Grounded (32 page)

Grace squirmed, wishing they hadn't been singled out. She already felt awkward, like tourists come to gawk at the homeless. But Estelle, wearing her big white apron and funny net cap over her topknot, just said, “This is one of my neighbors, Grace, and her friend, Samantha. Came by to see where I work. I been tellin' 'em how well I feed y'all, so don't make me a liar!” Everybody guffawed, and Grace relaxed.

“Does everybody have a Bible? Precious, could you …”

Precious was already passing out a stack of hardcover Bibles, asking, “Spanish or English?”

Grace and Sam each took an English Bible.

“We're starting a new study on the Gospel of John,” Edesa said. “Does someone want to read the first eighteen verses of the first chapter?”

As the verses were read by a woman with a raspy smoker's voice, Grace noticed the painted mural on the wall behind Edesa for the first time. A shepherd—the biblical kind, in robe and beard and sandals—was surrounded by a flock of sheep. But unlike the pictures of the Good Shepherd she'd often seen in Sunday school growing up, these weren't a flock of white wooly sheep, but a ragtag flock. They were all shades of black and brown and not-so-white, and their wooly coats looked the worse for wear—all matted and mangy and bloody.

Grace glanced surreptitiously around the semicircle at the women frowning at the pages in front of them as the scripture passage was read. A strange feeling crept down her spine. A few of the women were dressed neatly, their hair combed or braided, but many looked hard beyond their years. Scars on arms and faces. Faces lined by weather or worry. Clothes mismatched or the wrong size. A few with too much makeup. A fairly ragtag bunch. Like the sheep in the mural.

She looked back up at the painting. All the sheep had their faces turned up toward the Shepherd, and the Shepherd was looking at them, smiling, love shining from his eyes. Just love. And maybe gladness too. Like he was thinking,
“These are my sheep, and I love them no matter who they are!”

The reader had stopped and Edesa was talking again. Grace realized she hadn't been paying attention and tried to focus. “Look at verse seventeen again. ‘The law was given through Moses … but grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.' Can anyone tell me what you think this means?”

A hand waved. “Well, wasn't it the Moses dude what brought down them Ten Commandments from God?”

“Yeah, an' you probably done broke ever' one of 'em,” someone snickered. Laughter swept the group.

“Exactly!” Edesa said, beaming like a teacher who just got the right answer. “The Old Testament is full of ‘the law'—but scripture also says that if we break even one of the laws, we've broken them all. Because it's impossible to keep God's laws in our own strength. And there's a verse in the third chapter of Romans that says, ‘
All
of us have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.'”

“Yeah, well,” a steely-eyed woman muttered, “I may've done some drugs in my time, but at least I didn't go hookin' an' thievin' like some people I know.”

The woman next to her backhanded her on the arm. “Girl, you better watch your mouth! Whatchu know about it? You don't know nothin'!”

Grace eyed Sam beside her. This was definitely not like any Bible study she'd been to at County Line, or any other church for that matter. She wondered what Sam was thinking.

“That's just it!” Edesa said, acting as if this was exactly the discussion she'd been hoping for. “It doesn't matter who you are or what you've done—or who I am, or what I've done—the law that came through Moses can't save us. Even so-called good people don't measure up. Check out Isaiah 64, verse 6.” She first read from her Bible in Spanish, then translated in English, ‘All our goodness is like a pile of filthy rags.'” She wrinkled her nose.
“Trapos apestosos
—like stinky rags. But what does the first chapter of John say came through Jesus?”

“Grace an' truth,” the raspy voice read again.

“
Sí
, that's right. And,
mis amigas
, let me tell you something. People talk about getting justice—getting what we think we deserve. But if
some
of us got what we deserve … uh-uh. I'd rather have mercy—
not
getting what I deserve.”

“Ain't
that
the truth” … “Now you're talkin'.” Several women wagged their heads.

“But
grace
,” Edesa went on, closing her eyes and lifting a hand in the air, almost as if talking to herself, “
grace
is something else. Grace
means there is nothing we can do to make God love us more—and grace also means there is nothing we can do to make God love us less.”

A silence settled over the room. Even the women who hadn't come into the semicircle seemed to stop what they were doing and take in what she'd just said. The words echoed inside Grace's head.
“Grace means there is nothing we can do to make God love us more—and grace also means there is nothing we can do to make God love us less.”

“
O, gracias, Señor
,” Edesa began to pray … but tears were slipping down Grace's cheeks.
“Think about the meaning of your name,”
Estelle had said. And there it was. She'd carried her secret for so long, so afraid people would think less of her, and yes, even afraid that God was still angry with her for having that abortion. And ever since, she'd been trying to make up for it, trying to be that “good girl” she knew she wasn't, trying to be “good enough” to deserve God's love again.

She'd never really understood the meaning of her name.

Grace
.

Grace was quiet on the ride home, letting Sam, and Estelle, in the front seat, chat like old friends.

