Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  If only he could hold her. But her coldness dictated distance. He looked at her with a deep longing. How could he have been such an idiot? Most men would have cherished such a beautiful woman, yet he had shredded her heart. He wanted nothing more than to start over, to regain her trust. Her mouth was taut and impenetrable. Lord, how about a miracle?

  Her head bobbed up. “Are you attracted to her?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No!” Sammy’s voice notched. “I found her asleep here, in our home, when I got back from the hospital. She was wearing my slippers! What went on here?”

  “She spent the night? I didn’t know, Sammy, I swear.” With the drugs, Sunday had been a blur. “I thought she left when I went to bed.

  Sammy brought a shaky hand to her forehead. “I can’t tell if you’re lying again.” Her voice choked. “Am I supposed to believe you didn’t sleep with her?”

  He raised both hands in surrender. “I didn’t, Sammy. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Her eyes cast doubt; her lips formed a tight thin line.

  Despair lodged in his throat.

  She slammed her empty cup on the end table and got to her feet. “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Give me a chance—” Dalton stood to follow her.

  As he left the den, the downstairs bathroom door slammed shut. He grabbed the nearest flashlight.

  He tapped lightly and heard sniffling.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I brought you a light.”

  She cracked open the door and peeked through. The flashlight revealed a trail of new tears across her cheeks. Now, as he’d done with her on Sunday, she barred his entrance to her sanctuary. Turnabout was fair play. But unlike him, nothing nefarious was going on in Sammy’s darkness. He guessed the bathroom had suddenly become her prayer closet.

  Shutting him out of her life was well-warranted. Turnabout was indeed fair play.

  He handed her the light.

  She gently closed the door. If only she didn’t close her heart along with it.

  Thursday

  The Lord says, “I will rescue those who love Me. I will protect those who trust in My name. When they call on Me, I will answer; I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue and honor them. Psalm 91:14-15

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Night Thievery

  _________________________________________________________

  McCormick, AZ

  Thursday, 1 a.m.

  It was no surprise the window was open. The insufferable temperatures clung to the upper desert like a coat of wet paint.

  Matt ground a cigarette into the dirt, then gulped a swig of Durum whiskey. He refastened the lid and stuffed the bottle inside his jacket. He needed just enough to take the edge off for what he had to do.

  He straightened his shoulders and walked to the window, adjusting the straps of the camo backpack he wore.

  He could do this. He had to. For Carla’s sake.

  God was giving him a second chance to be a dad. And the girl who lived here needed a real father. Not some drug addict faking it.

  He peered through the window. Good thing the Baxter’s didn’t have dogs. At least as far as he remembered. Clamped between his teeth was a mini flashlight he aimed at the window while prying open the screen. He lifted out the frame and leaned it against a honeysuckle bush.

  He snapped off the flashlight and dropped it into his pocket before climbing inside. He recognized the living room. He’d been here before with Carla. When his eyes adjusted, he was able to navigate around the furniture to a wide foyer with voluminous ceilings. He lifted his face toward the wood beams and listened. Like his own, the house was void of any mechanical noises.

  To his right was the staircase, his destiny. To the left, the front entrance, his escape.

  He padded across laminate flooring to the massive wood door. He unlocked and opened it, letting in a foot of night sky.

  The staircase stretched upwards. He took a cautious step, gripping the railing. Then another. And another. His reward waited at the top. As he took the last step, he paused. Three bedrooms connected with the landing. The first door was slightly ajar. The center room was closed.

  The last room’s entrance stood open. Moonlight outlined a large stuffed animal. Bingo. This was the girl’s room. His girl.

  He balled his fists and clenched his jaw as he peeked into the master bedroom. He listened for snoring. Was the preacher asleep? Matt could slip into the room, put his hands around the man’s neck … increase the pressure until Baxter’s eyes flew open, knowing what was happening, seeing who was taking his life.

  Matt’s heart hammered. His neck stiffened.

  Wake up, stupid!

