Mended Hearts (New Beginnings Series) (16 page)

“We were at the art museum at Balboa,” Sonny answered. He glanced at Trace, waiting to be ragged on, but it didn’t come. All the guys ribbed each other about
everything
, so it kind of put him off, when Trace didn’t take advantage of the information.

“Oh
, that sounds fun. I love that place,” Meg bubbled. “How are you, Gracie?”

“Fine, thanks. You?” Gracie grinned. “I don’t think you need to answer that,” she said, glancing shyly at Trace.

“You haven’t met Gracie yet, have you, Trace? Trace, this is Sonny’s friend, Gracie. Gracie . . . Trace.”

Trace smiled and nodded at her. “Nice to meet you, Gracie. Heard a lot about you.”

Gracie blushed. “Oh. Nice to meet you too.” She looked uncertainly at Sonny.

“I get it now,” Sonny teased Meg. “I know why you’re so happy to have Gracie around. You were the last one.”

Gracie looked confused and Meg looked a little embarrassed. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m happy to have Gracie around because I like her. But mostly because
you
like her.”

“I know that. But you have to admit, you didn’t enjoy being the subject of all the curiosity when you first got involved with McKenna.”

Trace chuckled, “He’s got a point, babe.”

Meg looked stricken and reached out to lay her hand over Gracie’s. “Oh, Gracie. I’m so sorry! Have we made you feel uncomfortable? We’d never want to do that. It’s just . . . we all love Sonny so much and . . .”

Gracie squeezed Meg’s fingers. “It’s fine. You’ve been very nice. You all have.”

“I’ll see if I can get the girls to lay off
the gossip a little.”

“No! Don’t do that. I don’t want them to think I . . . I don’t like them or anything—That I’m stuck up or something. It’s fine.” Gracie started to panic.
What if none of Sonny’s friends liked her because she couldn’t fit in—or they thought she was too high strung?

Sonny broke in. “That’s it. I didn’t mean to start anything.” He took Gracie’s other hand. “I’m sorry to tease, angel. Don’t
freak out on me.”

Sissy showed up with their drinks and after she left,
Trace jumped in to change the subject. “Meg was telling me about Sugar Creek. We’ll have to get out to Savannah’s to hear you soon.”

Gracie smiled. “That would be nice. Come anytime.”

“We had such a great time that night we came out,” Meg said. She looked over at Trace. “Gracie has an amazing voice and stage presence.”

Gracie blushed again and Sonny broke in. “I never asked how the show went last night
, Gracie. How was it?”

“
Good. But the crowd was really rowdy. I hadn’t seen it like that before. One of the bouncers said he thought there was a big group of ‘baby Marines,’ he called them. First night pass after basic training, or something. Anyway . . . they were hell-raisers,” she laughed.

Sonny had stiffened. “Did anyone give you any trouble, angel?”

“No, no. The bouncers stuck close to Maggie and me. We were fine,” she reassured him.

Trace watched his best friend and was shocked. He’d seen Sonny date lots of women.
Lots
of women. But he didn’t think he’d ever seen this protective streak before. This seemed different. He wondered if it was his vulnerable situation with the injury, or if it had to do with Gracie. She seemed like a sweet girl. She was beautiful, but not overly assured of herself, as most truly gorgeous women were. There was a kind of tough fragility there. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

The couples continued to talk over their drinks and then over buckets of steamed crabs and corn on the cob. Trace liked the way Gracie didn’t turn her nose up at the messy food, but dug right on in with the rest of them. She was shy and didn’t have a lot to say, but she did contribute some funny stories about Sonny
—or Luca, as
she
called him—from when he was a young boy.

Sonny filled Trace in on his recovery and how his knee was progressing. Gracie could tell the whole situation bothered Trace. At one point, he looked on the verge of tears, but fought it off.

“Sonny . . . man . . . you know some of us—maybe
all
of us—would never have made it out of there if you hadn’t done what you did. That whole helo would’ve gone up . . . I just don’t know what to . . . ” Trace shook his head.

“Stop,” Sonny said. He looked uncomfortable. “Any one of you guys would have done the same thing.”

“Maybe not as well, though. And that’s the truth,” Trace insisted.

Sonny mumbled something under his breath, obviously uncomfortable and not knowing what to say. Finally he said, “Look . . . we all made it out and that’s the most important thing. Doesn’t matter how or what it took.”

Gracie and Meg looked from one man to the other, their eyes wide, not knowing what to say. Gracie noticed Meg’s eyes did well up, and she didn’t bother to hide it.

After a couple of hours, Gracie insisted it was time to leave so Sonny could get home and put his leg up. He had therapy in the morning and then his first day back on restricted desk duty. Trace liked the way she seemed to be fussing over him and the two couples left together, say
ing their goodbyes in the crushed shell parking lot.

On the way home, Meg looked over at him. “Well? What do you think?” she asked.

“She’ll do,” Trace said as he grinned over at his wife. “What do
you
think?”

“I think she’s great. She seems good for him. I just wish I knew what was going on under the surface.”

“What do you mean?” Trace was baffled.

“There’s something there. She seems damaged somehow, but it seems like she’s working hard to battle back.”

“Really? Do you think he knows about whatever that is?” He was concerned about his friend getting bogged down with Gracie’s baggage when he had enough to deal with himself.

“I think he does. He’s helping her through something.
I just don’t know what it is. Or how serious it is.” She sighed. “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him. Make sure it’s nothing he can’t handle.”

“Believe me, honey . . . there’s
nothing
he can’t handle. If I didn’t fully realize it before, I do now,” Trace said with conviction.

Meg watched him drive for a while and wished he could tell her more about the missions they’d just come back from. Then again, maybe it was better she didn’t have all the details
—for her own sanity.

