Healing Grace (17 page)

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Grace nodded and folded a sleepy Eddy against her heart. “But even at that, my way of handling things was to run away.”

“I can’t imagine what I would have done.”

“Like you said, I hope you never have to. I reacted the same way I lived, by hiding and doing whatever I could to make me comfortable. Always for me. So I think it’s well time that I give back. It’s right that I do things for others. In a way, it helps me out, too, keeping my mind off of myself, healing my heart.”

She thought for a moment and added, “Of course it’s not all one-sided. Your support” —she rocked Eddy— “and companionship,” —she looked around the yard— “and this home, have been the solace that I needed. Loving involves giving. I think I’m finally beginning to understand that.”

“Oh, Grace. I still don’t think it’s fair.”

She reached out to touch Shelby’s arm. “Thank you.”

“I want you to stay.”

Eddy squirmed. “I’m going with you.”

“What would your daddy do without you, little man?” Shelby asked.

“Daddy will come, too.”

Grace pulled him into a giggling swinging hug. “Maybe we’d all better stay here, then.”

At least for now.

Randy shut off his headlights as he pulled into his driveway. Kaye’s car blocked his spot in front of the garage. He knew Tanya had gone back to Detroit to be with her father over Easter vacation. So what was her aunt doing over here?

Randy turned off the engine and rolled down his window to the cool damp night air. He watched Kaye head toward Grace’s front porch. The way the house faced, he saw what she did through the window: the silhouette of a man. She paused. Before she lost her nerve she knocked.

Little boy giggles spilled out and echoed around the front porch when the door opened. The warmth and inclusiveness hit Randy in the hollow pit of his stomach. He couldn’t imagine what it did to her. In the yellow porch light, he saw her stiff back and her clenched fists held behind.

“Kaye! How nice to see you.” Grace’s voice floated on the evening air. “Come in. Did you need help with something?”

“Happy Easter. I was just next door, and, ah, no one answered. I happened to notice you were home.”

Eddy popped into the doorway. “Kaye! Yeah! Look, Dad, it’s Kaye! What are you doing here?” the little boy demanded. “Who’s making lunch at the diner if you’re here?” He whooped again and dove back into the house, out of sight.

Randy had reached the edge of the yard before he realized what he was doing. He paused, listening, knowing he shouldn’t.

Ted appeared next, apparently as comfortable and homebound as if he still lived there. “Hi. What can we do for you?”

“Hello,” Kaye said, bringing her hands away from her back. “I was out for a drive, and wondered what you were up to. I thought maybe Grace might know where you were.”

Ted looked back before shuffling out to the porch and tugging the door closed behind him. “I’m here.”

“I see. It’s nothing, really. I thought maybe you’d like to have Easter dinner with me.”

Randy sucked in a breath, misery, fury, embarrassment all vying for dominance. Why had she said it like that? Why not invite all of them? He turned away. Kaye shouldn’t be throwing herself at Ted like that.

“This isn’t really polite,” Kaye said next. “I don’t know why I came over here when it was obvious you weren’t home. I apologize.” She turned and began to hike down the steps.

Too right. Randy twisted sideways to duck behind a branch.

“Wait! Kaye!” Ted shuffled after her. “Thank you. That’s really nice of you. I’ll check with Grace and Randy and see—”

“It’s okay, Ted. I don’t want to intrude.”

Randy watched his little brother grab hold of the rail by the steps, looking as if he’d have followed if he could have. Why did everything have to be so backward? Ted shouldn’t be crippled and Kaye should know how he—

He stepped from behind the branch. “Hello.”

She put hands over her mouth in obvious surprise. Without a word she stomped around him, ripped open the driver’s side of her car, and started the engine with a terrific grinding of gears.

Randy pounded on her window. She bent her head before fumbling for the switch to roll down the pane of glass that separated them.

He pretended ignorance. “Were you looking for m—us? What do you want?”

She killed the engine. He had to lean close to hear her breathy speech.

“Randy, what do we know about this Grace person? Really? She came here with only the clothes on her back. Is she running from the law? Is she a criminal? How can we trust anything about her? And didn’t she pay cash for the place? Who has that kind of money, anyway?” Kaye searched his face earnestly, eyes dark and bright in the moonlight.

Randy squatted at her side, hands on the open frame, his face close to hers, inhaling the slightly yeasty sweet smell of her. She must have been setting a batch of rolls to rise for tomorrow’s baking. If only she knew. How could he ever convince her that he was every bit as good as Ted? He could love her and care for her better? He had never been involved with another woman after Jenny. Only a miracle would reverse Ted’s condition. They all knew it. She did not need to be jealous. Maybe…maybe if he did something that would prove his worth, Kaye could see him for who he was. “I did a background check. Ted trusts—”

“Ted!” Anger spewed in the word. “What kind of shape is he in to make judgments? It’s Ted we’re all concerned about, isn’t it? And
her
. Who knows what she’s really after? How can you let her live here for a year and still know virtually nothing about her? I hear things, Randy.” She unbuckled her seatbelt and moved to open the door. He rose and stepped back, opening the door and grasping her elbow. She shrugged him off.

“I don’t know what you mean.” What else could he say?

“You travel all the time. You must know where she came from. You probably pass through Tennessee all the time on the way to Charleston and Atlanta. You could just, um, take a little detour sometime, check it out. You know, find out something…” She let her voice trail off, silence speaking for her.

“Everyone likes her.” That wasn’t exactly true. The prime example stood right here.

“She works at the clinic. People have to be able to trust her,” Kaye insisted.

“Don’t you think that’s Doctor Evans’s problem? You order things for her from your store.”

“So? That’s business. Her money is as good as anyone’s. Besides, what harm could it do? If she has nothing to hide, that is.” She put her hands on her hips and tapped one foot on the gravel. “Randy?”

“Yeah, what harm could it do?” he replied. “I have an appointment in Birmingham next week. I could take a day then.”

Her smile glinted in the cold moonlight. She was already back into her car by the time he opened his mouth again. “Maybe, when I get back—”

Her car window glided up, shutting him out as she drove away.

* * * *

Randy emerged from the rental car he picked up at the airport and looked up and down the short main street of Woodside. He had been glad of the air conditioning on the drive from Knoxville. The trees were already leafed out and flowers bloomed in their pots along the main street. White and pink dogwood blossoms wafted their spicy sweet fragrance. Several people window-shopped in various multicolored and textured storefronts.

He asked around about the Runyons at the Woodside version of Kaye’s Café, at the hotel, at the gas station, but received very little response. It made him wonder what folks in East Bay would say about him, should any stranger ever come into town looking for information about the Marshalls.

He met a former patient in the parking lot after asking at the clinic to speak to anyone who knew her. The young woman told him that Grace had left a year ago, after the deaths of practically her whole family. People wondered what happened. She’d had a large patient list. They hoped they hadn’t upset her. Nobody seemed to get better as fast as when she treated them. The woman had a little boy with a bad case of poison ivy—again—and Grace had always helped him. She was missed. Did he know her? When was she coming back?

Another passerby had mentioned a ceremony in the cemetery a few weeks ago. “If I hadn’t been out of town, I’d have confronted her myself,” the prissy elderly woman said. “I’d have told her how sorry we all were. I’d have begged her to come back. Her house is so empty. Just sits there. Sad.”

Grace’s house? “Where did she live?”

“Why, it was just, over”—the woman turned and pointed—“down Bradley Street, there, the pretty Cape Cod. Douglas Kirby mows the lawn, you know. Misses the edge every time between hers and Kitty’s.”

“Thank you.” Randy had already looked in the courthouse for personal records, death certificates of Grace’s husband, and found her parents, even a child Ted never mentioned. He hated to think that maybe Kaye had some right to be concerned. What mother wouldn’t admit to having a child or talking about him? Grace had plenty of pictures of that husband of hers. What about the kid?

After strolling down the street past her blank-eyed Cape Cod, Randy walked through the rows at the cemetery.

A striking, young woman with spiked orange hair strode up to him. “Can I help you find someone, a missing relative, or family history, perhaps? I must also remind you that if you are a tourist this place is private and dear to us. We ask that you respect it.”