  He eased the door shut. His plan would be much better than any slugfest with Baxter. Instead, he’d serve the preacher a three-course meal of terror, misery and hopelessness. He smirked. With a dessert of revenge.

  He crept across the carpeting, entered the girl’s room. She lay on her stomach, clutching a tiny doll. A small flashlight on the floor directed a beam of light toward the bed. The bedcover had been thrown back.

  He must move quickly or the girl’s screams could wake the entire household.

  He tugged at the bedspread, but it was tangled between her legs. She rolled over, pulling her knees to her chest. His breath caught in his chest and he stepped back into the shadows, staring at her breathing form. Already she reminded him of Charity. The way she slept, curled up on her side, in her cotton pajamas. How often had he gone into Charity’s room in the dead of night so he could hear her breathing?

  He dragged in a deep breath, leaned over her and shook her shoulder. “Charity … I mean … Grace,” he whispered close. “Wake up, Grace.” She stirred, but her eyes stayed shut.

  He gently held her arm and jiggled it. Grace’s eyes blinked open. She blinked several times, then her eyes widened.

  He leaned close and whispered. “It’s me, Grace, Mr. Connor … Charity’s daddy.”

  “Mr. Connor?” She sat up and rubbed her eyes. He grabbed the flashlight from the floor and held it to his face.

  “See? It’s me.” He knitted his brows, forging concern. “There’s been an emergency. Your family asked me to get you. You’re staying with us a few days.”

  “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” The girl wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the doorway. “Where’s Gordy?” Her voice cracked, like she was about to burst into tears.

  “Don’t cry. Everything is fine. They asked me to help. That’s all.”

  “Are they okay?”

  “We’ll call them tomorrow. You’ll see.” He waved the flashlight around. “Ah ha … your shoes are over there,” he said in a low voice as he picked them up. “Here.” He handed them to her. “Put them on. Hurry!”

  She swung her feet to the floor and climbed into the sneakers, then fastened the Velcro straps.

  “I’ll get you some clothes for a few days.” He went to her dresser and opened the top drawer. He grabbed some underwear, a few pairs of shorts, some t-shirts, and socks. Maybe seeing him stuff them in his backpack would calm her. She wouldn’t need much. Charity’s closet was full of clothes and it looked like they wore the same size. Or close enough.

  “Mrs. Connor is waiting,” he told Grace. “She’ll make you some hot chocolate in the morning.” He stuffed the clothes into his backpack, then slipped the straps over his shoulders. “You and Charity loved her cocoa, remember?”

  Grace nodded. In the shadowy darkness he couldn’t tell if she was still scared. She finally spoke. “Mrs. Connor made it on the camping trip.” Grace’s voice was soft but calm.

  He smothered a grin. This was really going to work. “That’s right,” he said. “When we went to the Grand Canyon last summer.”

  “Charity and I climbed rocks. It was fun. I miss her so much.”

  His heart stumbled. Everything inside ac
hed when he thought about his little girl. He missed her happy brown eyes and infectious smile. Tears threatened. He wiped his eyes.

  “We miss her too, Grace. When you come over tonight, it will make Charity’s mommy so happy.”

  “My daddy asked me to help you.” She stood and smiled. “He wants me to give you hugs.”

  Using the kid to make amends, huh, Baxter? It wouldn’t work. He was such a phony.

  Aiming the flashlight, he walked behind her as they headed to the stairway. The girl clutched the Barbie doll, grabbed the railing, took cautious steps downward.

  When they got to the bottom, she pointed to the open door. “Did Mommy forget to close the door?” she asked.

  “Probably. They left in a hurry. I’ll lock it. Don’t worry.”

  She walked across the outside porch to a stone pathway. When he followed close behind, he heard the clatter of glass against pavement. He stopped and looked, felt his pocket. His whiskey bottle.

  Grace turned and stared at him. “What was that?”

  “I dropped something,” he told her. “It’s okay … we need to hurry.”

  They shuffled to the station wagon where he opened the passenger door. The girl climbed in and fastened her belt. Right. Good thinking, Baxter, teaching her safety first.

  Matt hurried around to the driver’s seat and slid inside. He cranked the engine and yanked the car into drive, then flattened the gas pedal. The crunch of gravel sounded behind. About fifty yards further ahead, he turned on the headlights.

  The girl squirmed in her seat, looking around the car for something.

  “What are you looking for, Char … uh … Grace?” he asked.

  “I dropped my Barbie.” She furrowed her brows. “Can we go back, Mr. Connor?”

  “You can play with Charity’s doll when we get to my house.”

  Tears escaped from her eyes and she bit her lip.

  “Please don’t cry. Is it the doll? I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “I miss Charity. Why did she die?”

  “I don’t know.” He steeled his voice, trying to hide his anger. “Life isn’t fair sometimes.” This crap shoot they called life didn’t make sense at all.

  He studied her profile, outlined by the moonlight. His breath hitched and his gut twisted. She looked so much like Charity. Until tonight, he’d never noticed the resemblance. If not for the difference in hair color, they could have passed for sisters.

  A lump gathered in his throat. He’d failed as a father. He’d been such a coward, agreeing to meet the preacher. So what if he tattled to Carla? She knew now, and all that happened was that he’d lost precious minutes with his baby before she died.

  He glanced at the girl again. Grace leaned her head back, nearly asleep again. He smiled. If God existed, He was giving him a second chance.

  That monster shouldn’t be her dad! He needed to rescue her. He pressed his lips together and tightened his grip on the steering wheel, focusing on the roadway stripes as they disappeared under the car.

  Tomorrow would be a good day. He just had to find Carla first, and then they could leave this place forever. Leave the memories. Leave the stench of chemo and death. Leave everything.

  Yes, tomorrow would be a good day.

  At the end of Desert View Road, Matt turned right into his neighborhood. In the short trip from the Baxter’s, the girl had become his daughter, right before his eyes.

  Carla would be so happy to have a child around again. She’d always liked the Baxter child. Sure, it might take a bit of convincing to get her to agree to an overnight camping trip. Especially with Charity’s funeral on Saturday. But if he couldn’t convince her himself, he’d enlist the girl’s help. Who could turn down Charity’s best friend?

  Carla would go ballistic once she realized they weren’t coming home on Friday. They would inconveniently run out of gas—but it wouldn’t be his fault since the gas gauge was faulty—and, since there would be no stations open, what could they do but camp out a few weeks by the gorge? Eventually Carla would settle in and enjoy mothering Grace.

  He turned on Desperado Lane. The gravel road that carved through his neighborhood had been aptly named, at least for tonight. There was so much to do before morning and convincing Carla he had done a good thing would be hard. As the old wagon wrestled with pebbles, an idea came to him.

  “Would it be okay if we call you Charity for awhile? You look just like her. It would mean so much to Mrs. Connor.”

  “Charity?” The girl looked puzzled.

  “Just for a few days. And when we get home, you can sleep in her room.”

  “No, Mr. Connor. I can’t sleep there. You can call me Charity, but please don’t make me sleep in her bed.”

  “Okay Charity-bug. You can sleep in the den.”

  “Can I call my mommy? I need to remind her about Boris.”

  “Boris?”

  “My hamster. She might forget to feed him.”

  “None of our phones work,” he said. “We’ll try to find one in the morning. Then you can call her.”

  She nodded as Matt pulled into his driveway. He parked near the side of the house so they could enter through the back door. Less noisy, away from prying neighbors.

  When he’d settled her with a blanket and pillow on the couch, he returned to the carport to stock supplies for their trip. They’d need several weeks of food while they camped at the canyon’s edge.

  He hooked up the tent trailer to the tow hitch on the wagon, than began loading up water and camping gear as his mind returned to Carla. Where was she staying?

