she said dully. The bag of secrets had been punctured, and there was no stopping it now. She lifted stricken eyes to Estelle's kind face. “A couple months later I discovered I was”—She swallowed with difficulty.—“that I was pregnant. Estelle, I … I didn't know what to do! I was terrified. And that very next Sunday, some woman at church says to my mom, right in front of me, ‘You must be so proud of your daughter—such a sweet Christian. We're so glad the younger girls in this church have someone like her to look up to.'”

“Lord, have mercy.” Now it was Estelle who wagged her head.

“How could I tell my parents after that?” Grace's voice rose. Her eyes flashed. “Have a baby out of wedlock? Become a teenage mother? My reputation would be ruined forever! I thought I'd never
get married—no decent Christian man would want me. So I—” Grace drew in a long, shuddering breath, and her voice dropped almost to a whisper. “I had an abortion. Went by myself. Didn't tell anyone.”

There. She'd said it. Words she'd never spoken aloud. Words pushed deep into the crevices of her mind and her spirit. She glanced at Estelle. What would the woman think of her now? Estelle's eyes were closed and she was humming softly, some tune that sounded vaguely familiar, but Grace couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly.