Authors: T. Greenwood
Grace (17 page)
She especially thought about this when it came to the Stones, the couple who took her baby. They looked the part, with their intellect and charm. But if she could be wrong about two people she'd known since she was in diapers, couldn't she be wrong about them too? She tried to put it out of her mind. For one thing, the Stones were grown-ups. They had jobs and a house and lives. Teenagers weren't the same thing, were they? You could trust adults to tell the truth, right?
“What do you want to do today?” she asked Angie.
“We could go shopping?”
Angie wanted to go to Burlington, but there was no way Crystal was going to risk running into Mrs. Stone on the street. The very thought of it made her whole body tremble. Angie had no idea who had adopted the baby. Their parents had kept her in the dark about everything they could still manage to hide about Crystal's pregnancy.
“Let's go to Montpelier,” Crystal said. “We can go to the art store, to that book store, Bear Pond? I'll treat for lunch.”
They took her dad's car and spent the morning wandering in and out of the shops. When Crystal was Angie's age, she and Lena used to save up their babysitting money all summer and then Lena's dad would drive them to Burlington to go school shopping. They'd try on clothes they couldn't afford, giggling and wriggling in and out of dresses meant for much older girls. They'd eventually blow all their cash at the mall and fall asleep in the car in a nest of bags. Crystal didn't even know what size she was anymore. She'd been wearing sweats and big sweaters for the last nine months, but now that summer was coming, she knew she'd be forced to deal with this new body. This stranger's body. She really needed to start running again. Soon.
They finally found an art store and went inside. Angie's face lit up as she dashed toward a display of brushes.
“You going to be a while?” she asked Angie, who was examining a twenty-dollar paintbrush, stroking the back of her hand with the soft bristles.
Angie looked up. “You can go somewhere else and meet me back here later.”
Angie was only twelve. Crystal wasn't sure she should be leaving her alone. But it was an art store. What could happen to her? Besides, she was just going back down the street to the place that had caught her eye earlier.
“You promise you'll stay here?” she asked. Angie had picked up another brush and was pantomime painting. “Seriously, do not leave the store.”
“I won't,” Angie said, irritated. “God, I'm not a baby.”
“Okay,” Crystal said. “I'll be back in an hour. Meet me right here, at two,” she said, looking down at her watch.
Angie rolled her eyes. “I'll be
fine
. Where are you going?”
fine
. Where are you going?”
Crystal shrugged, though she knew exactly where she was going.
S
he didn't know where she was going. What she was doing. On Friday night, Elsbeth had made the mistake of telling Twig about that reporter, Wilder Montgomery. They'd been drinking wine, and it just came out. She showed her his business card, which she'd been carrying around in her pocket since he came into the shop. “He just wants to get coffee. He wants to ask me questions about Two Rivers, about the salon, for this book he's writing.”
he didn't know where she was going. What she was doing. On Friday night, Elsbeth had made the mistake of telling Twig about that reporter, Wilder Montgomery. They'd been drinking wine, and it just came out. She showed her his business card, which she'd been carrying around in her pocket since he came into the shop. “He just wants to get coffee. He wants to ask me questions about Two Rivers, about the salon, for this book he's writing.”
“Why does he want to talk to you?”
Elsbeth felt the tips of her ears getting hot. “He thinks I'm Babette.”
Twig raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “You aren't gonna call him, are you?” Twig asked, pulling the foil from her hair. The air smelled of chemicals; between the hair dye and the booze, she felt kind of woozy.
“Why not?” she said. Twig was contrary sometimes just for the sake of being contrary, especially if she was drinking.
“Because you're
married?
” Twig said.
married?
” Twig said.
“I'm not going to
sleep
with him!” Elsbeth said, and though she meant it, she felt a little twinge of disappointment at saying this.
sleep
with him!” Elsbeth said, and though she meant it, she felt a little twinge of disappointment at saying this.
“Whatever,” Twig said. “But you break Kurt's heart, I'll have to kill you. That man is a catch, Elsbeth. He's a good father, he works hard, and he loves you.”
Each statement felt like an attack, like what Twig was really saying was that Elsbeth should just be grateful for what she had. Like she was accusing her of something when she hadn't even done anything yet.
Yet
. Jesus, she'd had too much wine. She'd just get herself home and get rid of that damn business card. Twig was right.
Yet
. Jesus, she'd had too much wine. She'd just get herself home and get rid of that damn business card. Twig was right.
But on Monday morning, after the bus from the retirement center came and she'd gotten all of her ladies situated under the dryers, she thought about him again. The thoughts were like slivers, little prickly things under her skin. She might forget about him for a while, until she felt the prick. That itchy reminder.
Twig had left her a little sticky note on the mirror in front of her chair.
Be smart,
it said. She'd plucked it off and tossed it in the trash. And then, just as she was headed out the door to go grab a Mountain Dew from the Cumberland Farms, shaking her head like she could just shake the thoughts loose, she bumped into him. Literally.
Be smart,
it said. She'd plucked it off and tossed it in the trash. And then, just as she was headed out the door to go grab a Mountain Dew from the Cumberland Farms, shaking her head like she could just shake the thoughts loose, she bumped into him. Literally.
“Hi,” he said. He had a newspaper tucked under one arm. He had a pair of glasses on; she hadn't remembered him wearing glasses before. They made him look distinguished. Kind of like a black Clark Kent.
“Hi,” she said, feeling herself blush.
His eyes behind the glasses were an even brighter blue than she remembered. It was hard to look at him. He hadn't stopped smiling at her. Funny how she suddenly felt completely see-through, like he somehow knew that she'd been thinking about him all weekend. The way he was looking at her was like somebody who knew her secrets. But that wasn't possible, right? For Christ's sake, if he could really see through her, he'd have known she wasn't Babette.
“You on a break?” he asked.
She nodded, worried that if she opened her mouth she wouldn't have any control over the words that came out.
“How about that cup of coffee, then?”
Of course Twig was right. Twig was always right. But still Elsbeth walked down Depot Street with this strange man as if they were lifelong friends. As if this were completely normal. She was aware of her posture, standing taller than she normally did, throwing her shoulders back. Her mother had always tried to get her to stand up straight, but she was self-conscious about being tall. She felt different with her hair colored too. She held her head differently, was aware of the tips of her hair on her shoulders. Twig had suggested going lighter, maybe even a sandy blond, but Elsbeth had opted for auburn highlights. Something red. In the sun, she felt ablaze. When they walked past the jewelry shop and she caught her reflection in the glass, she barely recognized herself. She was Babette. A redheaded Babette (as opposed to the real Babette, whose hair was the color of lemon pudding). And when they went through the doors to the new little coffee shop near the railroad tracks, the one Kurt wouldn't be caught dead at, the one where a cup of coffee cost the same as a sandwich anywhere else, she could have been another woman. She could have been anyone but herself.
On Monday when school was canceled, Trevor was both relieved and disappointed. Today was the day they were supposed to finally go into the darkroom; he'd been looking forward to it all weekend. Mrs. D. had shown him where the chemicals were, the dusty packages of paper. He'd helped her clean the plastic developing trays and dust the enlarger. He had been taking pictures like crazy, spending every dime he made at the yard on film. He had four more used rolls. Now, with school canceled, he'd have to wait
another
day before he could develop them. But one less day of school was still, at least, one less day of school. And summer vacation was just two weeks away. When he thought of summer, it was like a shimmering rock under murky water.
another
day before he could develop them. But one less day of school was still, at least, one less day of school. And summer vacation was just two weeks away. When he thought of summer, it was like a shimmering rock under murky water.
Both his mom and his dad had to work on Mondays, so they spent the whole morning arguing about what to do with him and Gracy.
“Trevor can watch her until you get home,” his father said as he finished up his breakfast, sopping up his eggs with a heel of toast. “It's just four hours. He's nearly thirteen years old, El. They'll be fine.”
“I don't know. What if something happens? What if there's an emergency?”
“Then he can call 9-1-1.”
“Why don't I just stay home?” she said.
“That's not necessary,” his father had said in that voice that sounded like bricks. Like he was making a wall with his words.
His mother slammed the frying pan she'd been making eggs in into the sink, the brick wall cracking.
“El, it's just we really can't afford to have you missing work,” his father said.
“I realize that. Don't you think I know that?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I can do it,” Trevor said, just wanting them to stop. “We'll have fun, right, Gracy?” It wasn't as though they hadn't left Gracy with him before. Sometimes when his mother needed to run to the store or the gas station, he'd watch her. Once she'd been gone for almost two hours. Seriously. How hard was it to play Chutes and Ladders and Candy Land all day? He wouldn't even have to make her lunch; she'd be home by lunchtime.
