Saving Gracie (7 page)
“You won’t believe the call I got.” Grace launched into the crazy Ellen Lyons conversation. When finished, she waited expectantly for Adam’s two cents on the insane idea.
Adam chewed on his last slice of pizza. Silence.
“Well? It’s ridiculous, right?”
Adam took a sip of red wine and shrugged. “What’s so crazy about it?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Gracie, you’ve got to start somewhere.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. Her mother called her Gracie, not Adam.
“I know it’ll be hard,” he continued, “but at least it’s something. Maybe it’d be good to start out volunteering.” Adam used a napkin to wipe his mouth. “You’ve always wanted to do something with Deaf Ed. Maybe this is your opportunity.”
Typical Adam, planting the seed. She knew he’d wait to see if she’d add the water. If she ever cursed Adam, she’d do it now. “So…you think I should?”
“I think it’d do you good to get out of the house.”
Okay, Grace wondered, who squealed about my super-secret-under-the-covers lifestyle? Janie or #2? #2, she decided.
“It’ll probably make you feel better,” he said. “Might even help you sleep.”
Straight for the kill. Ouch. Grace hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Okay…I’ll try it.” Her hands half curled into fists and then straightened out. “But if this doesn’t work, I’m totally blaming you,” she teased. Seriously, she would.
“Fair enough.”
“I probably won’t be any good, but I guess I’ll try,” Grace whined, wondering why she found pleasure in playing Eeyore. Pathetic.
~~~
The next morning, Grace dug through Pizza Hut remains in the kitchen trashcan, trying to find the woman’s phone number.
“It’s got to be in here somewhere,” Grace panted, finally surfacing with the wadded napkin. She dialed the number, relieved to speak with Ms. Lyons’s secretary. Grace relayed her email address and was informed an orientation would be held at the school a week from Saturday.
She hung up the phone, “Well, that’s done,” she said, already dreading the orientation. Her bed would miss her terribly. Damn Adam for being right…again. Her mom would surely have sided with him on this one. She needed to start somewhere
.
But I might not like it?
And then, feeling like a pimple-faced teen, or what if the kids don’t like me?
“Oh get a grip,” #2 said. “It’s only for three weeks.”
CHAPTER 11
GRACE
For the past three years, Josh had spent the month of June in Branson, Missouri. He loved, loved,
loved
camp.
Packing Camp Clothes for Dummies. For a Kid. For a Month
.
Grace needed a manual. Pronto. Clothes could be sent out for washing after two weeks. But that still left fourteen shorts, shirts, underwear, socks, a couple pair of tennis shoes, swim suits, bedding, towels, toiletries, plus a lot of stuff she knew she was supposed to include, but would probably forget. In short, chaos.
She remembered her mother’s suggestion for Josh’s first month-long stay at camp; over-sized safety pins for each set of matching shirts and shorts.
Big mistake. Huge. Josh’s first letter home clearly stated she was never, ever, ever under any circumstances—spelled
sircomstansis
—to send diaper pins to camp. Again. Ever. A rookie mistake.
Thank God Adam talked her out her mother’s original suggestion of using over-sized zip lock bags for the outfits. She envisioned Josh arriving home from Branson, via Fed Ex, with a note pinned to his shirt.
Return to sender: Camper rejected
.
She felt sincere sympathy for her son. Not only did he have to put up with his mother’s indecisiveness and neurosis, but also an overbearing grandmother, to boot. She remembered Adam’s response to the “never, ever, ever” letter.
“Who cares what seven year olds wear to camp?” Adam’s point, valid. Grace had to agree. Unfortunately, too late for Josh.
Another camp malady that first year occurred over her obsessive letter writing. A month with only mail communication terrified Grace. At her mother’s
suggestion
Grace started mailing letters a week before he even left for camp.
“He’ll enjoy getting letters as soon as he gets there, don’t you think?” Kathryn said.
Sentimental, over-the-top mushy letters traveled through the mail to Missouri telling Josh how much he was loved, what a special person he was, blah, ba-blah, ba-blah.
A week later, Josh’s first letter arrived.
Dear Mom, Why are you writing this stuff? Are you dying?
Sigh. Nothing about motherhood came easy. Her hard drive struggled daily with her maternal instinct chip.
