Daisy Lane (36 page)

“All of it, please,” Kay said. “And now.”

Maggie pulled up in front of her mother’s house just as Bonnie was walking down the front steps. Bonnie pursed her lips and frowned at Maggie’s Jeep, but she did that every Sunday. She also said the same thing she always said as she struggled to climb into the front passenger seat.

“Why can’t you drive a normal car? I think you do this just to torture me.”

“You didn’t mind it when I drove you through a blizzard to the Megamart sale last Thanksgiving.”

Bonnie pretended not to hear Maggie’s response.

“Is Scott coming to Mass?”

“He was dressed and ready when I left the apartment,” Maggie said. “Last Sunday he got as far as the front steps before he bailed out.”

“I know he misses his mother,” Bonnie said, “but life does go on.”

“It reminds him of the funeral,” Maggie said. “He’s just not ready yet.”

“Men are so weak,” Bonnie said. “They’re lucky we’ve let them run things as long as we have.”

“He hasn’t cleaned out her house yet,” Maggie said. “I offered to do it for him but he says he wants to do it himself.”

“I’ll put a bug in Delia’s ear,” Bonnie said. “She’ll take care of it.”

Maggie parked down the street from Sacred Heart Catholic Church. She could see Scott standing out in front, his hands in his pockets, staring up at the façade. Maggie ran around to the other side of the Jeep to help her mother out.

When Bonnie saw Scott, she said, “You leave this to me.”

“Don’t be mean to him,” Maggie said.

“I won’t hurt his precious feelings,” Bonnie said. “You watch.”

As they approached Scott, he turned, waved, and walked toward them. Just as he got within arm’s reach, Bonnie stumbled, and he leapt forward to catch her, to keep her from falling.

“Here, Bonnie,” he said. “Lean on me.”

“Are you okay?” Maggie asked.

“I think I’ve turned my ankle,” Bonnie said. “Scott, if you could just help me into the church I think if I sit awhile I’ll be okay.”

As Scott turned to allow her to lean on his other arm, Bonnie winked at Maggie.

Maggie shook her head and laughed to herself.

“Hey, Bonnie,” Scott said. “Did Maggie tell you our big news?”

“Scott,” Maggie said, with a warning note in her voice.

Bonnie stopped limping and turned to look at her daughter.

“What is it?” she said. “Is this about Grace?”

“Your darling daughter has finally consented to be my bride,” Scott said.

Bonnie’s face lit up as she grinned from ear to ear. Then she smacked Scott on the arm and pinched him.

“Ow!” he said. “She pinches even harder than you do.”

“That’s where I learned it,” Maggie said.

“It’s about time,” Bonnie said to her daughter.

“So glad you’re happy,” Maggie said in exactly the same cross tone.

Bonnie had completely forgotten her fake limp as she pulled on Scott’s arm.

“Hurry,” she said. “Let’s get Father Stephen to publish the banns before she changes her fool mind.”

Grace heard Kay leave for church; she was relieved Kay didn’t ask her to go. As soon as the front door closed, Grace got out of bed and took a shower. She was in her room getting dressed when she heard a knock on the front door. Her hair was hanging in wet strings down her back when she answered the door wearing a Little Bear Books sweatshirt Maggie had given her, new jeans from Claire, and new tennis shoes from Kay.

The woman standing on Kay’s porch was dressed in a dark suit and low heels. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low, tight bun.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you so early but I’m on my way to church and thought I’d just stop by. I’d like to speak to Grace Branduff. Is she at home?”

“I’m Grace,” Grace said.

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“There must be some mistake,” she said. “The young woman I’m looking for is sixteen years old.”

“That’s me,” Grace said.

“Oh my,” the woman said, touching her hand to her chest. “I can’t tell you how much it relieves my mind to meet you. I’m Jane Johnson, Elvis’s mother. When he told me your age, I was picturing someone much more, well, older looking.”

“I called pretty late last night,” Grace said. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem,” Jane said. “Elvis stays up late anyway.”

Grace didn’t know what to say next, so she said nothing.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Ms. Johnson said.

Grace walked outside onto the porch, sat on the porch swing, and Ms. Johnson joined her there.

“I’ve done my best not to be one of those helicopter mothers,” she said, “but I also think it’s wise to honor the maternal instinct; I mean, it’s there for a reason, right? At first I was just so glad to know Elvis had a friend to talk to, you know? Not many children his age are anywhere near mature enough to relate to him, and he’s so small. Last night he told me he had invited you to be his date for senior prom and, well, I just thought I better meet you. Then if I felt it was at all inappropriate I could put a stop to it. I hope you’re not offended.”

“I understand,” Grace said. “You’re just being a good mother. I like talking to Elvis; he’s been helping me figure out some really hard stuff that’s going on in my life. He’s so smart.”

“The thing is it’s easy to forget he’s only twelve,” Ms. Johnson said. “I find myself doing it all the time, and then something like this happens …”

“Would you like me to stop calling him?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe,” she said. “I think he has a crush on you and I just don’t want him to get hurt.”

“I don’t think of him like a boyfriend,” Grace said. “That would be creepy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Ms. Johnson said. “I just don’t know if this prom thing is a good idea.”

“I’m not excited about going to prom,” Grace said, “but I was honored he asked me. I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“It’s so hard to know what to do,” Ms. Johnson said. “I went to prom when I was in high school, and if this is going to be anything like mine was, a twelve-year-old boy has no business being there. But if I tell him no, it’s like I’m cheating him out of that prom experience. His life has already been so far from normal, you know?”

“Have you told him what you’re worried about?”

