Grounded (40 page)

Yeah, they were tired, even when they didn't feel tired.

But Grace was somewhat taken aback when two college-age guys came to the meet and greet after the concert and asked if they could talk. One senior admitted he'd slept with his girlfriend in spite of the university's expectations that students would abide by biblical standards of sexual behavior. But since she hadn't gotten pregnant, he hadn't worried too much about it—until tonight. Another had done the same thing, but his girl had broken up with him and later left school. He didn't know if he'd gotten her pregnant, or if she had a baby, or had gotten an abortion, because she'd cut off all contact. But he was living with a lot of guilt, even felt like he didn't deserve to graduate.

Grace's heart ached. Behind every young woman who'd talked to her, there was also a guy—maybe like one of these young men. She sent Sam to ask Barry and Petey if they'd talk with them—guy to guy—and when she'd finished meeting the last of her fans, the guys were still praying together in a corner of the room.

“I've never been on a tour like this,” Grace confessed as she and Sam got ready for bed a while later in their hotel suite. “I mean, all I keep thinking about as I'm singing is, who out there in the audience is hurting right now? I imagine her in my mind—someone like Ashley or Janeece—and I find myself singing to that person.”

Sam nodded soberly. “The other tours were great, Grace—really. But this one feels especially anointed. God is really using you.” She handed Grace a steaming cup of honey-lemon tea. “But I'm gonna be honest with you. Your voice did not sound as strong tonight, and we still have two—well, one and a half—concerts to go. You still need to take care of your throat.”

“Yes, Mama Sam.” Grace obediently drank her tea … but woke up Saturday morning with a flaming sore throat. She'd hoped they could get to the beach—after all, it was the first day of May! In California!—and soak up a few rays before practice that afternoon, but Sam talked her into soaking up those rays by the hotel pool instead. Grace needed to take it easy if she wanted to make it through the concert tonight.

Sam even intercepted her phone calls—including one from Jeff, who'd called to wish Grace the best on her last night. “Sorry, she can't talk right now. Actually, Jeff, you might want to get the Bongo staff together and pray. She's got a really sore throat and we've still got tonight's concert.”

Grace rolled her eyes. She wished Sam wouldn't be so dramatic. Her assistant listened, nodded, said “Uh-huh” and “Uh-uh” a few times, then clicked the phone off. “Your
agent
—” She overemphasized the word with a little smile. “—is really concerned. Asked if you'd seen a doctor. Asked if there was anything he could do. Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up tonight.”

Grace managed a snort. “Yeah, and if he did he'd wonder what all the fuss was about if the concert goes off without a hitch.” But she couldn't help grinning. It was just the kind of thing Jeff would do.

Thanks to Sam's nursing, Grace was feeling much better by the time she walked onstage that night. She'd chosen a simple black crepe V-neck dress that skimmed her knees, her long hair falling softly in layered strands around her shoulders, and she knew she looked good in spite of the slight scratchiness in her throat.

The church was packed. To keep each evening fresh, she and the band sometimes rearranged the order of the songs, and she continued to depend on that nudge from the Holy Spirit for what to say. The first set seemed to go well, and at the break, she obediently drank lots of water and sucked on her lozenges.
One more set tonight … and just a short set in the morning. I can do this
. “Be strong,” Sam whispered as the emcee brought down the lights after the break and boomed into the mike, “Once again, we bring you Just Grace!”

Waves of loud applause greeted her as she moved into the spotlight wearing the silver chiffon dress—her favorite.
Just Grace
. Her heart was full as she nodded to the band and they swung into Todd Agnew's “Grace Like Rain.” The song was slow and easy, in a comfortable range, and she sang it confidently. “Hallelujah, grace like rain falls down on me …”

But she had a little trouble on the next song—failing to hit one of the high notes, but recovering and coming in again on the next phrase. Giving herself a little break, she talked to the audience with words of encouragement, sharing one of the truths God was teaching her: “You feel as if you don't deserve God's grace? Well, you're right! You don't. Neither do I. But that's what grace is all about—God longs to pour out his love and mercy, no matter what mistakes we've made, even though we
don't
deserve it. And that's what brings us through …”

With those key words, the band moved into the song made popular by the Mississippi Mass Choir: “Your grace and mercy brought me through …”

Grace made it through the first chorus, but realized she was struggling with the first verse. The volume wasn't there, and her voice sounded ragged, even to her. Pulling the mike aside while she cleared her throat, she brought it back again but hummed through the rest of the verse—hoping it might seem something planned—and then came back in on the chorus.

But it wasn't happening. She couldn't hit the notes. A small bubble of panic started to rise in her chest—but just at that moment Sam appeared at her side with a handheld mike in her hand, smiling at Grace, mouthing,
“Sing alto” …

It only took a nanosecond for Grace to realize what was happening. Sam was going to make this a duet!—letting her drop her voice into the alto range while Sam picked up the soprano. Grace smiled back … and opened her mouth to sing again. Together they finished the chorus and moved on to the second verse.

Their voices blended beautifully, and together they sang the final chorus through to the last line: “Your grace and mercy … brought me through!”

As the last notes died away, Grace slipped an arm around Sam's waist and held her close as she raised her other arm high. The audience was on its feet, hooting and hollering, clapping and clapping.

They'd loved it.

Sam started to slip away, but Grace grabbed her hand and held her there. Trying to find a break in the applause, Grace spoke into the mike. “As you can see, it wasn't ‘Just Grace' tonight”—

Laughter swept the room.

—“it was God's grace, all the way.”

