by Mary Campisi
“He isn’t available.” What an understatement.
She sniffed. “Who are you?”
Bitch. “I’m Grant’s sister-in-law.”
“Oh.” She looked at Jenny with renewed interest. “The photographer.”
“Who are you?” Who was she and why would she know anything about her? What else did she know?
“I’m Heather. Heather Eastman.” She paused. “Grant’s friend.”
Something in her tone implied she was a whole lot more than a friend. “A friend?” Jenny stepped forward to shut the front door behind her. She wasn’t going to chance the girls waking up and seeing Heather Eastman standing at the front door, demanding to see their father.
The woman let out a sultry laugh that floated through the air. “Grant and I are friends,” she repeated. “Very good friends.”
“How good?”
She pulled a smile through her red lips and said in a soft voice, “Lovers.”
“Liar.” It could not be true.
“The only thing that’s a lie is that sham of a marriage he has with your sister.”
“Grant loves Grace. They’re very happy.” She meant to say, Grant loved Grace. They were very happy.
“If they’re so happy, then why is he sleeping with me?” She flung her black hair behind her shoulder. “I don’t care who knows about us. I told him I was tired of hiding, that I wouldn’t sneak around anymore.”
She had to be lying. But why? Jenny didn’t know, she only knew she didn’t believe her. She couldn’t. Because if what Heather Eastman said was true, then what did that say about Grant? And what did it say about Grant and Grace’s marriage? Their life together?
“I want you to leave. Now.”
“I’m not leaving until I see Grant.” The woman planted her high-heeled feet on top of Natalie’s chalk drawing and squared her shoulders.
“He isn’t here.” And won’t be...ever again.
“I’ll wait.”
Jenny let out a frustrated sigh. “Why are you doing this? Grant and Grace have a wonderful marriage. He would never cheat on her.”
“He already did.”
She was so insistent, so sure of herself…as though she were telling the truth.
And then the beautiful woman with the tanned skin and bright red nails opened her palm and shattered the illusion of Grant and Grace and “happily ever after.” Jenny stared at the plain gold wedding band edged in white-gold. A single diamond rested in the center. It was a man’s ring. There was no need to read the inscription on the inside to know what it would say. Grace and Grant Forever.
“Here.” The woman thrust the ring at Jenny. “Read the inscription.”
Jenny hesitated, not wanting to confirm what her heart already knew. Maybe she was wrong, maybe it wasn’t Grant’s, maybe this was all a big mistake. If she refused to read it, there would still be a tiny speck of doubt that Heather Eastman was lying.
Then again, maybe she was telling the truth.
Jenny grabbed the ring, brought it close to her eyes, squinted in the fading light. Grace and Grant Forever stared back at her.
“I told you I wasn’t lying.” Heather Eastman’s voice floated around her in a haze of gloating superiority.
Jenny closed a fist around the ring. “Where did you get this?”
Laughter trickled out of those red lips. “It was our little game. When he was with me, I took the ring off his finger, usually with my teeth and tongue, and tucked it in my purse.” She patted the slim leather rectangle at her side. “I kept it until he had to leave.”
“How clever of you.”
“Yes, it was,” she agreed. “It always added to the, uh, shall we say, allure of the moment.”
“I’m sure it did.” If Grant weren’t already dead, Jenny would have killed the bastard herself.
“It really turns him on.” She laughed again. “But then, tongues and teeth do that to him.”
And after she’d killed him, she would have chopped off his dick and cut it into tiny pieces.
“But it’ll be a long time before he gets anything like that again,” she said with an exaggerated huff. “I’m really ticked and it’s going to take more than a necklace to pacify me this time.”
Jenny’s gaze shot to the gold serpentine chain hanging around Heather Eastman’s neck. A gift from Grant, no doubt. What else had her brother-in-law given this woman? Was she the first? The seventh? And worse, did Grace know?
“How long am I going to have to wait for him?”