“I thought knowing how to be a mother would come naturally. Why is everything so hard?” She remembered asking after Hannah’s birth.
“Now, don’t you worry,” her mother had said. “I’ll take care of everything.” Grace remembered Adam’s huge eye-roll after
that
statement.
~~~
A caravan of chartered buses left Dallas at four o’clock Friday morning. Grace, Josh and Adam had driven up the night before and stayed with Adam’s sister. On the sly Grace persuaded Josh’s cousins, both older and on the same bus, to be super-secret chaperones. Although partially relieved, she still choked up watching the huge chartered bus swallow him whole each year.
“Mom,” Josh said before they left the car early Friday morning. “One more time.”
“I’ve got it, Josh.”
“Repeat it, Mom.” Josh ignored his mother. “No kissing or crying.”
Grace tightened her lips and nodded, squelching the lump in her throat. “No kissing or crying.” Josh oozed more self-confidence in his pinky finger than Grace had on both hands and feet. He climbed onto the monster-sized bus for an entire month and didn’t even look back. Thank God he didn’t take after her.
~~~
Several times on the ride home from Dallas Grace resisted the urge to complain about volunteering. Orientation, a day away, had her stomach in knots. Her self-esteem, she knew, was in the toilet. She’d spent her entire life begging, pleading and whining, preferring to hide from the outside world.
#2, on the other hand, reared her ugly head every time Grace started another sob story. “Straighten up and get your skinny ass in gear,” she would say. Oh, how Adam would side with #2. Even Janie batted down Grace’s whines.
“I’ll take you only so far, my friend,” Janie said. “Then you’re on your own. You need to stand on those wobbly legs and learn to fly again.”
“Again?” Grace had moaned. “When have I ever stood on my own?”
“Then, start.”
~~~
Saturday dawned humid and overcast with a 40% chance of rain. Even with cloudy skies Grace pulled on Audrey Hepburn sunglasses before backing out of the driveway.
Since agreeing to volunteer Grace found a ton of things she’d neglected to do over the past couple of months; make a Goodwill run, sort through picture albums, straighten the junk drawer…get a pedicure. Shit. If she hadn’t made the stupid commitment, she could take care of all this crap which, at the moment, seemed extremely urgent.
“You are so full of it.” #2, as usual, didn’t bother disguising her irritation.
“Oh shut up,” Grace barked. “Don’t you have someone else to bother?”
“Not currently.”
It occurred to Grace the “love-hate” relationship with #2 mirrored the one she had with her mother. She hated #2 for being a smart-ass-know-it-all, while at the same time envying the hell out of her. At least she could tell #2 to shut up, which gave her a twisted sort of pleasure.
Arriving early at Sedgwick Elementary, Grace sat in the car, hiding behind her over-sized sunglasses. She flipped down the visor to check her lipstick in the mirror. She growled. Her hair had actually
grown
since leaving the house.
“Damn humidity. I look like Jane of the jungle.”
“Chia Pet,” #2 corrected. “If you ask me—”
“No one’s asking you.” Grace stumbled out the car and slammed the door.
At the information session Grace met Jill, a bouncy, bright-eyed twenty-year-old college student with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Currently in her third year at Sam Houston State, Jill was working toward a Phys Ed degree with a minor in Special Needs. She also headed the six to eight-year-old Bluebirds, Grace’s assigned group.
“Here.” Jill handed Grace a manila folder. “There’s a lot of ADA stuff in there because of the hard-of-hearing kiddos; also the schedule and the names of the Bluebirds.”
“Thanks.” Grace thumbed through the folder.
“First time to volunteer?” Jill asked.
“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”
“Oh….” Jill nudged Grace. “You’ll be fine. You’re Hannah’s mom, right?”
Grace’s face registered surprise. “Yes. How did you know?
“I had one of the older groups last year. Loved, loved, loved Hannah.”
Grace liked Jill already. “She’ll be back this summer.”
“Can’t wait to see her.” Jill smiled and touched Grace’s shoulder.
Grace flipped to the roster sheet in the folder. Her eyes widened. “Seventeen?”
“Yeah,” Jill said. “The ones with asterisks are the hearing-impaired kiddos.”
“What’s this?” Grace pointed to a name with an asterisk, a red star and the words “see note below” penciled in.
“That one has a temper.” Jill shook her head. “Not a great family environment. You’ll need to read the info on her.”
As if on cue, large pellets of rain began falling from the sky the minute Grace left the building. She tucked the manila folder under her arm and bee-lined for the car. By the time she pulled into her driveway a Houston summer gully-washer pounded sheets of rain across the windshield. The wipers struggled to keep pace.
Grace pressed the garage door opener. Nothing. Dead batteries? Great. And no umbrella. Big surprise, #2 would say. She sighed, stuffed the manila folder under her blouse and bolted for the house.
Plowing through the back door Grace found Hannah in front of the television in conversation with her BFF, Jennifer. Her daughter’s eyes rounded at Grace’s wild hairdo.
“
Wow. Large hair
,” Hannah signed.
Grace pulled the folder out from under her soaked shirt and dropped it on the table. Using the back of her arm, she pushed a tangled mass of hair out of her face.
Adam walked in from the study and stopped.
Grace shot a warning finger his way. “Don’t. I’ll hurt you.”
Adam held up both hands, did a 180 and headed back to the safety of his man cave.
“
What happened?
” Hannah asked, a smile lurking around her mouth.
“
Be glad you don’t have my hair
.” Grace marched to her bedroom and slammed the door.
A quick glance at her reflection in the bathroom caused her to cringe. She squeezed her eyes tight and braced her arms on the edge of the sink. She raised one eyelid.
“Good God, I
am
a Chia Pet,” she said.
“Told ya,” #2 remarked.
CHAPTER 12
GRACE
Chaos owned the summer program’s first day. Grace blew out a breath of relief when she spotted Jill. Her new best friend stood among staff members, anxious parents and rowdy kids; her saving grace.
Jill spent the morning on introductions and rules. Six of the seventeen Bluebirds were auditory-impaired. As a result Jill, not yet proficient in sign language, depended on Grace to interpret.
Hannah plopped down next to her mom during lunch. “
What’s up?
” she signed with an ear-to-ear grin.
Grace shrugged, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “
Time to go home, maybe?
”
“
Only two weeks, four days left
.” Hannah wiggled her eyebrows. “
Not bad
.”
Grace rolled her eyes. “
Wonderful
.” Blowing out dread, she signed, “
How’s your morning?
”
“
Good,
” Hannah signed. “
Guess what’s up this afternoon?
”
“
Helping Bluebirds, maybe?
” Grace seriously needed a nap.
“
Swimming,
” Hannah signed in a rapid spurt, ignoring her mother’s cynicism. Her eyes glittered with inner light. “
And guess who’s here?
”
“
Brad Pitt?
” Grace fingerspelled.
Hannah smirked. “
Serious
.”
“
Who?
” Grace dug her nails into the skin of a large navel orange.
“
Daniel
.” Hannah fingerspelled, seeming to actually rise off her seat. “
Last year English class, remember?
”
Grace’s heart sped up, a glint of protective instinct kicking in. Hannah’s first crush…her only crush. And now they’d spend the next three weeks together? Great.
~~~
By the end of the day the auditory-impaired kids had given all the hearing Bluebirds sign names, an icebreaker exercise Grace had suggested. Luckily, the project worked. Jill’s “thumbs up” puffed Grace’s chest out a bit.
So far, so good. Everyone interacted well, except for one auditory-impaired little girl. For most of the afternoon the child sat alone, small clenched fists crossed under her arms, lower lip protruding in an angry pout. Grace noted dirt smudges on the child’s face and chewed fingernails tainted with chipped purple polish. Her sandy brown hair was twisted into a messy ponytail and a checkered, overly cheery bow struggled to hold the wadded hair in place.
Grace checked the enrollment list posted on the wall and easily spotted the girl’s name.
• Asterisk - hearing-impaired
• Red Star – anger issues
The red star triggered the memory of her conversation with Jill at orientation about the child with the not-so-great home life. The young girl refused to even sign her name, Cherry.
“Let’s see what happens tomorrow,” Jill advised.
