State of Grace (24 page)

From the minute we entered the Jet Lag Lounge, I knew that the five of us in our party clothes and feather boas didn't belong among the denim and leather-clad bikers. Classic rock pounded out of the juke box and a cluster of bearded, tattooed men stopped playing pool long enough to watch our entrance. Drunk and undaunted, Sissy tottered up to the bar and ordered a round of drinks. Several of the men ogled her backside as she passed.

In my head, I could feel Grace stir. She was uncomfortable with our surroundings.

“Natalie, I'm not so sure—” I began, my words slurred and mumbled.

“I know,” she said. “Me, too. Don't worry. We'll have one drink and then leave.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I think I've had too much already.”

She nodded and stepped toward the bar.

“Last one for the night,” she said as she accepted her soda water with lime.

“Party pooper,” Barbara pouted.

“That's me,” Natalie said. ‘You forget, I've got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“All right,” Sissy grumbled. “Last one.” She handed a shot—straight whiskey this time—to Peggy and then one to me.

“I can't,” I said, stepping unsteadily backward, the whiskey sloshing out of the glass and onto my fingers. “I've had too much.”

I looked blurrily around for a bathroom.

Natalie looked concerned.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I said thickly. I could hear how drunk I was.

“Do you need me to go with you?” she asked.

“No,” I said and gestured toward the back of the bar. “I think it's back there.”

I turned and wove unsteadily toward the back of the bar. Several of the bikers watched me with curiosity. Others leered.

“Get a load of this one,” I heard one man say. His friends laughed loudly.

“Looking for the bathroom?”

The voice was kind and I turned slightly to look up at him. His face was deeply tanned, his hair and mustache almost black in the dim light. A black T-shirt with an elaborate, fierce-looking eagle was stretched over his large belly and tucked into worn blue jeans that were cinched with a thick black leather belt.

“I think I'm going to throw up,” I said.

“Follow me,” he said and led me through clusters of patrons to the back of the bar where he pointed to a door with the word “Bitches” scrawled on the front in spray paint.

“Thanks,” I said and stumbled forward. Despite my nausea, I was appalled at the filthiness of the room and recoiled from the thought of actually vomiting into the stool. I was considering the possibility of making it outside when my stomach rebelled. I crouched in front of the stool, making sure not to touch it, and vomited up the yeasty, sour contents of my stomach. Once the first wave passed, I stared numbly into the toilet, my face slick with sweat. I breathed heavily and waited for the second round. When
nothing but stomach bile came up, I used my elbow to flush and then pulled myself to my feet. I felt better.

The man who helped me to the bathroom was waiting outside.

“I was beginning to worry,” he said and tipped his head downward to look into my eyes. “Had a little too much tonight?”

I nodded.

“Way too much,” I admitted. “And no food.”

“Been there,” he said, still studying me. His gaze was disconcerting and I began to feel uncomfortable. I could hear Sissy up at the bar, shrieking in laughter. The man glanced in their direction. “So, what exactly are you girls doing in a place like this?”

“Bachelorette party.”

“And so you all thought it would be fun to see how the other half lives.” Although it was said lightly, there was an undercurrent of animosity in his tone. I felt Grace stir.

“Well, thanks for your help,” I said quickly and started to move toward the front of the bar. My stomach felt better, but I could tell I was still impaired. “I should probably go be with my friends.”

“Oh, they're fine,” he said firmly. “Stay here with me for a couple of minutes.”

“I can't,” I said, trying to keep the fear from my voice. “I need to go.”

He stepped toward me and in reflex, I stepped backward. The wall behind me was hard and unyielding. I was trapped.

“Birdie, get away from him,”
Grace hissed.

The man reached up and put the palm of his hand against the wall, his arm and body a barrier between me and the rest of the bar.

“Don't,” I said with less bravado than I would have liked.

“What's the rush, Birdie?” he asked. At his tone and the use of my name, I jerked my attention back to his face. Adrenaline flooded my body and I felt like I was about to pass out. “Don't you want to reconnect with an old friend?” he continued. “I've been thinking about you off and on over the years. I just want to spend some time catching up. That's all.”

I looked at the arm that blocked my escape and for the first time noticed the details of the tattoos that decorated his forearms—dragons
and naked women with angels' wings. It was Don Wan.

“I . . . no,” I whispered. “I can't . . . I.”

“Get away from him,”
Grace yelled in my head.
“Remember the drawings? He's dangerous. Move!”

“I've got to go,” I said again and tried to move out of his grasp.