Not a hint of remorse. Not one bit. This woman didn’t care that she’d been sleeping with a married man or that he had two young daughters. All she cared about was tongue-and-teeth sex and seeing Grant when she wanted to see him. Well, she was in for a real shocker and Jenny couldn’t wait to deliver the jolt. “When was the last time you saw Grant?”
“Twelve days ago. At Chantel’s.” Her tiny nostrils flared. “He went to talk to the maître d’ and never came back.”
Twelve days ago? That’s when the accident happened. Had Grace discovered Grant and Heather together? Maybe confronted him? Is that why he’d left his lover in the restaurant? Why the woman still had his wedding band? Why he’d been in Grace’s van at the time of the accident?
Why she had the accident? Possibilities spilled out, jumbled together. Had it been an accident? Or could it have been the hysterical reaction of a woman who had just learned her whole life was a lie?
“How long am I going to have to wait for him? I don’t have all night.” Grant’s mistress glanced at her watch. “He’s got two minutes. If he doesn’t show by then, you can just tell him to go straight to hell.”
Jenny smiled then. It was an evil smile, one she reserved for people she truly disliked. And then she told her that he was already there.
Heather Eastman flicked her long black hair over her shoulder one last time, threw Jenny a disgusted look, and said, “You just tell him I was here.” She turned on her high heels and left, her long legs making their way to the silver convertible parked along the curb. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the sidewalk that Jenny noticed something vaguely familiar about her…the hair, the long legs…the way her hips swayed when she walked…bits and pieces flowing together, reminding Jenny…of herself.
8
It was the shrill pitch in Jenny’s ear that jolted her awake. She grabbed the phone that had served as a pillow for the last few hours and said, “Hullo.” Her voice was raw and scratchy. Interrupted sleep and two shots of Jack Daniel’s could do that to a person.
“Jennifer! I should have known you’d forget to call.” Disapproval stretched through the phone line in the tone of Virginia Romano’s voice.
“Hello, Mom.” Jenny rubbed the back of her neck and yawned. “What time is it?”
“It’s two minutes past midnight. I’ve been waiting all night to hear from you. Was it too much to ask that just once you behave in a responsible manner and do what you say you’re going to do?”
“I fell asleep.”
“That is no excuse.”
Silence.
“So, how is she? How’s Gracie?”
“Grace is the same. And me, I’m fine, Mom, thanks for asking.”
Her mother either chose to ignore the sarcasm or perhaps she missed it altogether. Either way, she didn’t respond.
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Pray, Jennifer. You must pray for your sister’s recovery.”
“I will,” she mumbled, knowing that her form of prayer and her mother’s were not the same. Virginia Romano recited Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers, clicking rosary beads like a typist on a keyboard. Fast. Efficient. Error-free. Jenny carried on conversations, disjointed, half-formed, soulful mutterings that left her drained.
“That’s the problem with this world. No one prays anymore.”
Jenny decided not to comment. The only thing she’d pray for right now other than Grace’s recovery was Grant’s demise. And God, in His infinite wisdom
, had already answered that prayer.
“How are the girls?”
“Fine.” She wasn’t going to say anything about her visit with Elliot Drake. “They’re counting the days until summer vacation.”
“Thank God for Laura Montgomery,” her mother breathed as though Jenny had nothing to do with the girls. “Those children need her now. She’ll give them the security that’s so important during this trying time.”
Jenny bit the inside of her cheek and said nothing. What would be the point? Her mother wouldn’t hear her, anyway.
“And how are you managing, Jenny? Are you wishing you were off on one of your exotic excursions, thousands of miles away from children and responsibilities?”
There was a certain smugness to her voice that really grated. “No,” she answered, staring at the top of the television. There were two school pictures, 5X7’s, one of Danielle and the other of Natalie. Danielle’s smile was small, hesitant, as though she wasn’t quite certain of the camera or herself. Natalie’s bold-faced grin boasted two missing front teeth and several haphazard curls poking from a thick fringe of smashed-down bangs. Nothing shy or reticent about the child or the picture.