Grace sank down into one of the big leather seats in the cavernous waiting room of Los Angeles Union Station Sunday evening, glad to get off her feet. It'd been a long day—singing at the worship service in the same church that had hosted Saturday night's concert, packing, checking out of the hotel, saying good-bye to Barry and the band, and waiting for a car to take them to the train station. She was looking forward to getting on the Southwest Chief and kicking back with nothing to do for two days except rest and watch the scenery.

Sam propped their suitcases against a couple of the other leather seats but didn't sit down. “Did you see all the police and security guards? Even some K-9 dogs. Wonder what's up?”

Grace flinched. It was a bit unsettling to see so much security. Did it mean they'd be searched before they could board? Mr. Bentley had practically promised that didn't happen on the train. She shuddered. She didn't want to think about it.

Sam looked around. “I'm hungry. Wonder if they've got any restaurants or concessions around here. We've still got half an hour till we can board.”

“Won't they serve dinner when we get on the train?”

“Yeah, but I need something to tide me over. You?”

“Sure. Nothing sweet though.”

As Sam disappeared, Grace took a good look around her—and almost had to laugh. The rows of wide leather seats for waiting passengers had old-fashioned high backs and wide wooden arms, making her feel a bit like Goldilocks trying out Papa Bear's “too
big” chair. But the seats did seem to fit the waiting room's personality: high arched doorways, large ceiling beams, intricate inlaid wall tiles, and highly polished floors. Beautiful.

Grace closed her eyes, alone for the first time that day—if one could be alone surrounded by hundreds of other passengers. Her voice had recovered somewhat overnight with lots of gargling and a steam treatment. But when they'd arrived at the church that morning, the event coordinator—who'd been at the concert the previous night—asked if she and Sam could do a reprise of their duet. “And,” he added, “we were wondering if the two of you would also sing ‘Amazing Grace'? That would be very poignant, you know—black and white together—given the history of that song.”

History of that song …
Yes, written by a former slave trader, his confession of God's amazing grace, that God would “save a wretch like me.” And it had been moving. Zach was practically in tears afterward.

So why did she feel conflicted? Samantha had come to her rescue, had saved her song, and the audience had loved it. And Grace
was
grateful … but what did that mean for the future? Would Sam expect to do duets with her at every concert? Was she being selfish to even wonder about that? Prideful?

Samantha Curtis did have a beautiful voice. Maybe she should talk to Jeff about her one of these days, see what he thought about getting her an agent—

“
Hola
. May I sit here?”

Grace's eyes flew open at the unfamiliar voice. A young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen, stood a few feet away, pointing at the high-back chair next to Grace. Skinny jeans, a tan suede jacket. Thick, dark hair fell over one side of her face. Very pretty really—large brown eyes with long lashes, bow-shaped lips, creamy tan skin.

“Sure.” Grace smiled politely. Odd, though. It wasn't like there weren't other empty seats around the waiting room.

The girl sank down into the seat, looking even more lost in the big chair than Grace had felt. “
Gracias
. I'm going to Chicago, first time.” She eyed Grace curiously. “You are from Chicago?”

Grace nodded. “Yes. On my way home.”

“Nice.” The girl smiled shyly. “Do you like Chicago? … Oh, I'm Ramona.” She extended a slender hand.

Hmm
. Super friendly. Grace shook her hand and smiled back. “I'm Grace. Yes, I like Chicago.”

Ramona tipped her chin toward their luggage. “You have a lot of bags. You did not want to check them?”

Okay. Now she was getting nosy. “Not all mine. I'm traveling with a friend.”

“Ah. I see.”

The girl seemed about to ask another question, but just then Sam walked up holding two bags of luscious-smelling popcorn. “Oh … hi. Hope I'm not interrupting something.” She nodded at the girl, then held out the two bags of popcorn toward Grace. “Parmesan or Spicy Paprika?”

“
Mmm
. Parmesan. Thanks.”

Sam shoved Grace's suitcase aside and sank into the seat on the other side of her. “The only thing open on Sunday in the whole place is the Traxx Bar. Hope this is okay.”

“Dee-lish. Oh—Sam, this is Ramona. She's going to Chicago too.”

Sam gave the girl a smile and a little wave. “Hi.” She leaned across Grace and held out her bag of popcorn. “Would you like some?”

“Oh, no, no … that's okay.” The girl glanced across the big room. “Oh. There's my man. I have to go.” Ramona bounced up. “Have a good trip.”

Grace watched as the girl scurried away, pulling her small bag. A tall, blond guy was waving at her. He looked at least in his late twenties, much older than Ramona. Did her parents know she was off to Chicago with this guy?

Sam looked at her watch. “I thought they said we'd be boarding by now. I'm gonna check.” She hurried off, and a few moments later came hurrying back. “First class passengers are gathering around the corner. Huh! You'd think they'd make an announcement on the intercom or something.”

Ten minutes later, Grace and Sam climbed on an electric cart with two other first class passengers and held on tight as the driver scooted through the station, up a ramp, and out onto the platform before braking to a stop and unloading their luggage. The Southwest Chief stretched out before them on the track, Amtrak attendants standing at the open car doors. Pulling their suitcases, Sam stopped at the first sleeper behind the engines and baggage car and showed her ticket. “Car 433?”

The attendant smiled and pointed down the track. “Two cars down.”

A sturdy African American woman in uniform stood by the door of Car 433. “Let me help you with those.” She swung their big suitcases aboard and checked their tickets. “Bedroom E is on the second level. Up the stairs, turn left. Welcome aboard!”

Grace and Sam stowed their big suitcases on the luggage rack on the lower level, then made their way to the second level and into E. Collapsing on the long padded seat that turned into a lower berth, Grace laughed. “Ah! Home sweet home for the next two days!”