“Not so fast,” he said and grabbed my arm. “I just want to talk.” He grinned and lazily ran his eyes up and down my body before settling on my face. “You grew up pretty,” he said. “I always thought you were a pretty little thing, but now . . .” He thrust his face forward and forced his lips onto mine.

“No,” I tried to say around his thrusting tongue as I struggled to get out of his grasp. “Stop.”

“You know you want it,” he said, his voice tight as he used his free hand to grab roughly at my breast. “You've always been a little cock tease, running around with your friends, giving me the eye. I'm just taking you up on your offer.” He pinched my nipple and smiled meanly.

I gasped at the pain.

“Stop it,” I said and began to cry.

“Do something,”
Grace said.
“Knee him in the groin. Scream. Do something. He's going to rape you.”

“Get your hands off of her!'

The voice came from behind Don Wan.

“Get out of here,” Don snarled without looking around. “We're talking.”

“Leave her alone you stupid son of a bitch,” Natalie said. “Can't you see she's not interested?”

Don swung around to face her, his features twisted in anger.

“Why don't you mind your own business, bitch?” he sneered.

Natalie recognized him almost immediately and she paled.

“Oh my god,” she said quickly and then recovered. “You son of a bitch. Get away from her before I get the police involved.”

“Well, aren't we all high and mighty?” Don said. “Whatcha gonna do? Call Daddy?”

“Worse than that if you don't do as I say,” Natalie spat. “I was just a kid when I got you thrown out of town. Think what I could
do now that I'm an adult. I'll bet the boys in prison would love to get a crack at you. They don't much like rapists. Now get your filthy hands off her!”

I cowered against the wall as Don glowered at Natalie.

“That was you?”

“Don't just stand there,”
Grace said.
“Go.”

“Come on, Birdie,” Natalie said as she reached out for my hand. Her gaze was locked with Don's. “Don't even think about doing anything,” she said to him with a stony glare.

“Natalie,” I said shakily as I stepped toward her.

“Don't say anything,” she murmured, and she pulled me against her. She glared at Don, who glared back.

“We're leaving,” she said to him. “In the future, keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

She turned and led me back toward the front of the bar.

“I didn't . . . he—” I began.

“I know,” she said. At the bar, Sissy, Barbara, and Peggy were finishing their drinks. Grace still paced agitatedly in my head.

“Didja puke?” Sissy yelled, an intoxicated grin smeared across her face.

“Leave her alone, Sissy,” Natalie said. Even though she still had her arm around me, I trembled almost violently. Natalie squeezed my shoulders.

“We're leaving,” she said and glanced back to where Don still stood.

“But—” Sissy said in protest.

“Now,” Natalie said firmly. “You're drunk and we don't belong here.”

“Natalie,” I mumbled numbly. “He was going to hurt me.”

“Shhh,” she said in a low voice. “Let's get out of here. We can talk about it later.”

We didn't talk about what had happened until after the limo dropped us off at Jacob's Ladder. After Sissy, Barbara, and Peggy left, we climbed into my car.

“He would have hurt me,” I mumbled as Natalie started the car and headed toward the blacktopped road. I stared forward, watching the white and yellow lines as we sped along.

“I know,” she said.

“I didn't recognize him,” I said. “Not until he said my name.”

“I'm surprised to see that he's back,” Natalie said. “Last I heard he was in California.”

“He should be in jail for what he did,” I spat. “Grace hates him.”

Natalie jerked her head in my direction and frowned.

“What do you mean, ‘Grace hates him'?” she asked.

“Hated him,” I amended quickly. “She hated him.” I shook my head a little too exaggeratedly. “Sorry. Too much to drink.”

Natalie nodded.

“There's definitely something wrong with him,” she said finally. “Remember those drawings?”

“He said he had been thinking about me since we were kids,” I said softly.

“Just bullshit to freak you out,” Natalie said.

“Not bullshit,”
Grace's voice intoned.
“I know what he's capable of.”

“Do you think he could find me?” I asked Natalie. “Everyone in town knows where I live.”

“I don't think he's going to come looking for you, if that's what you're worried about,” Natalie said. “I think he was just trying to scare you. He's not smart enough to do more than that.”

I nodded, unconvinced.

“Besides,” she said as she slowed and pulled into the driveway of my mother's house, obviously trying to change the subject. “That's the least of what we need to be thinking about right now. I'm going to get married in less than thirty-six hours.”

“Are you excited?” I asked, as she put the car in park.