The rest of their time at Manna House had been interesting, beginning with Estelle's lunch, something she called Mexican lasagna consisting of layers of corn tortillas, rice, black beans, hamburger, corn, cheese, and who knew what all. Delicious. They'd sat at a table with Precious and several of the shelter guests, but didn't get to talk much because a heated argument erupted about who was to blame for a mine disaster in West Virginia that'd been in the news the past few days. “
Somebody
oughta go ta jail for all them safety violations,” groused a middle-aged woman with frowzy brown hair. “Lookit all them widows an' orphans what lost their husbands an' daddies. Gonna end up in a shelter just like this.”

After lunch, however, they'd met a few of the staff and volunteers, including the program director Estelle had mentioned—Gabby Somebody—a woman with a head full of curly red hair.

But though Grace had enjoyed the rest of their time at the shelter—even joining the cleanup crew after lunch, which felt a bit like the time she'd worked kitchen crew as a teenager at summer camp—her mind was still mulling over the Bible study. Had Estelle known what the topic was going to be? Was that the reason she'd invited them to come today?

It didn't matter. What mattered is that Grace felt like God was lancing a festering sore in her spirit. It had even started with Estelle's gentle probing yesterday, dredging up the secret she'd been so afraid to tell anyone. But the older woman hadn't seemed blown
away, hadn't lectured her about what a phony she'd been, traveling all over the country talking about
purity
. No, she'd just said Grace should meditate on the meaning of her name.

She hadn't realized it so much yesterday, but hanging out with Estelle today, meeting the people she worked with, and being introduced to everyone as one of her new neighbors, Grace realized she felt a powerful connection with this woman. Estelle knew the worst about her and still … still
liked
her. And Estelle was taking her request to pray for the upcoming concert tour seriously, as though she still believed in her.

Grace watched as her assistant talked, with lively gestures and laughter. Had holding tight to the secrets of her past even kept people like Samantha Curtis at arm's length? Sam was more than an assistant really, a person so loyal, so fun to be around, a sister in spirit, who could be a close friend …

Estelle did a turnaround in the cul-de-sac at the end of Beecham Street and pulled up in front of the Bentleys' house. “Thanks for comin' with me today,” she said as they all piled out. “Hope I didn't take up too much of your workday.”

“Don't worry,” Sam laughed. “Grace'll just keep me working till nine tonight—but that usually means we get to eat out.” The young woman gave Estelle a hug. “I'm so glad to meet you, Miss Estelle. Thanks for letting me come today.”

Grace gave Estelle a hug too. “Yes, thanks,” she whispered. “More than I can say.”

They waved good-bye and walked across the street to Grace's bungalow. “You were kinda quiet on the ride home,” Sam said as she followed Grace into the house. “You okay?”

“Uh-huh. Just thinking.” Grace picked up Oreo, who'd lost no time doing circle eights around her ankles, and nuzzled his soft black fur.

“Well.” Sam threw her shoulder bag on the couch. “Time to get to work. I'll tackle the fan mail unless there's something else you want me to do first.”

Grace hesitated a moment, then said, “There is.” She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside her. “Come sit. There's something I want to share with you—something I should've told you a long time ago …”

Sam was in tears by the time Grace finished telling her about her rebellion as a teenager that had led to such disastrous consequences, and how the recent humiliating experience with airport security and Roger breaking their engagement had combined to form a perfect storm that shook her to the core, dredging up all her buried secrets to haunt her again.

“Oh, Grace,” Sam sniffled, scooting over on the couch and giving her a tight squeeze. “Thank you so much for telling me. I … it really means a lot that you trust me enough to confide in me.”

The younger woman grabbed a tissue and made a sour face. “Believe me, you're not the only one who ever messed up. I ran with a bunch of real wildcats in high school, turned my mama's hair gray, until God slapped me upside the head and I got right with Jesus. See? There's stuff I never told you either. Wanna hear it?”

Grace shook her head, a wry smile tipping a corner of her mouth. “Maybe sometime. But there's more I need to tell you …” Taking a deep breath, she told Sam about the revelation she'd had after her talk with Estelle yesterday about her motives for her message—trying to make it up to God for having the abortion. “But the Bible study at the shelter today really got to me, all the things Edesa said about grace. After I spilled my guts to Estelle yesterday, all she said was, if I need a theme for my upcoming tour, I should meditate on the meaning of my name.”

Sam just stared at her for a long moment. “Wow. That's kinda deep.”

“I know.”

“But, uh, we already gave Barry and the band a song list.”

“I know.”

“And we have a practice scheduled with the band tomorrow down at the studio.”

“I know.”

The two women sat quietly on the couch for several minutes. Then Grace said, “But I want to come up with a new list for the last set—about grace. I'd like to try writing at least one new song, but for the rest … well, I could use some help choosing those. I need the weekend at least to work on a song and search out the possibilities.” She cast a guilty glance at Sam. “So would you, uh, call Barry and cancel the practice tomorrow?”

Sam rolled her eyes, then grabbed a small accent pillow and threw it at Grace. “Me?! He'll kill me! That's gotta be above my pay grade.”

Grace threw the pillow back. “Then I'll give you a raise,” she giggled, and before she knew it, they were both laughing hysterically and whacking each other with the throw pillows, sending Oreo flying from the room to safety in the basement.