He studied her square-rimmed, golden-wire glasses and narrow lips, incongruous with the hair. Had she ever cracked a smile?

“Someone told me that a whole family was buried here, and there was some interesting story behind it. I was looking for a plaque or something, telling about it.”

“Oh? Did you catch the name?”

“Runyon, I believe.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. Her hands clutched her elbows. A long white coat billowed out about her in a puff of wind.

Between the coat and a stethoscope thrust into her pocket, Randy took a guess. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be from the medical center, would you? Did you work with Grace Runyon?”

“How do you know her?” The woman’s mouth bunched into a small, tight bud.

Now that he was onto something, Randy was unsure how to proceed. He turned and gazed down a row of headstones. Brilliant grass was neatly clipped and bumblebees explored azalea bushes. “She bought my house, lives next door to me in Michigan.”

The orange-haired woman stuck out her chin. “You must be Ted.”

Randy took off his sunglasses. “No. Ted is my brother. I’m Randy Marshall. What made you think I was Ted? And who might you be?”

A puzzling angry glint appeared in the woman’s eyes. His first estimate of her age changed when a cloud passed over the sun. Crepe skin showed under her jaw where the short reddish twists of hair ended. She would be a little older than Grace, then.

She kicked a divot in the smooth lawn. “I’m Lena Roberts, a friend of Grace’s. She’s written to me and stayed with me when she came here for the dedication.” Lena indicated a monument a few rows over. “That’s the memorial we put up to honor her family. Was there something you needed to know?”

Randy opened his mouth when he caught site of an intimidating bearded man in a knee-length black cloth coat leading a uniformed police officer toward them. He heaved a gusty sigh and grimaced.

“Look. I like Grace. She’s a private person. We—I—just wanted to know a little more about her. She’s been taking care of my nephew and I had some…missing pieces to fill. Nothing serious, but he’s going to be my responsibility, eventually. And I heard a strange story about her whole family dying. I wanted to check it out for myself.”

“You are obviously here out of some…concern…about Grace. She would tell you anything you needed to know.”

The men had joined Lena, facing off against Randy.

Lena made the introductions. “Reverend Edwards, Officer Grenich, this is Randy Marshall, come from Michigan to pay his respects to Grace’s family. He’s her neighbor in Michigan where she lives now.”

Randy offered his hand. “Sorry to intrude. I was simply passing through on business and thought I’d stop in.”

“And what business are you in, sir,” the officer asked, not really making it sound like a conversational question.

“Fruit grower’s cooperative, Officer. I’m the head sales rep for the company.” He named the organization which brought smiling, nodding recognition to all of their faces.

“It’s nice to meet you. We’re all friends of the Runyons, here. Was there something in particular you wanted?” the Reverend asked.

“No, sir. Like the lady said, I’m only here to pay my respects.”

He hoped Kaye would get over whatever bugged her, as it seemed there was nothing remotely dangerous about Grace.

* * * *

The biggest wrench in the summer was Jimmy.

Randy had gone up to Sault St. Marie earlier in May to watch his son graduate from high school. The boy had been accepted at his alma mater, Michigan State University, in East Lansing. Randy still expected Jimmy for his usual two weeks before heading out for campus life and was surprised to arrive home late one evening to find him, dressed in ragged shorts and tank top, high-topped sneakers and no socks, draped all over the front steps to his house. Jimmy’s hair was shaggier than ever with a bleach job grown out to about the level of his earlobes. His expression in the moonlight was beyond sullen.

Randy loosened his tie and top shirt buttons and plunked down next to him, letting his hands dangle on either side of his knees. After a moment, he asked quietly, “Son, does your mother know you’re here?”

Jimmy hesitated for a long time. “She’s the one who said I had to come.”

Randy took in another long, deep breath, sighing it out. He got up, held out a hand to Jimmy, and said simply, “Okay. We’ll talk this out tomorrow.”

Jimmy bent to pick up his backpack and guitar, relief and shame mixed in the set of his shoulders and jerky strides into the house and up to his childhood bedroom. Randy watched him go. He wiped his hand over his bristly hair and ran himself a glass of water at the tap. When he checked his messages, he listened carefully three times to what his ex-wife told him.