Finally, his mother threw up her hands and said, “Fine.” She didn't say another word to anyone until she left, and even then she only kissed Gracy good-bye and said to him, “I'll be back at one. Do not turn on the stove. Don't even use the microwave. You know my cell number, and here's the number at Babette's.” Then she looked for a moment like she might have changed her mind, like she might set down her purse and stay. But she only took a deep breath and said, “God, just be good.”
“I'll be home late tonight,” his father said. “I'm stopping by Pop's.”
“Fine, then,” she said. “I'll keep a plate warm.” She took off in a huff, but her car wouldn't start, and so his dad had to pull his truck up to hers, their hoods popped open and their batteries connected by the jumper cables. Something about watching them like this made Trevor feel sad. Connected, stuck together, but still totally separate. His mother sat in the car scowling, and when the engine finally came back to life, his dad quickly disconnected them and slammed the hood down, and his mom took off, gravel flying up behind her car as she peeled out of the driveway.
Gracy was finishing a bowl of Froot Loops at the table. There were Barbies lined up all along the table's edge, like some weird Barbie picnic. “Do you want my rainbow milk?” she asked Trevor, motioning to her bowl.
“Sure,” Trevor said and took the bowl of colored milk from her, tipping it up and drinking it in three small gulps.
“So what do you wanna do today, Gracy?”
By ten o'clock they had played five games of Chutes and Ladders, watched two episodes of
SpongeBob,
one
Dora the Explorer,
and about five minutes of
Barney,
which just about drove Trevor crazy. Gracy had already dug into her dress-up box and dressed up as Sleeping Beauty, Jasmine, and finally settled into last year's Candy Corn Witch costume, complete with striped tights. She'd convinced Trevor to be a wizard, tying a black cape around his neck.
SpongeBob,
one
Dora the Explorer,
and about five minutes of
Barney,
which just about drove Trevor crazy. Gracy had already dug into her dress-up box and dressed up as Sleeping Beauty, Jasmine, and finally settled into last year's Candy Corn Witch costume, complete with striped tights. She'd convinced Trevor to be a wizard, tying a black cape around his neck.
“I'm bored,” she said. “Let's go someplace.”
“I don't think we're supposed to go anywhere, Gracy,” he said.
“Than let's play outside,” she said. “Mommy won't care if we play outside.”
Trevor looked around the house anxiously, as if his mother had installed security cameras to ensure he didn't do anything he wasn't supposed to do. They had those at school now, and he felt like he was always being watched. He knew it was ridiculous, but he also knew she had, if reluctantly, trusted him. He didn't want to mess up.
“I guess we could go outside,” he said. “Why not?”
Outside, Gracy played on the swing set. He pushed her, and she swung so high the chains kinked and made a loud snap. When she grew tired of the swing, they raced each other back and forth across the field behind the house until their legs were shaking with exhaustion.
“Let's go on a nature walk,” she said. “We could go swimming.”
“I don't know,” Trevor said. “What if Mom comes home early?”
“We can leave her a note.”
Trevor shrugged again. “I guess as long as we get back before Mom.”
Inside Gracy changed into her bathing suit, and Trevor got his camera. He'd just take her down to the river to splash around. They'd be back in plenty of time. He'd been wanting to take some pictures in the woods. Find some
pretty
things to take pictures of for a change.
pretty
things to take pictures of for a change.
Trevor made Gracy hold his hand as they walked into the woods at the edge of the field. “You have to stay with me,” he said. “No wandering off.”
“Okay,” she said. She had put her witch costume back on over her bathing suit. The hat flopped to one side and the rubber nose was still strapped to her face, the elastic pressing into her chubby cheeks. He snapped a couple of pictures, but she was giggling too hard to hold still.
Other books
WindBeliever by Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Mistress By Mistake by Maggie Robinson
Christmas in Camelot by Mary Pope Osborne
Techromancy Scrolls: Adept by Erik Schubach
Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance by Roxy Sinclaire, Natasha Tanner
Dream Magic by B. V. Larson
The Demon's Blade by Steven Drake
The Idea of Him by Holly Peterson
The K Handshape by Maureen Jennings
Mrs. Pollifax Unveiled by Dorothy Gilman
