Wherever Grace Is Needed (17 page)

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Authors: Elizabeth Bass

BOOK: Wherever Grace Is Needed
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“Nothing—it was so stupid. The guy caught Heather stuffing an egg roll in her purse and had a cow.”
Grace stared after the smoke-belching car. “Was that your partner in crime?”
“Yeah. She’s my painting teacher at ACC.”
“Your painting teacher takes you out to steal food? Geez, Jordan.”
Jordan rolled her eyes. “Yeah,
geez
, someone who doesn’t treat me like a pariah. Must be something wrong with her!”
“She could have gotten you arrested!” Grace said. “As it is, this whole situation’s put me in an awkward position.”
“I should have guessed,” Jordan huffed. “You’re going to run squealing to my dad. That will be great. Really cheer him up!”
“
You
might have thought of that earlier,” Grace said.
“I didn’t do anything! I told you, the owner was just being a dick. Is that a good reason to cause a family crisis? You think my dad doesn’t have enough to worry about? That his year hasn’t been bad enough already?”
Grace frowned, and Jordan could tell she was getting through to her. Finally. “Okay, I won’t say anything to him,” she said. “But please don’t do this to me again. And you really should be careful about who you’re friends with.”
“Heather’s okay—she’s just going through a rough patch,” Jordan said.
“She’s sort of old to be running around with, isn’t she?”
Jordan felt her spine stiffen. “What would you know about it?”
They watched the Metro make a squealing left-hand turn at the intersection. It exhaled another cloud of black before disappearing from sight.
“She should have that car worked on,” Grace said. “It’s an environmental disaster.”
“Thank you, Madame Earth Muffin!”
Grace shook her head. “You make it seriously hard for people to like you, don’t you?”
Jordan’s cheeks felt hot.
Your mother always said you were a difficult child to love. . . .
“I just don’t care whether they like me or not,” she declared.
“That’s not a very pleasant attitude,” Grace said.
Jordan snickered. “It’s not pleasant to be a hemorrhoid, either, yet here you are.”
While the shock was still fresh on Grace’s face, Jordan stalked away. Just because the woman had done her a piddling little favor, that didn’t give her the right to tell her how to live her life.
21
T-
DAY
M
INUS
O
NE
W
hen Sam appeared at the mouth of the airport concourse, he clasped Grace to his muscular, wiry frame for a marathon hug and then presented her with a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers that he swore he’d held in his lap the entire flight. “I bought them as I was running to catch my connection in Newark,” he explained, “but I think they began life in Columbia.”
“They’re better traveled than me,” she said.
He arched a dark brow. “What, better traveled than the Christopher Columbus of the Oliver family?”
She whacked him playfully with a tip of a carnation.
She’d always had a soft spot for Sam. Maybe it was because he was the closest in age to her—albeit the farthest in geography. She sometimes felt that if she dropped off the face of the earth, none of her other brothers or Natalie would notice. But Sam would. Even though he hadn’t always been there during the few holidays she’d spent in Austin, or during the summer visits to her dad’s, Sam had always kept up with her life, and he was known to nag her about working too much or not having enough of a social life . . . the very things that his own life suffered from. But e-mails and telephone calls couldn’t compare to the fun of seeing him in person. It always felt like running into a long-lost friend.
Having him here, she started to feel excitement about the holiday. A real Oliver holiday—she hadn’t been here for one of those in years. Only now that she’d had a hand in organizing Thanksgiving, she felt at the center of it all instead of just being a drop-in guest.
On the drive back, she listened as Sam caught her up on all his news. His paper was squeezing out the foreign offices all the time, so he was worried about losing his assignment. “I might end up in L.A. churning out copy about Lady Gaga.”
“Good—I’d probably read you more often. Although we both know that you’ll never come back to this side of the world as long as Seeger’s in . . . where is he now?”
He slumped a little. “Malawi.”
Poor Sam. When it came to Seeger Johnson, Sam had a little Olivia-Newton John man in him. He had been lucky enough to find a kindred spirit as an adolescent; unfortunately, he and Seeger had spent their entire lives not quite managing to live in the same place. Or even on the same continent.
“I heard from him a few weeks ago,” he said. “He still hopes to get the tree planting project funded by the Malawi government. Now he’ll never leave that place.” Seeger, who actually listed environmentalist as his profession on his tax return, had been working for years on a project called Trees Across Africa. “The man’s a disgusting idealist with a Johnny Appleseed complex.”
“You’ve got a little bit of that in you too, don’t you?”
He turned, drawing back. “Me? I observe. I analyze.”
“Okay, but you
aren’t
in L.A. writing about celebrities. You’re where the trouble is.”
“The difference is, I prefer to keep a safe distance, especially if there’s the slightest chance of cholera.”
She shook her head.
“Oh God, let’s not talk about my problems anymore.” He shot her a wry look. “Let’s talk about Steven’s. Is he going to be moping the whole holiday?”
“I doubt it. I think he’s mostly over Denise, but you know Steven. He’s not exactly Mr. Emotive. He reminds me a little of Ray, but of course I think Steven has blocked Denise from his mind, while Ray—”
Sam stopped her. “Wait, wait—back up a moment. Who is Ray?”
“Our neighbor. I mean, Dad’s neighbor.”
His brows lifted. “And?”
“And it’s not what you’re thinking,” she said. “He’s a widower, he’s still grieving, he’s got three kids. I e-mailed you about them—Dominic and Lily.”
“That’s
two
kids.”
“Oh, there’s this other girl, but we’ve never hit it off. In fact, last time I saw her she called me a hemorrhoid.”
“What does
that
mean?”
She’d been wondering that herself. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. But it can’t be good, can it?”
He laughed, but in the ensuing silence, it became clear that they’d been tap dancing around the person who was really on their minds. “How is he?” Sam asked.
She didn’t have to ask who
he
was. They’d talked about everyone else. “Dad’s fine.” In spite of her words, Sam looked anxious. “You might not even notice anything wrong at first,” she told him. “Or at all, if it’s a good weekend. Keep your fingers crossed.”
“But you guys still think he needs live-in help?”
At the mention of this topic, her grip on the steering wheel tightened. “We’ve finally found someone.” Here, it was harder for her to sound upbeat. “She seems very nice.”
“Who is she? What’s her name?”
“Her name’s Darla Swinton.”
Sam’s mouth set in a grim line. “What’s she like?”
“She’s very nice.”
“And?”
“Well—you know. She’s had some nursing experience, then she lost her husband and she wanted a change.”
“But what’s she like? Does she have a sense of humor?”
“She’s a home-care nurse, Sam. She’s not a comedian.”
“But does Dad like her?”
“During their one meeting, Dad barely said a word,” Grace answered truthfully. “He’s still resistant to the whole idea. But once I’m gone...”
She hated saying the words
he’ll get used to it.
It felt as if he were a person who’d lost all independence, and that they were condemning him to a life he’d hate. “I don’t want to leave him.”
Sam sent an alarmed look over at her. “But you are. Scruffy Ben’s coming down to take you back with him, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. Once I drop you off at the house, I have to turn around and go right back to the airport and pick him up.”
“Do I detect a lack of enthusiasm in your tone?”
“It’s not because of Ben,” she assured him. “It’s because I’ll be going back with him. To Portland. I always hated leaving Austin. You know that.”
He smiled faintly as he squinted into the windshield. “Dad always tried diversion tactics to get you back on the plane to Oregon—as if a quick jaunt to the ice cream shop or a bookstore would make you forget you were going to the airport.”
“It worked when I was little. Then one time when I was around twelve we ended up at Holiday House with me wailing into a milkshake for an hour. That was the end of the bait-and-switch.”
“But you’re okay with going back this time, right? You’ve made your decision.”
She had—or thought she had—but when the reality of leaving hit her she felt less resolute. “I hate it.” She reached down to her purse for a tissue and shot Sam a warning look. “No cracks.”
Sam darted his left hand toward the steering wheel. “I won’t make fun of you for being weepy if you promise to stay in your lane.”
She laughed.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he told her. “You’ve got a great life in Portland. Your cool store, family number two, friends, and let’s not forget scruffy Ben...”
“But when I think of Dad, none of that seems to matter.”
“Believe me, it matters,” Sam said. “You’re lucky you’ve found someone who wants to live with you. You don’t know what it feels like to wake up and have no one...” Sam muttered a curse and reached for a Kleenex.
“But that’s just the problem,” Grace told him. “I keep thinking about Dad waking up feeling that way. He’ll be so alone. Some days he probably won’t see anyone but this Darla Swinton person. Or maybe he’ll have a visit from Uncle Truman to look forward to.”
Sam sank against the passenger door. “God, that’s gruesome.”