“Nervous,” she said after a pause.

The aftereffects of the alcohol had made me feel fragile and almost unbearably aware of everything around me. Her sadness was palpable and I wanted to pull her into my arms.

“What is it, Nat?” I asked after she didn't elaborate.

“I don't know,” she said with a sigh. “I guess I'm just wondering if this is really what I'm supposed to be doing.” She shook her head. “It just seems like sometimes I'm living someone else's life. Does
that make sense?”

I felt Grace sigh, reminding me that she was watching even when she wasn't participating.

“It does,” I said. “But you don't have to do it. You could call it off. You could—” I took a deep breath. “You could come live with me. You could start taking classes and we could live together.”

Natalie exhaled deeply.

“Thanks, Bird,” she said. “But I can't. I've committed to this and well . . .” She put a hand on her stomach. I saw the thin line of her lips in the muted light of the dashboard. “Even if it doesn't seem like it, this is my life. We have to play the hand we're dealt, right?” Before I could speak, she leaned forward, hugged me tightly to her, and then pulled away. “You okay to get inside?”

The moment, whatever it had been, had passed.

“I'm okay,” I said and opened the car door.

“I'll bring your car back to you tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I can walk over and get it,” I said. “It's only a few blocks.'”

“Either or,” she said. “Call me when you get up.”

I nodded.

“And get some sleep,” she said. “I promise that none of this will look nearly so scary in the morning.”

Natalie had been wrong, of course.

And even two days later, as I stood at the front of the church and watched Natalie walk down the aisle to where Pete stood, I knew something in me had changed. I was not like other women. I would never get married, never have children, never be normal.

I found myself studying Natalie's groom as the minister spoke about commitment. Pete was still good-looking but already was becoming a little soft around the edges. He was, I could tell from our brief conversations, a nice man but not very smart. I tried to imagine Natalie's life with him and couldn't. I knew, as did she, that she was settling. She was doing what was expected and ultimately, I suddenly realized, would be just as unhappy as I was.

Chapter 20

Everything seemed different when I returned to school that next semester. Being home, Natalie's wedding, my encounter with Don Wan at the bar, had changed me—as had my single, brief visit to my grandmother in the nursing home. Tara had told me about her slide into dementia, but to see it was terrifying. The nurse told us as soon as we checked in that Granny was having one of her “bad days.”

“Get ready,” Mom said as we walked down the hallway which smelled of disinfectant and stale urine. We stepped into a room where a woman sat in a chair by the window. It took me a second to realize this was Granny and not her roommate. She glared at us and pointed a knotty finger in my direction.

“Who are you?” she spat.

I swallowed. My mother and sister had tried to prepare me for this.

“It's Birdie, Mom,” my mother said.

Granny narrowed her eyes.

“Here to finish the job, huh?”

I looked at my mother in confusion. She shook her head and moved toward her mother.

“Mother, no one is trying to poison you,” she said. “We love you.” She looked over her shoulder and motioned for me to come closer.

I swallowed again, though my throat was dry, and walked
toward my grandmother. Creases around her eyes and lips accentuated just how much she had aged. As she studied me, she narrowed her eyes shrewdly.

“They're Nazis,” she said. “They pretend to be nurses and doctors, but they're not. They're studying us. Putting things in our food. And once they're done, they're going to send us to the showers.”

I nodded slowly, glanced nervously at my mother, but didn't speak. I wasn't sure what to say.

“Mom, you know that's not true,” my mother said wearily. She knelt so she was at my grandmother's level and reached to grasp her hand.

“What do you care?” my grandmother asked as she yanked it away, her voice both angry and desperate. “You put me in here to die.” She began to weep and I involuntarily stepped backward.

My mother closed her eyes and sighed.

It was a glimpse of what I felt certain I would become. The sound of rushing air filled my ears.
This is me
, I thought almost frantically.
This is me.

“No!”

It was Grace.

“Turn and leave,”
she said firmly.

I took another step backward.

“I'll wait in the car,” I muttered and turned to leave before either of them could stop me. My head down, my eyes trained on the grayish tiles in front of me, I hurried down the hall, turned into the lobby, and pushed open the door. Despite the sharpness of the air, I pulled deep gulps into my lungs and closed my eyes.

“Shit,” I said.

“That's not you,”
Grace said.
“I won't let that become you.”

“Isn't it already?” I murmured. “I hear a dead girl's voice in my head. I'm terrified of
everything
. How is that not me?”