CHAPTER 11

Shortly after eight thirty the next morning,
Gracie stepped out of the San Francisco International Airport, her handbag over her shoulder and a rental car key in her hand. She’d booked the flight in the wee hours that morning after a spur of the moment decision. No one knew of her plans, but she felt compelled to be there. Her precious baby girl, Jolie, was there and she needed to be too.

Two years ago to the day, Gracie had been in serious condition in the hospital. She missed the memorial service her family had held for Jolie. Memorial service was a misnomer, though, since the Laurent family had been robbed of any memories they could have made with little Jolie.

Gracie had never been able to make herself visit the gravesite. She hadn’t felt strong enough—until now. She lay awake the night before thinking about it, and realized it was important to her to go. She didn’t want to let her family know, though. They would insist on meeting her there, or ask her to wait until they could all go together. This was something she needed to do on her own. She couldn’t really say why, except that something broken inside her seemed to be healing and she felt this was an important step to continue that healing. It would help her prove to herself that she could stand on her own two feet. She’d leaned on her family for too long.

Gracie
located her rental car in the lot and headed toward the cemetery. She knew exactly where it was, even though she’d never been inside the gates. She passed a large grocery store, then turned around to go inside, looking for a floral department. She left there with a small bouquet of peach miniature roses with baby’s breath, and continued on toward the cemetery.

When she arrived there, she wove her way around the pretty shaded lanes toward the
mausoleum where Jolie’s ashes rested with others’ loved ones. It was a wall of white granite, with small bronze plaques checker-boarding the face of it. There were statues of beautiful angels along the top of the wall, watching over those resting there. Gracie parked at the curb and walked over to scan the plaques.

There it was . . .
Jolie Laurent Chilton . . . Our Precious Angel
. Gracie carefully placed the little roses in the vase attached to her plaque, then backed away until the backs of her legs hit the bench behind her. She dropped to the seat and let the tears come. They were silent tears—not great gulping sobs like she’d expected—but quiet and peaceful tears. She had no idea how long she sat there staring at her daughter’s name on that cold bronze plaque, listening to the birds. After the quiet tears stopped, she sat a while longer, looking around at the pretty setting of the grounds. She couldn’t see or hear the ocean from where she sat, but it must not have been too far away, because there were seagulls dancing across the sky. She tried not to imagine her little girl running along the beach, tossing bread crumbs for the gulls to catch, dark curls tumbling around her shoulders and the sun sparkling in her eyes. But she couldn’t help imagining that—and more.

Then it hit her. Maybe Jolie
was
feeding the seagulls—
God’s
seagulls. Or maybe she was having a tea party . . . or dancing across the floor in a princess dress . . . or playing peek-a-boo with her heavenly Daddy. Jolie
was
happy. Gracie could feel it in her bones—a peace that could only come from a message God was sending her. She laughed—and prayed a prayer of praise to her God, who was not only taking care of Jolie . . . but was taking care of
her
, too.

She
walked back over to the plaque, kissed her fingertips and laid them over Jolie’s name. She realized when she was back in the car she’d sat there for two hours. It hadn’t seemed that long, but she still had a long wait for her flight that evening. She decided to drive to her old neighborhood.

As Gracie drove slowly up her old street, she didn’t
feel any anxiety. She didn’t really feel anything. It was just a place she used to live. She noticed her old next-door neighbor, Gabby, arms full of grocery bags, walking toward her front door. Gracie decided to stop the car, and then hurried up the sidewalk.

“Gabby!” she called out.

Gabby jerked her head around in surprise. “Gracie? Gracie!” She practically threw the bags down and ran toward her.

Gracie threw her arms around Gabby’s neck and hugged her, laughing. “You’re still here!”

“Yes! Oh, Gracie! If you only knew how often I think about you. How much I miss you!” She pulled back and held Gracie at arms length. “You look great!”

“I just can’t believe you’re still here.” Gracie looked chagrined. “I guess it hasn’t really been that long though, huh? Just a couple of years.” She sighed. “Seems longer, though.”

“You have to come in for a visit. Do you have time?”

“Sure. My flight doesn’t leave ‘til this evening, so I have the whole day to fritter away.” Gracie stooped to help pick up the bags. “I hope you didn’t go out for eggs this morning,” she laughed.

Gabby’s eyes welled up. “Gracie . . . you seem like the old Gracie . . .”

“Getting there
.”

They took the groceries to Gabby’s kitchen and Gracie helped her put them away—like they’d done for each other so many times in the past.
Gabby put a fresh pot of coffee on and they sat down at the kitchen table. “Your flight, huh? Where are you going, Gracie?”

“I’m living in San Diego now. Moved there a couple of months ago.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you like it?”

“I’m liking it a lot. I’m singing with a house band in a bar—if you can believe it—and working at a daycare center part time.”

“Wow! Sounds great.” Gabby stood up to pour the coffee. “Putting down roots?”

“Don’t know about that yet, but getting settled anyway.
Making friends.”

“Oh, really? Any
special
friends?” Gabby teased.

“Maybe. Too soon to tell,” Gracie blushed. Then she changed the subject. “How’s Steve?”

“Steve is awesome. He has a big show coming up at one of the galleries on Geary Street. He’s working on that all night, and still teaching art at the high school all day. I have to hang out in his studio just to spend time with him.”

Gracie laughed. “You’d rather watch him paint than do anything else, and you know it.”

Gabby wiggled her eyebrows. “
Almost
anything else.”

The two old friends talked and Gabby insisted Gracie stay for lunch. Around three-thirty they heard the front door open and Gabby rushed to intercept Steve, cover
ed his eyes and marched him into the kitchen—which was something to see, because Steve was a big bear of a man and Gabby barely five feet tall.