“No. I don’t wish I was anywhere but here.” Oddly enough, despite the grief and uncertainty of the moment and Danielle’s cold shoulder, it was true. “As for the other, even if I were working, I’d still be responsible for the whole shoot.”
“Of course,” her mother said, “but we both know that you handle deadlines much better than people.”
“Of course,” Jenny repeated in a thin voice. “I’m incapable of appropriate social interaction. I’m amazed anyone permits me to be around other human beings.”
“That’s not what I meant.” There was a sharpness in her voice. “And there’s no reason to be sarcastic with me, young lady. I was only saying that we both know you tend to avoid situations and people that make you uncomfortable.”
“Well, I can’t worry about that right now, can I?” Why had she answered the phone? “Grace is the one who needs help and that’s why I’m here, to help her.”
“You shouldn’t have to worry about it much longer. Dr. Weiser said ten more days and I can come and take care of my Gracie.”
* * *
“Your daughter does not play fair. We were having a balloon fight and Natalie attacked me from behind. Guess who got drenched?” Jenny smiled and rubbed lotion on her sister’s arm. “I had to peel off my clothes. But not before I dumped a bucket of water on her head. I think Danielle was the smartest one of all. She decided to stay in the house and read a book.”
Jenny glanced at her sister’s face, so pale and gaunt against the hospital-white sheets. Grace’s whole body was so still. So lifeless. Except for the machines and tubes that pumped life into her frail existence. Two weeks had passed since the accident, but Dr. Shaffer remained “hopeful.”
“Do you remember the water fights we used to have when we were kids? The empty dish detergent bottles and that old metal tub of water? And then, when we were all done, Mom would make us ice cream sandwiches?” Jenny stroked her sister’s hand and murmured, “I loved those days, Gracie. I wish we could have them back.”
The respirator whooshed in response, a sound Jenny had come to both love and hate. “Wasn’t everything so much simpler when we were kids? I mean, we knew the rules and we obeyed them.” She let out a small laugh. “Okay, let me rephrase that. We knew the rules and you obeyed them. And words…well, they were words. When you said something, there were no hidden meanings, no double entendres. It was all out there in the open. We might not have known the best way to say it, but our meanings were honest and direct.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “Black and white, like one of my snapshots. No gray. And a lie was a lie.”
A lie was a lie. Like when the time comes for me to tell you that Grant is dead and I say how sorry I am. That will be a lie. And when I whisper that he loved you so much, more than life itself, that will be a lie, too. And when I tell you what a wonderful man he was, and that we should all be so fortunate to have someone like him, well, that will only be another lie.
Because the truth will be more than you can bear. It would kill you just as surely as pulling the plug on that respirator would do. And I can’t do that to you, Gracie, I can’t. So, I’ll lie.
She’d made that decision before Heather Eastman pulled away in her convertible. The woman would find another playmate, married, bored, and looking. That type was out there, but Jenny had never dreamed Grant was one of them. She’d never tell Grace the truth because her sister deserved better, the best, if only in her illusions.
Why her? Why Gracie? Her eyes blurred until she couldn’t make out her sister’s face anymore. She sniffed, ran the back of her hand over her cheek. It was then, caught halfway between a glance and a stare, that Grace’s eyes twitched. A small movement, barely discernable. “Gracie?”
Grace’s eyes twitched again, her forehead creased into tiny lines. Jenny squeezed her hand. “Please, come back to us.” Another twitch, followed by three more. Then Grace moved her head from side to side as though she were in pain. What was she trying to do? “I’ll be right back. Let me get the nurse. She’ll understand what you want.” Jenny patted her sister’s hand and rushed out of the cubicle, almost tripping over a chair leg, in search of someone who could interpret Grace’s actions. Sally, the much-too-young nurse with the blonde braid, was sitting behind her desk, writing in a chart.
“Sally, it’s Grace. I think she’s waking up.”