“You're not crazy,”
Grace said vehemently.
“You're keeping me alive. That's not crazy.”

I raised my eyes to look at the snow-covered corn field that was adjacent to the nursing facility. My breath came out in gray puffs and I was struck by the fact that everything—the field, the sky,
my breath—was a shade of grayish-white that looked hauntingly familiar. I shifted my attention to my mother's Mustang. It was locked and I hadn't thought to ask for the keys.

“You can't stand out here,”
Grace said.
“It's too cold.”

“I can't go back in there,” I said.

“You have to,”
Grace said.

“You don't understand,” I said. “It's too hard. She's not my grandmother anymore. She's someone else. She's lost touch with reality.”

“What's reality?”
Grace asked.

I was about to answer when the doors opened and my mother stepped outside.

“You okay?” she asked. “I know seeing her is hard.”

I could tell she was upset, too.

“I know you warned me, but I didn't expect that,” I said.

“Some days are worse than others,” she said. “How about I take you home and you can come see her when she's having a better day?”

She pulled me into a loose, one-armed hug and we began to walk toward the car. It occurred to me how hard it must be for her to see her mother like this.

“How do you stand it?” I asked as she unlocked the passenger-side door.

“You just do,” she said softly, her eyes wet with tears as she met my gaze. “When you have no choice, you just do.”

I left Edenbridge the day after the wedding and drove as fast as I could to get back to Lincoln and my familiar routine. I buried myself in the comfort of getting up, going to classes, coming home and studying. I say there was comfort, but it was in fact more like numbness—as if I was watching someone else's life play out before my eyes with no real investment in the outcome. I'm not sure how long it would have continued had it not been for Adelle.

“I need a favor,” she said one afternoon, a week into the spring semester.

We had met for lunch in one of the school cafeterias and she was squirting ketchup onto her fries. I tried not to think of how many people had touched the bottle before her as I unwrapped the turkey sandwich I'd brought from home.

“Okay,” I said and opened the Ziploc bag of pretzels.

“I need you to drive on Sunday,” she said. We had plans to go over to Roger's apartment in the late afternoon to watch
Pretty Woman
and drink cheap champagne. “My car died yesterday.”

It didn't seem like much of a favor.

“Sure,” I said.

“And, I also need you to take me someplace before we go over to Roger's,” she said. “I was going to go by myself, but with my car out of commission and the weekend bus route being different, I don't have any way to get there unless I bum a ride.”

“Go where?” I asked, suddenly aware from the way she was broaching the subject that it might be a trip I wouldn't enjoy.

“There's a meeting at the rape crisis center,” she said. “It's an informational meeting for people who want to volunteer. I was going to go and just meet you guys after.” She picked up a couple of fries and smeared them in the pool of ketchup. “You don't have to volunteer,” she said as she popped them into her mouth. She spoke around the food. “It should only take about an hour. Please? This is really important to me.”

I took a bite of my sandwich and chewed slowly. Going to a meeting about volunteering at a rape crisis shelter was the last thing I wanted to do. But when I saw how much it meant to Adelle, I couldn't refuse.

“Sure,” I said finally.

I began to have second thoughts, though, as we drove to the meeting on Sunday afternoon. Adelle smiled and talked as she directed me through the east side of town to the unassuming building that housed the center.

“It's not going to be easy work,” Adelle said as we turned onto a side street. “But the thought that I'm going to be helping women makes me feel like what I experienced wasn't in vain.” She touched my arm. “Thanks for coming with me. It means a lot to have the support.”

“Sure,” I said as I tried to fight the anxiety that was rising in my chest.

The meeting room was too warm and smelled like Elmer's glue and dust. Folding chairs were arranged in a circle and a table with coffee and pastries on it was set up along one of the walls. A half-dozen women and two men sat or stood talking in low tones. A young woman in a T-shirt that said “Take Back the Night” came over to us. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun held in place by a couple of pencils.

“Hi,” she said. Her smile was warm as she reached out to shake our hands. “I'm Nancy. Thanks for coming. Help yourself to some snacks and feel free to mingle. We'll get started in about ten minutes.”

“Great,” Adelle said. “I'm Adelle. We spoke on the phone. And this is my friend, Rebecca.”

“Fantastic,” Nancy said and reached out to pat me on the shoulder. “We need all the help we can get.” She returned her attention to Adelle and was about to say something when another woman entered the room. Her hesitation suggested that she, too, was a potential volunteer. Nancy smiled at the woman and then turned back to us.

