by Sharon Sala
"I know Henry. I wonder how he found out?" John asked.
"Apparently, the staff told him the manager flipped out after I left. He wound up insulting some other employees, and they all walked out and called Henry. Then he fired the manager and was in the process of trying to get all the wait staff back when he called me. He kept apologizing, said he'd interview me himself tomorrow if I would want to reconsider."
"Are you going to?" John asked.
Gracie sighed. "I said I'd talk to him, but that's all."
John sighed. "What a horrible day you've had."
"Not as bad as the manager who got fired," Gracie said.
John chuckled. "True. I'd tell you about my day getting chased by a dog that got out of the neighbor's yard, but I don't think I can compete with your story."
"Oh no! Did he bite you?"
"No. He was chasing the mower I was on, just like he chases cars."
Gracie laughed. "Oh. That's a whole other scenario. Now that would have been a sight to see."
"You have the best laugh," John said.
Gracie was taken aback by the compliment. "I haven't used it a lot lately."
John thought back to the day in the Hard Luck when he'd asked if she was okay. Not yet, but I will be, she'd said. So now, he knew she'd been in exile with her mother, but he still didn't know what had happened. Something, or someone, had hurt her terribly.
"Will you go out with me sometime?" he asked.
Gracie's mind raced. There were times when you knew the words coming out of your mouth were going to change your life, and this was one of them.
"Maybe...probably... But I need to concentrate on finding work right now."
"No problem," John said. "Just knowing you're thinking about it works for me. Would it be okay if I wish you good luck again, or would you rather I keep my best wishes to myself?"
Gracie laughed. "I'll take your best wishes and say thank you."
"You're welcome. Sleep well, Gracie. It has been very nice talking to you."
"I liked talking to you, too," she said, and disconnected.
John didn't want to lose the connection, but she was gone. He had always been an all or nothing kind of guy, and he already knew he wanted Gracie.
Please God, let her want me back.
Gracie was still riding the high from their phone call as she turned off the TV, then went to get her laptop and a Coke. She began checking email to see if there were any new job openings that had posted since she'd last looked.
There were two that were commission only, which she automatically rejected. Gracie knew her limitations. She didn't have a salesperson bone in her body. The bullshit genes in their family had all gone to Daphne and James. Then she shook off the thought and went back to filling out applications.
She was still working when the storm rolled in, bringing wind, then the lightning and thunder that came rumbling and grumbling through the hills on which Branson was built.
Gracie ran to the window to look out and was standing there when the rain hit, splattering it against the windows and rattling down upon the roof. Within minutes, she could hear water running through the gutters and downspouts.
"Oh my lord, Mama! Look at it pour!"
She stood, transfixed, watching the lightning off in the distance, feeling the vibration of the thunder within her while the rain poured, soaking into the grounds and running down the sloping driveway to the streets below.
Finally, she gave up and went to bed, set the alarm for tomorrow's interview, and then fell asleep, listening to money coming out of the sky.
And dreamed.
* * *
Gracie was making cookies.
Mama stood beside her, one hand cupped as if holding a bowl, the other curled as if holding a spoon.
When Gracie stirred, Delia stirred.
When Gracie added ingredients, Delia added ingredients, mimicking everything Gracie did. And every now and then, she would look up, see Gracie, and jump back in surprise.
"Where did you come from girl?"
"Sweetwater. I came from Sweetwater," Gracie said, and kept stirring.
"Do I know you?" Delia asked.
Gracie sighed. "Yes, ma'am."
"What's your name?" Delia asked.
"My name is Gracie," and then she dumped a package of chocolate chips into the cookie dough.
Delia stopped, and then walked away from the cabinet all the way to the kitchen door and looked out, and when she turned around, Gracie saw she was crying and ran to her.
"What's wrong, Mama? Why are you crying?"
"I think I lost my babies. I remember having them, and I don't see them anymore."
Gracie's heart broke. "We're not lost, Mama. We grew up. Your babies are all grown up now."
Delia wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.
"They're not lost?"
Gracie put her arms around Delia and pulled her close, patting her back and rocking her where they stood. Mother and daughter had traded places. Gracie had become the parent, and now Mama was her child...her little mama.
"No, ma'am. They're not lost, and I'm here taking care of you. We're just fine, you and me. And we're making cookies, remember?"
"I like cookies," Delia said.
Gracie took her by the hand and led her back to the counter.
"Here, you stir the dough. I'm going to get the baking sheets."
She handed the spoon to her mother and made a dash for the baking pans before something untoward happened to the dough.
When she turned around, Delia had her hands in it, picking out the chips.
"Mama, what are you doing?" Gracie said.
"Picking out the weevils. The flour must of gone bad."
"That's chocolate, not bugs. Here, you go wash your hands, and I'll finish," Gracie said.
"Wash my hands," Delia said, and then sat down in the floor and started licking the dough from her fingers.
"Whatever it takes, Lord. Whatever it takes," Gracie said.