The young nurse’s eyes grew wide. “I’ll be right there.” She set the chart aside and hurried around the nurses’ station.
“She twitched her eyes,” Jenny said as she followed Sally. “Several times. And, she’s trying to move her head. And look,” she said as they entered Grace’s cubicle, “her forehead’s all creased. Is she in pain?”
Jenny waited for some kind of confirmation or explanation from Sally. She got neither for several long minutes as the young nurse studied Grace, her blue eyes and capable hands assessing, evaluating, palpating. When Jenny couldn’t take the silence any longer, Sally smiled and said, “This is a good sign, Jenny. A very good sign. Dr. Shaffer will be pleased.”
“Thank God,” she murmured, clasping Gracie’s fingers.
“We’ll be watching for signs that she’s ready to come off the respirator. Over the next several hours, I expect she’ll start fighting it and that’s usually an indicator that we can start to wean her from it.”
“You mean she’ll be able to breathe on her own?”
Sally nodded. “It takes a little time, but yes, she should be able to.”
Jenny dared a smile. “And once she’s breathing on her own?”
Sally motioned her out of the room and once outside, said in a quiet voice, “She’ll be moved to a step-down unit for further evaluation. Depending on her progress, she’ll remain there until she can transfer to a rehab unit where they’ll work on things like gross-motor movement, using a walker, if necessary, speech, occupational therapy, and other activities that will assist her with daily living.”
Jenny was stuck on the walker part. “Walker? Is she going to be a cripple?”
Sally hesitated. “Each head injury is unique. We just can’t say.” Her voice gentled. “I wish I could tell you that Grace will recover one hundred percent from the accident, that she’ll walk without a limp, won’t slur her words, and will remember everything. But the truth is, we just don’t know.”
* * *
Two days later, Grace came off the respirator. It was a Wednesday. The next day, she moved her index finger. The day after that, Friday, they transferred her to a step-down unit. At three o’clock that afternoon, she opened her eyes.
Jenny was sitting in her usual faded orange vinyl chair, casually flipping through a magazine. “Here’s an article for you, Gracie,” she said, as she read the headline on the top of the next page. “10 Foolproof Ways to Look and Feel 18 Again.” She chuckled. This was her
way of communicating with Grace. Jenny talked, suggested, questioned, and stated her opinion. Then, she imagined Grace’s answers. Her response to this one would probably be something like “Foolish Instead of Foolproof”, or “Is that Dr. Fool Proof?”
Jenny chuckled again and glanced at her sister. Grace’s eyes were open and she was staring straight ahead. “Grace!” Jenny threw the magazine aside and sprang from her chair. “Grace!” She rushed to the side of the bed and clasped her sister’s hand. So cold. She wrapped both hands around Grace’s fingers, rubbed them gently. “I’ve missed you!”
Grace turned her head, just a fraction, enough for her brown eyes to settle on Jenny. Her forehead creased, her eyes narrowed. Did Grace recognize her? Jenny waited, caught between the delicate balance of hope and despair.
What if she doesn’t even recognize me, her own sister?
And then, Jenny thought she saw her sister’s eyes widen. The change was so minute she wasn’t certain if it was real or just one last scrap of distorted hope taking form. She stared at those brown eyes so hard that she almost saw double. Jenny blinked and squeezed Grace’s hand.
“It’s me. Jenny,” she whispered.
“JJJJJJJJJ...” Grace moaned.
“That’s it,” she said, swiping the tears from her cheeks. “Jenny.”
“JJJeeennny.”
Jenny spotted the recognition in Grace’s eyes and smiled. “Welcome back, Gracie.”
9
“How’s Grace doing today?”
“Pretty well.” Jenny picked up the soapy dishcloth and wiped another plate. “Dr. Shaffer says she’s getting stronger. Maybe another week or two of physical and occupational therapy, then he might discharge her.”
Laura let out a long breath. “It will be wonderful to have her back.”