Relief. “Good, because I have no idea what to do with her.” The familiar feeling of helplessness began smothering Grace’s relief, knowing the problem wasn’t leaving just because she’d put it off.
What would her mother do?
~~~
“
What’s for supper?
” Hannah leaned against the car at the end of the day.
“Shit! I mean shoot.” Grace grimaced. Hannah giggled.
“
Sorry,
” Grace signed, unlocking the car. She’d completely brain-farted on dinner and cursed in front of her teenage daughter. No mom Brownie points today.
“
Doesn’t matter
.” Hannah grinned. “
I know the word
.”
“
When did you learn to lip read so well?
”
Hannah shrugged. “
Long time ago. It’s easy for me
.” Hannah’s light-sandy hair, darkened and wet from the afternoon swim, highlighted the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. The smell of chlorine drifted through the car.
“
Okay
.” Grace navigated the car out of the parking lot, making a mental note regarding Hannah’s lip-reading proficiency. “
To the store
,” she signed.
After their power-walking speedy grocery trip Hannah dumped contents of the plastic bags on the kitchen counter. “
I’ll help with dinner. Need to change first
.”
“
Shampoo
.” Grace pointed to her head. “
Don’t want green hair like last summer
.”
Hannah arched an eyebrow, a bemused smile playing across her lips. “
That’s why you’re mom
.” She bounded up the stairs.
Grace frowned, head tilted to the side. That was her response whenever she had to hear a mom “listen to me” litany.
“Was that a mother-knows-best suggestion?” She paused and then pulled out her mother’s black skillet. “Should I be doing that?”
“Oh the horror…ending up like Mom. Every girl’s worst nightmare.” #2 was back in the building. “
Of course you should, you nincompoop
. You’re the mother lode now, remember?”
“I don’t know. I might suck.” Grace slipped back into the well-worn helpless role she kept handy.
“Want some cheese with that whine?” #2 sneered. “Get over it. We lived by her rules our whole life.” Irritation slid over her words. “Time to make some of our own, don’t you think?”
“Don’t. Even. Go. There.” She was not up to hearing the don’t-you-think line. “And what were you doing all that time besides getting
me
in trouble?” Grace seriously needed work on smart-ass comebacks.
“Biting my tongue, mostly,” #2 said. “Hell, don’t go blaming your troubles on me. I even felt sorry for you…sometimes, when I forced myself.”
“Who are you talking to?” Adam walked through the back door. Grace jumped.
“Myself,” Grace answered quickly, hacking at chunks of ground meat in the skillet.
“You do that often?” Adam rubbed her shoulders.
She gave her husband a smile. More than you know, she thought.
~~~
Grace and Adam cleaned the after-dinner mess in the kitchen.
“We haven’t gotten a letter from Josh yet.” She haunted the mailman like a stalker.
“So…does he have to write home?” Adam scraped food from the dishes at the sink.
“It’s the chicken-letter rule. You write home once a week, you get fried chicken on Sundays.” Josh used to refer to fried chicken as his best friend.
“It’s been four days.”
“I know.” Grace felt anxiety bubble in her stomach. She felt sorry for the mailman in June. He seemed to take her disappointments personally for not producing Missouri-postmarked mail. Either that or her stalking scared the shit out of him.
“You haven’t said much about today.” Adam closed the dishwasher.
“Well, think I’ll sleep tonight.” Grace yawned. “It was a long day. Ugh, that reminds me.” She popped her neck. “I need to read up on one of the Bluebirds.”
Grace left Adam to finish the kitchen. She took a quick bath, climbed into bed and pulled the orientation folder in front of her. Propping herself up on her usual mound of pillows, she flipped through the papers until she found the red star page.
Name: Harding, Cherry
Sex: female
Age: 7
DOB: 3-23-03
Notation:
-Mother states deafness from early childhood illness
-No medical record confirms diagnosis
-Harris County Constable called to residence 2x/6 mos.
-CPS notified
-Severe anger disturbances during school hours
-Falls asleep in school; suspect sedation at night
-Disheveled appearance implies child likely sleeps in clothes
-Three younger half-siblings
-Referral - Texas School for the Deaf considered
-IQ not yet established.
*** Report unusual bruises or marks to school officials and/or CPS ASAP