* * *
The alarm went off just as Gracie took the cookies out of the oven. She opened her eyes to the canopy over her bed and remembered.
West Texas was gone.
Mama was gone.
That Gracie was gone.
"That's then, and this is now, and I have prospects," she said, then threw back the covers and headed for the shower.
Last night's rain had put a halt to mowing lawns, but later, John would send crews out to clip hedges and weed flower beds. Later, they would be planting shrubs and trees at a new home site.
He’d wanted to call Gracie this morning and then hadn't. Instinct told him to be mindful with her. She'd already dealt with a pushy, sexist asshole. He didn't want any part of his growing feelings for her to be misunderstood, so he went about his morning, making breakfast and then leaving for work.
The little rabbit was out beneath some shrubbery as John got in his truck.
"See you this evening, little guy," he called out, then drove away.
He thought about Gracie again as he passed The Beef Master Grill. He admired the stance she'd taken yesterday and knew it would take guts to go back there again. He also knew the interview today would be okay because Henry Owens was a good man. He hoped, for her sake, she got the job.
Gracie was semi-sorry that she'd even agreed to this second interview, but she'd said she would go, and she never went back on her word. But today, she was confident of the gray tailored slacks and a white blouse with three-quarter length sleeves she was wearing, and she'd put her hair in a braid. Her new shoes were flats, and her only makeup was lip gloss. She was as ready as she was going to be to do this again.
She had the window down in the car as she backed out of the garage. The air smelled rain-washed fresh, but she was uneasy—like there was something she'd forgotten to do. It made her antsy.
Just as she was about to drive away, her phone signaled a text. She put the car in park and read the message, then sat a few moments before r
esponding.
Now she had one more interview today besides The Beef Master. An interview for a job at the concierge desk at one of the hotels. Options were good. She may, or may not, get a job offer from either, but this felt like progress.
It was straight up 10:00 when she pulled up in front of the restaurant, called Henry's number, and then waited, watching the front door. When he appeared, she got out, slung her purse over her shoulder, and headed for the entrance.
As she did, she shivered. That same, "didn't feel right" vibe was still with her, and then an older man with gray hair was holding the door open and smiling, and she let it all go.
"Good morning, Gracie. I'm Henry Owens. Thank you for coming. I've already spoken to the staff. They know I asked you back. They want you to know you are welcome, whatever you decide."
"Thank you," Gracie said.
"Of course," Henry said. "Let's go to the office to talk, shall we?"
Staff saw her entering and stopped what they were doing out of curiosity, maybe wondering if Henry would offer her a job. Or wondering if she would take it.
Again, Gracie sat in front of the desk as Henry took a seat behind it, then he looked up at her and smiled.
"I've already read your resumé. You are over-qualified for the job. We both know that, but I like to know my employees beyond just names. It makes for trust that works both ways. That's how I found out about what happened. My employees trusted me enough to call, so I could hear it from them as to why they'd walked out."
"I don't talk about myself much. Why don't you ask questions and I'll answer," Gracie said.
Henry smiled. "I can do that. What caused your hiatus from the work force?"
"I was a caregiver for my mother. She had dementia. She recently passed."
The lack of emotion in her voice said a lot.
"I am so sorry," Henry said. "My mother had Alzheimer's. Our family called it the long death."
"It is that," Gracie said. "I didn't get to ask any questions when I was here before. May I?"
"Of course," Henry said.
She proceeded to question him about working hours, second shifts, pay scale, raises, and what, if any, benefits were attached to the job.
Henry answered without hesitation, answering all of her questions and concerns and ending with the rate of pay.
"Hostess positions pay fifteen dollars an hour, which comes out to $2100.00 a month for the shifts they work, or more if you wind up working extra hours for someone in an emergency."
Gracie nodded. She knew it would be less after everything was taken out, but considering her rent, and the fuel costs to drive out here and back every day, it would be tight.
"Just so you know, I am offering you the job," Henry added.
Gracie sighed, still feeling uneasy. "I appreciate it. I do have another interview today, so I will hold my decision until that's over."
Henry sighed. "I understand. I so wish you had not had such a bad experience yesterday, but I am grateful you trusted me enough to come back. I hope you decide in our favor." He stood. "Thank you for coming. I'll walk you out."
Gracie felt all eyes on her as they moved through the dining room but didn't look up. Yesterday had poisoned this place for her. She needed a positive vibe, and this wasn't it.
It was after eleven by the time she got back to Branson, so she found the hotel where her next interview would be held, and parked, but didn't immediately get out.
The concierge job would be dealing with the public. The pay wasn't great, but it could get her foot in the door to a better position, and the drive from home to work would be short. She wanted to like it because she already knew she wasn't going back to The Beef Master Grill.
She was in the hotel on time and seated in an outer office waiting for her name to be called. There were two other young women, and one man, also waiting. Probably to be interviewed for the same job.