“Make yourselves at home,” she said. “I need to go say hello.”

We walked toward the coffee table and Adelle poured herself a cup from the silver coffee urn.

“Want one?” she asked.

I shook my head and turned to look at the people sitting in the circle of folding chairs. There were only two men. One of them looked like a hippie with grungy-looking clothes, longish hair, and a beard. The other man, however, looked oddly familiar. He was thin, with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. I stared at him, trying to figure out how I knew him. It must have been from one of my classes, I decided as, unexpectedly, he met and held my gaze. I looked away though I could still feel his eyes on me. Tentatively, I glanced back at his face. His expression was thoughtful as he studied me.

“Want to sit?”

I realized Adelle was talking to me. I nodded and we moved to
chairs that were directly across from the dark-haired man. I tried to appear nonchalant, though I wanted more than anything to study him.

“Rebecca, are you okay?”

I looked sideways at her. “Yeah, why?”

She leaned toward me and said in a low voice, “You seem uncomfortable.” She hesitated. “You know, if this isn't for you, you don't have to do it. Just the fact that you came today with me means a lot.”

I nodded and was about to speak just as Nancy moved to the edge of the circle and cleared her throat. “If we could get started.” It was more of a statement than a question and the group grew silent.

“First, I'd like to thank you all for coming today.” She smiled at each of us. “I know you all are busy, which makes it mean even more.”

There was a low murmur as several of the volunteers nodded and spoke soft words of agreement.

“We all have different reasons for wanting to volunteer.” It was clear Nancy was beginning her spiel. “Some of us are survivors of domestic abuse or rape.” She held up a hand as if to say that was the category to which she belonged. “Others of us know a woman who is a survivor—a friend, a sister, a lover.”

She paused to let her words sink in.

Adelle turned to me and smiled. I gave her a weak smile and glanced over at the dark-haired man. Our eyes met briefly before he quickly looked away as if embarrassed.

“—challenging work,” Nancy was saying. “You're going to hear stories that are heartbreaking. Women are going to be turning to you in their darkest hours and it's important to remain calm and remember that they need your help.”

Several people nodded.

“It also goes without saying that there are rules about privacy. You will all have to undergo background checks and sign confidentiality agreements. Whatever you hear or do here at the center cannot be shared with your friends or family. These women have been violated already. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nodded and Nancy smiled as if relieved to have that part of her speech out of the way.

“Okay.” She turned to her chair where paper-clipped packets of paper were stacked. “If you'll all just take one of these and turn to the second page.”

The meeting went on for about an hour although I already knew within the first ten minutes that I would not be volunteering. It was too real—too emotional and raw. It reminded me too much of Grace. And that's when I realized she hadn't said a word—hadn't given me any kind of sign that she was there. It was surprising and quite honestly, unnerving. I was used to having her in my head.

I contemplated this as we pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of Roger's apartment.

“So?” Adelle asked. “What did you think?”

“I think it's a really great program,” I said absently, my thoughts still on Grace.

“But you're not going to volunteer, are you?”

I shook my head, still not meeting her gaze.

“I am,” she said. “I was talking with Nancy and I think I could make a difference.”

“I think you'll be great at it.”

We drove in silence.

“Becca,” Adelle began. “Can I ask you something?” I felt my body tense. I knew I wasn't going to like her question. “Did something happen to you when you were younger? Were you abused?”

I felt the intensity of her gaze and forced myself to focus on the road. “No,” I said more harshly than I had intended. “Why would you ask that?”

Her response was slow and careful. “I don't know. Just stuff you say or do—or don't say—that makes me wonder. You never really talk about growing up or your hometown. You don't really date. I just wondered if—”

“No,” I said vehemently. “I wasn't abused.”

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. I just—”

“It's okay.” I wondered suddenly if Roger had shared my drunken confession. I pressed down on the left turn blinker and pulled into the parking lot of Roger's apartment building.

“I believe you,” she said as I navigated the Buick into a parking
spot. She waited until I put the car in park and turned off the engine before she continued. “I don't need to know anything more than what you want to tell me.” She took a deep breath. “I just appreciate you going with me today. I know you went to support me.”

Finally, I met her gaze. Her expression was earnest as she reached out and squeezed my arm.

“We all have things we keep to ourselves,” she said. “That's fine. I respect it. Just know that if you decide you want to share your stories, there are people who care. I care.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded tightly. Adelle waited and in that moment, I seriously considered telling her what had happened. But then, as quickly as it had presented itself, the moment had passed.