Amazed by her Grace, Book II

by Janet Walker

  Chapter Forty-Four

  THE QUEEN’S DOMAIN

  They rode along the highway in silence.

  Grace wondered if she had made a mistake by inviting Tracy Sullivan to Gracewood. Yes, she enjoyed the girl’s company and wanted to know her better, but a part of her knew she had crossed the line by inviting the girl to her home. For a sleepover. As the girl’s coach, she could almost justify bringing Tracy to an NBA game—it was instructional, a field trip, of sorts. But as director of athletics and P.E. instructor, there was no justifying bringing a student over to spend the night. And yet she had made the proposition before she realized what she was saying. Furthermore, as soon as the invitation had slipped out, it had felt right, and she had looked forward to it happily, like a teenager anticipating a slumber party with a friend. But later, as they pulled away from the house on DeJerinett Street with an overnight bag and the permission of Tracy’s aunt, Grace was assailed by second thoughts. It was one thing to allow Tracy to see the woman she became in her office and in the Jag and at the Summit—quite another to let the girl see the woman she became at home. That was a Grace she kept carefully concealed from everyone—even, in some ways, from Darrel. And she would have to be careful to keep that Grace hidden from Tracy Sullivan, which would not be an easy thing to do, because that Grace, the unguarded Grace, slipped out so easily when she was safely within the walls of her home.

  They rode along the highway in silence.

  Tracy gripped the door’s armrest and stared out the passenger window, worried that Miz Grace was having second thoughts about the sleepover. Tracy thought about last night, about their conversation in the car after the Napier game. She had told Miz Grace that Aunt Madge didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving and that Mama would celebrate it drunk, and so maybe that was the reason Miz Grace had invited her to spend the night—because she felt sorry for her. Maybe that was the reason for the whole day, the game at the Summit—everything. At this thought, something heavy and distressing settled in Tracy’s belly and she felt miserable. Miz Grace did not like her, after all. She only pitied her, the ghetto girl who needed to be taken away and civilized. Mama was right. She would always be dumb and stupid, and people like Miz Grace would always know it.

  “You okay?”

  Tracy looked at the woman sitting at the steering wheel. The voice was gentle, the smile tender, but was she just being polite?

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’m glad your aunt said you could come. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Tracy peered at the woman again. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Miz Grace did want her over. Tracy smiled. “Thanks.”

  Tracy focused on the scenery they were passing. They weren’t on the big highway anymore but were riding down a regular road. She had never been in this part of the city. She wanted to ask where they were but felt the question might make her look dumb, so she remained silent. At that point the car telephone at Miz Grace’s elbow trilled, startling Tracy. She looked at it, then at Miz Grace, who smiled at her and reached for the receiver.

  “Excuse me. This’ll only take a minute,” the woman said.

  Tracy gazed ahead and tried to pretend she was not listening to the phone conversation, but she was aware of every word Miz Grace spoke.

  “Yes?” A pause. “My student, Tracy Sullivan. Why? Who did you think it was?” Another pause. “Fine,” she said politely. “Hope you have fun.” She paused again, listening, and then said, “Same to you,” and calmly removed the receiver from her ear and gently returned it to its cradle between the seats. She sighed somberly. When Tracy glanced over, Miz Grace smiled politely. “My husband sends you his apologies. He won’t be with us this weekend. He’s spending the holiday with his family in Alabama. It’s a trip we’d already planned.”

  “Oh,” Tracy replied. And after a moment: “Why you not going?”

  Grace winced sheepishly. “I can’t always tolerate Darrel’s family. They’re nice people. Just loud.” She chuckled, so Tracy smiled. “Besides, I prefer being at home. And I can’t think of anyone I’d rather share this weekend with than you.”

  Grace smiled warmly and Tracy’s lips parted in wonder. Was this really happening? She looked out the window again and concluded that, yes, this wasn’t a dream and she really was the luckiest girl in the world. Something warm and pleasant burned in her chest, and again they rode in silence.

  After a moment, the car slowed. Tracy looked. Miz Grace was preparing to make a left turn. Tracy sat straighter in her seat and stared in awe at what they were approaching. Soft-orange ground lights illuminated part of a brick wall on which were mounted the words KING ESTATES, made of flat black iron. Beside the sign, huge black iron gates stood closed, and Tracy realized she was looking at the entrance of a fancy neighborhood. Her heart began to pound. Miz Grace and Jazz Nelson’s neighborhood!

  Tracy watched Miz Grace pause before the front gates and reach above her head, to something clipped to the sun visor. The huge black gates slid open, and the woman drove through the opening. Tracy glanced at Miz Grace curiously and then looked out the window again—and then stared. They were passing houses as large as a whole apartment building in Area Place, houses that could hold two or three homes the size of Aunt Madge’s house. Mansions. Tracy had heard the word before and seen mansions on TV, but she had never viewed one in person. Had never ridden through a neighborhood full of them, on her way to one. She glanced again at the woman driving. This is how Miz Grace lived?

  Tracy stared out again. Unfolding slowly outside her window were manicured front lawns and long driveways and an occasional shiny Benz or Beemer or limousine left outside multiple-car garages.

  “Wow, Miz Grace.”

  The woman smiled. “This neighborhood honors Martin Luther King. I’m taking you the long way so you can see some of it. The street we’re on is King Estates Way…We just passed Yolanda Drive, on the right. That’s named after the Kings’ oldest daughter. That’s Dexter Court on the left, named after their son.”

  Tracy twisted her head right, then left, as she observed the streets Miz Grace pointed out.

  “Ahead on the left is Martin Place—the oldest son. And that’s…Bernice Lane, on the right. I live on Coretta Drive.”

  Tracy was mesmerized and at the same time felt stupid. How had she lived in Atlanta all her life and not known such a world existed?

  “Every family in here is black.”

  Tracy looked at the woman, unable to believe the knowledge. When she looked out the window again, the luxury had taken on a new level of magic. It was black-owned.

  Finally, they made a right turn onto another road, one that curved gently and led them in the same direction from which they had come. Tracy observed more of what she had seen on King Estates Way, but the homes on Coretta Drive were larger and newer-looking houses, and there were fewer of them. Momentarily, Miz Grace pulled the Jag up to the gate of a property on the left, one surrounded by a high white wall. Tracy watched, wide-eyed, as the woman reached above her head and again touched something on the sun visor. The action caused the black iron gates to swing inward slowly. While waiting for the gates to open, Tracy noticed something. On each side of the gate, etched in the smooth surface of a block of white stone, was a name: GRACEWOOD. When she saw the name, Tracy looked over at the woman at the wheel. She stared at Grace with the regard of someone who had just discovered the supernatural origin of a close friend.