Because Sam’s plane had been a little late, Grace barely had time to drop him off at the house before she needed to turn around to retrieve Ben. Foreboding took hold of her, though, as she drove up to the house and found Muriel Blainey practically blocking her way into the drive.
“Hello, Grace!” Starched and pressed in autumn hues, Muriel darted a glance at Sam and walked right up to the car before Grace even had a chance to get out. “Hello, Sam. You probably don’t remember me.”
He smiled, but the split-second gap between his mouth opening and his words said it all. “Who could forget?”
She came nose-to-nose with Grace as Grace was trying to help unload Sam’s stuff. “I was just wondering what you were having tomorrow.”
Grace straightened. “Turkey.”
“Well, yes, I assumed . . . but do you need me to bring anything?”
Grace gaped at the woman, trying to compute what she was saying. “Food, you mean?”
“When I bumped into Lou, he didn’t mention what I should bring.”
Her father had invited Muriel to the family dinner?
Muriel?
To the dinner that he had insisted should be only family?
“What about John?” Grace asked, referring to the rarely-sighted Mr. Muriel. “Is he coming, too?”
“Unfortunately, he had to stay in California.” In the next second, Muriel was back to food. “I’d be happy to make my mother’s Jell-O salad recipe. It’s old school, but it’s always a big hit, especially when I make it in my special holiday turkey mold.”
“Yum!” Sam exclaimed, almost managing to cover his sarcasm.
Grace shot him an exasperated glance. She was still trying to come to terms with Muriel getting invited. When had her dad invited her? How had they bumped into each other?
Something about that struck her as odd. “Where exactly did you bump into Dad?”
“He was out walking—over past Koenig Lane.”
Grace froze in panic. That was almost a mile away. “Did he have Iago with him?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Okay.” Grace looked over the roof of the car at Sam. “Let’s go dump this stuff.”
Muriel glanced from one to the other. “Is something wrong?”
“No—not really,” Grace said. Apart from Lily, she hadn’t told anyone in the neighborhood about her father’s illness. She hadn’t felt it was her place to blab to her father’s friends and neighbors about his diagnosis, and she certainly didn’t want to go into it with Muriel now. “I just worry about him walking that far on his bum leg.”
“Oh! I didn’t think about that,” Muriel said. “I should have offered him a ride, I guess. Though I don’t usually like having dogs in the car.”
“It’s okay,” Grace said.
She prayed it
was
okay as she nodded to Sam to start heading toward the house.
“What about the Jell-O salad?” Muriel asked.
“Fantastic,” Grace told her. She couldn’t have cared less about food right now.
“What time tomorrow?”
“Noon.”
“Though you’ll probably want me to come a little early, right?”
“No, not really,” Grace said, too distracted to candy-coat things.
Inside the house, she dropped Sam’s suitcase and gave her hysteria free rein. “We’ve got to find Dad,” she said. “Now.”
“Grace, you need to get back to the airport.”
She stopped in her tracks. The airport. Ben. She’d forgotten.
She shouldn’t have left her dad alone so long! He’d insisted he didn’t want to go out, though, and that he’d be fine. How could she have been so stupid?
And to think she was worried that Darla Swinton wouldn’t take good care of him!
“You go to the airport,” Sam said. “I’ll go look for Dad. He probably just wanted to stretch his legs.”
“You’ll need the car.” There was only one car. She looked at her watch. “I have time.”
As they prowled the streets, worry and frustration ate at her. Her father had said he was going to lie down before Sam showed up. Why had he suddenly decided to take off?
“What if he gets hit by a car again?” she asked, hugging the steering wheel and peering out the side window.
“He might be hit by you if you don’t keep your eye on the road,” Sam said. “Just drive. I’ll look.”
At that moment, Grace mashed on the brake. Peggy and Truman were walking down the sidewalk, hand in hand. They looked over, startled by her squealing of tires, and practically jumped apart when they saw who it was hanging out the opened window.
“Dad’s missing!” she blurted out.
Sam got out and poked his head over the roof. “He wandered off on a walk.”
“So?” Truman asked.
Peggy elbowed him. “It’s good to see you, Sam.” Then she assured Grace, “Don’t worry about your father. We’ll get the car and look for him, too. I’ve got your cell phone number.”
Grace felt like weeping in gratitude. “Thank you!” She accelerated, forgetting about Sam being half in and half out until she heard his cry of alarm. He was about to duck back into the car when she told him to shout after them that Lou had last been seen at Koenig Lane. He did this and then sank back into the passenger seat, blowing out a breath.

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