  He shoved a case of bottled water into the back of the car. Probably with Laney. Their ranch home in the country had spare bedrooms. And Laney was the type who took people in. He also knew for certain she was one of the religious types who didn’t believe in divorce.

  That would work in his favor. When he showed up on Laney’s doorstep he’d plead with Carla to go on a brief camping trip. Laney would probably be on board. Getting away for a night would do Carla and him some good.

  Maybe with enough time enjoying the outdoors as a family, Carla would begin to see the girl as her own. He already had.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Baxter Panic

  _________________________________________________________

  Thursday, 1:40 a.m.

  McCormick, AZ

  A screechy noise woke Dalton from a sound sleep. Not sure what he’d heard, he sat up on the couch and listened.

  There it went again. What was that? He rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the den’s darkness.

  Dalton stood and walked toward the foyer where he flipped up a dead switch.

  Blast! He kept forgetting.

  He felt his way to the breakfast room, found a flashlight and snapped it on. Grace’s hamster Boris ran like a scared rat over his metal wheel. Dalton aimed the light at the cage. When Boris tried to exit from the wheel, he squealed.

  “What’s wrong, little buddy?” The hamster shook. Dalton leaned close. Boris’s tiny paw had gotten wedged between the platform’s narrow bars.

  Dalton unlatched the cage, stuck his hand inside and carefully pulled at the hamster’s foot. Boris rewarded his efforts with a sharp bite.

  “Ouch!” Dalton yanked his hand from the cage and examined the blood dripping from his finger. “I was trying to help you, buddy.”

  He wrapped his throbbing finger with a paper towel and compressed. Then he turned back to the hamster cage. Boris still shivered and glared at him. “It’s gonna be okay.” Dalton reinserted his hand and cautiously stroked the animal’s back. “Let’s try this again.” Dalton collared the hamster’s neck with his right hand while firmly holding the back leg between his left thumb and finger.

  “Hold on.” Dalton tipped the little foot forward and then extricated the limb from its wire manacle, setting the hamster free. Boris darted to the edge of the cage, shaking, his fur puffed like a round fuzzy ball.


  Dalton extended his hand to the animal’s face. “You had quite a scare, didn’t you?”

  Boris relaxed and sniffed Dalton’s finger. All was forgiven.

  Dalton picked Boris up and cupped him with his hands. A lump climbed into this throat and his eyes filled.

  Like this helpless creature, he, too, was safe in God’s mighty hand. Even when he howled in pain, afraid and angry, God always had his back. Dalton was just too blind to see it.

  I deserve to be cast away, he prayed as he stroked the animal’s head. Yet Father, You love me.

  When Dalton set him down, Boris darted to his Popsicle stick hide-away shelter. Dalton tossed in a handful of gerbil pellets, hoping Boris would emerge. The hamster remained sequestered as Dalton closed the cage, then refilled the water bottle.

  “Thanks for the object lesson, Boris. Now stay off your exercise wheel for a while. I need some shut eye.”

  When Dalton returned to the couch, he picked up the wind-up alarm clock he’d found in his office.

  1:56 a.m.

  His body ached with fatigue but his mind raced with energy. How could he make things right with Sammy and Gordy? That seemed insurmountable, much like his nemesis, Agassiz Mountain. No longer his enemy, the rugged side of Agassiz proved to be his friend. It was that plunge to its base that had led him straight to God.

  He cradled his head in his hands. “Father, please give me my family back. Most of all, Sammy, Lord. Help her to forgive me.”

  Sammy never deserved the misery he’d put her through.

  Why didn’t he appreciate her? She’d left her teaching career, the passion of her life, and settled for the mundane duties of a pastor’s wife. Yet she never complained.

  Why had she sacrificed so much?

  Because she loved you, you idiot. She would have gone to the moon for him. And look what he did. Allowed that Deidra to kiss him. Not once. But twice.

  What kind of man was he?

  Drugs had ruined him. But was he still addicted? He had no desire to take them again. It had been two days since his last dose. It had to be a miracle. There was no other way to explain it.