And then a door opened. A pretty young blonde came out and walked past them, her heels clicking on the faux marble floor as she left. The man behind her stood in the doorway and called the next name.
"Gracie Dunham."
Gracie got up and followed him inside.
Thirty minutes later, she walked out feeling absolutely certain she would not get a call back. Then she glanced at the clock. It was time to get an account set up at a bank so she could have her money transferred.
The sun was high and the temperature hot and steamy as she headed downtown to the bank she'd decided to use. She walked into the lobby, approached a young man at a nearby desk, and explained what she needed.
He began setting up a new account, then helped her through the steps of moving her money into it. Now her old account in Sweetwater no longer existed, and when she walked out, she had yet another new bank card, a pad of checks, and nearly thirty-six thousand dollars in her account. It was just another step in starting her new life.
She wanted a Coke and made a detour into a fast food drive-through on her way back to her apartment, then relished the cold tingle of it sliding down her throat as she drove.
She passed a Gatlin Landscaping truck, but John wasn't driving it. She wanted to see him, and knew she was the only reason it hadn't already happened.
That night after her supper was over, she sat down to check email, and as she'd predicted, the concierge job at the hotel had been filled. They thanked her for applying, which reminded her she had left Henry Owens hanging. She sent him a text, thanking him for his offer as she turned it down, and her evening ended.
The following week consisted of more job emails citing "not right for the job" and "lack of experience." It all began to weigh on Gracie's confidence. She wasn't ready to quit on herself, but she was beginning to wonder if waiting tables would wind up being her last resort. The only thing keeping her upbeat were John's nightly phone calls, and she'd made up her mind that if he asked her out again, she would say yes.
She went to bed each night and dreamed of home...and Mama. Sometimes the dreams were sad. Sometimes the whole night was a dream that kept looping until she woke up bathed in sweat or tears.
It was becoming apparent to Gracie that distance had nothing to do with memories—and that no matter where she lived, her past would always come with her.
It was on the thirteenth day of her arrival in Branson when she got an email from another job application. She wasn't superstitious, but she also did not consider thirteen a fortuitous number.
However, the job was something she'd learned to do during her internship in college. It was something she had enjoyed and was surprisingly good at. As per the instructions, she called to confirm the appointment time, then, because she was at loose ends and lonesome, she called John.
Chapter Thirteen
John was in his office, slogging through the business end of his job. He had an accountant, but he still had to get the information to her, and that's what he was doing when his cell rang. He was relieved to have a reason to stop and then elated to see Gracie's name come up on Caller ID.
"Hey, Gracie!"
"Hi, John. I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"On the contrary. You just saved me from the depths of hell, otherwise known as bookkeeping. How's the job hunting business?"
"That's why I called. I have another interview this afternoon at Majestic Floral Design. Do you know of it?"
"Oh yes. That florist does a lot of upscale events here in Branson."
"Good to know. I worked for an event planner my senior year of college. I got pretty good at the floral design end of it, and I really liked doing it. We'll see how it goes today."
"I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for you, Gracie."
"Thanks."
"You'll find your place soon enough, honey. I know it. In the meantime, I would love to take you to dinner. I don't know about you, but I get tired eating alone."
"Okay," she said.
John blinked. "Really? You just said 'yes'?"
"Yes," she repeated chuckling. "I would love to
go to dinner with you."
"Is tonight rushing it?"
She laughed again. "No, tonight would be perfect."
"Awesome!" John said. "Where do you want to go?"
"You pick. I have no food allergies, and I like pretty much everything but sushi."
"How does a steakhouse sound?"
"As long as it's not The Beef Master Grill, I'm in," she said.
"Copy that. Is 6:30 good?"
"It's perfect," Gracie said.
"Good luck this afternoon, and I can't wait to see you again."
The husky sound in his voice made her shiver as she disconnected, but she was glad she'd called. She wanted to see him again, but she'd been hesitant—for no reason other than distrust. She was afraid to fall for someone who would let her down. Delia had left scars on her body, but her brother and sisters had left scars on her heart.
Gracie arrived at Majestic Floral Design promptly at 2:00 and was surprised by the size of the storefront. It was double the size of the businesses on either side of it.
A bell dinged over the door as she entered, and she was assailed by cool air and a barrage of floral scents. As she walked past a display cooler with arrangements ready to purchase, silver-green spires of Eucalyptus caught her eye. Next to lemon oil, they might be her favorite scent.
A clerk approached as Gracie stopped at the register.
"Good afternoon," she said.
"I'm Gracie Dunham. I have a 2:00 appointment with Donna Franklin."
"Oh! Sure thing, Ms. Dunham. Donna is expecting you. Follow me."
Gracie followed the clerk through the workroom and then down a hall to the open door of an office.
"Donna, Ms. Dunham is here," she said.
Donna Franklin looked up. "Thank you, Reba," she said, then shifted focus to Gracie. "Good afternoon, Ms. Dunham. Excuse me for not getting up, but I am nursing a broken ankle. Please have a seat."