“We talk about everything,” Ms. Johnson said. “He insists he can handle this but what empirical evidence does he have on which to base his assertion? I say none. He gave me the statistics: for instance, the number of teenagers involved in traffic accidents on prom night in Pine County over the past twenty years; he says if I drive him there and pick him up he won’t be in any danger.”

“But you’re worried about his feelings getting hurt,” Grace said.

“Exactly,” Ms. Johnson said, pointing at Grace. “Exactly.”

They sat in silent contemplation for a few moments.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” Ms. Johnson said, and stood up.

She stuck out her hand and Grace shook it.

“It was nice meeting you, too,” Grace said. “Let me know what you want me to do.”

“You seem like a sensible person, Grace Branduff,” Ms. Johnson said. “I’m so relieved, you just don’t know. I lay awake last night imagining the worst. I’m glad I came.”

Grace pictured a few of her contemporaries and could imagine as well. Ms. Johnson waved before she drove away.

Grace picked up the rolled-up copy of the
Rose Hill Sentinel
that Tommy had left on the porch early that morning, took it back inside and dropped it on the kitchen counter. As she dried her hair, the warm air of the blow dryer felt so good she blew some air up her shirt. No matter how accessible warm air and hot water were, Grace was sure she would never take either for granted. The combination of the warmth and Kay’s cheerful house, filled with bright morning sunlight, made Grace feel something she rarely did: hopeful.

She looked in the mirror and said, “Happy birthday.”

Tommy was eating cereal at the breakfast bar in Ed’s house. He still had on his pajamas, but didn’t seem embarrassed about it.

“Where’s Ed?” Grace asked.

“His big story on the Rodefeffers and the mayor came out today,” Tommy said. “He was up all night laying it out and the printer had to do a rush job early this morning. He’s at the office meeting with somebody from the governor’s office.”

Tommy offered Grace a copy of the newspaper. She took it in the living room and spread it out on the coffee table. Tommy picked up his cereal bowl and joined her.

“Mayor’s special interest schemes revealed,” was the headline. The story made up the whole front page and was continued inside. There were pictures of the documents Grace had confiscated as well as photos of the mayor, Knox, and Trick Rodefeffer. Ed had also illustrated the articles with photos of the wind farm turbines, the proposed site of Eldridge Point, and a photo of Congressman Green with all three men at the ribbon cutting for the new condo development. The article stated that when contacted for a comment late last night all three men denied any wrongdoing and Congressman Green’s office stated that they would look into it.

The phone rang until the voicemail picked up.

“The governor’s office called first,” Tommy said. “Then the county prosecutor and the FBI called. Our phone’s been real busy. He told me to quit answering it.”

“It says the source was someone close to the alleged conspirators,” Grace said.

“Well, you were under the pool table when they were standing around talking about it,” Tommy said. “You don’t get much closer than that.”

“Do you think they’ll figure out it was me?”

“Naw,” Tommy said. “They didn’t even know you were there.”

“Can the FBI make Ed tell?” Grace said.

“They could haul him into court and try to make him,” Tommy said. “But Ed would go to jail before he’d reveal a source. He’s, like, super ethical that way.”

“I don’t want Ed to go to jail,” Grace said.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said. “The only people going to jail over this are Stuart, Trick, and Knox; maybe even Congressman Green.”

“I guess I didn’t think about what would happen,” Grace said. “I feel kind of bad now.”

“Don’t,” Tommy said. “You did the right thing. Otherwise the bad guys would get away with everything. You don’t want that.”

Grace was thinking about Kay, that she would be blindsided with the news at church this morning.

“I gotta go,” she said.

“Hold up,” Tommy said. “Wait for me to get dressed.”

When Tommy and Grace arrived back at Kay’s house, she was sitting in the living room reading the paper. Her face was pale.

“Are you okay?” Grace asked her.

“It’s just so overwhelming to see it in black and white,” Kay said. “They will all think I did this, you know.”

“Oh, no,” Grace said. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I probably had access to all these documents at one time or another,” she said. “It would have been so easy for me to make copies.”

“What will they do to you?” Tommy said.

“Nothing that could be traced back to them,” Kay said.

“There’s a bunch of people wanting to talk to Ed,” Tommy said. “They’ll probably want to talk to you, too.”

Oh dear,” Kay said. “I wonder if I should say anything.”

“Call Sean,” Grace said. “He’ll know what to do.”

After Kay called Sean, she went through the newspaper article again, reading parts of it out loud.

“I knew about most of this,” Kay said. “They might claim I was part of the conspiracy.”

“But could they prove it?” Tommy said.

“Sean told me not to answer anyone’s questions until he gets here,” she replied. “I guess he was coming over anyway for Mother’s Day lunch.”

“I forgot all about that,” Grace said. “I’m supposed to be helping Maggie, Hannah, and Claire.”

“I’ll go with you,” Tommy said.

“You all go on,” Kay said. “Have a fun time.”

The look on Kay’s face was two parts worried and one part sad.

As they ran down the sidewalk, Grace said, “I feel bad about leaving her here by herself.”

Tommy said, “We could ask Maggie to invite her. She probably doesn’t have any plans today.”

“I should have done something for her,” Grace said. “She may not be my mother but she’s my foster mother.”

“We still have to go water the plants in the greenhouse,” he said. “We can get her some flowers then.”

“I forgot about that, too.” Grace said. “Life’s gotten so complicated.”

Down at the greenhouse Grace and Tommy loaded up the red wagon with vases full of flowers and pulled it up Pine Mountain Road to Fitzpatrick’s Bakery. Inside, Maggie, Hannah, and Claire were spreading white tablecloths over a line of small tables pushed together.