Betting on Grace

by Salonen, Debra

  Instead of sitting down, Grace walked to the outdoor sink her father had built. She turned on the tap and washed her hands, using a little pink brush to clean beneath her nails. There wasn’t a towel, so she wiped her hands on the back of her jeans.

  When she turned around, Nikolai was standing a foot away watching her. The sun was bright and Grace squinted, wishing she hadn’t left her sunglasses in the car. “How was lunch?”

  His eyes didn’t seem bothered by the strong light. And they looked even bluer than she remembered.

  “Best I’ve had in a long time. They don’t serve that kind of food in jail.”

  Grace wanted to ask what he’d done to land in the slammer, but she didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “I got in a fight. Put a guy in the hospital,” he said, his tone mocking, as if he’d read the question in her hesitation.

  “Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything to say. She started to walk toward her corner of the yard.

  “You’ve never broken the law, have you?” he asked. His tone was serious and contained an element she couldn’t quite define. Did he think she held his arrest against him?

  “Actually, I once stole some nail polish from a drugstore. I’d left my wallet at home and I really, really wanted a new color of nail polish to impress this boy I liked.”

  “Did you get busted?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big time. Not by the store, but when I got home, Mom and Dad were both waiting for me.” She would never forget the look of disappointment on her father’s face. “I didn’t even bother trying to lie. Dad marched me right back to the store and made me replace the polish and pay for it. Then I was grounded for a month. I never broke the law again.”

  “How did they know?”

  Grace laughed. “At the time, I thought Mom must have seen it. You know, her second sight. But years later I found out that Dad had been in the pharmacy picking up a prescription for my grandmother when I came in. I was so intent on my crime, I never even noticed him. He waited until I left, then drove home. Since I was on foot, he and Mom had time to talk about how to handle the situation before I got there.”

  He snickered softly. “Sounds like something my father would have done.” Apparently as an afterthought, he added, “He was pretty ticked off when I went to jail.”

  Grace was curious about his adopted family. “Tell me about them. Your parents. Were they good to you? Do you have siblings?”

  “One sister. My parents’ real child. They’re in the process of moving to the West Coast so they can be closer to her.”

  Although his tone remained blasé, Grace sensed some hurt feelings. Probably something he’d never admit. “Are you looking forward to meeting Jurek?”

  His forehead wrinkled in a way that made her want to touch his face. “Who said I plan to?”

  “I guess I figured that was the real reason you came. After all, you don’t have that look most newcomers have when they first move here. That giddy, we’re-gonna-hit-the-jackpot kind of look. But then when things don’t work out—and they generally don’t—many of them can’t take the heat, both literally and figuratively. They stay a few months, then move to Los Angeles or someplace on the Coast.”

  “Like my birth parents,” he said under his breath.

  “I guess so,” she said. “How’d you end up in Detroit?”

  “Gotta live someplace.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s okay.”

  Grace laughed at his evasive answers. “If I’m being nosy, just tell me.”

  “You’re being nosy.”

  Instead of being offended, she agreed with him. “I know. My sisters claim it’s my worst fault. I doubt that. I have several contenders.” She resumed walking toward the path that led to her trailer but only took two steps before stopping. She turned to look at him and said, “Listen, I’m sorry about running out on you earlier. My family—God love ’em—can drive me crazy at times. It’s either split or blow up. I didn’t want to ruin your lunch. Which was great, right?”

  His expression softened. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much at one time.” He pulled at the waistband of his jeans. If there was an extra pound of fat around his middle, she’d have had a hard time finding it. Although the hunt might be worth it, a devilish voice suggested.

  Her cheeks turned hot. “Good. I’m glad. I have to get ready for work, but I’ll take you next door first.”

  She reversed directions and led the way past the garage. It wasn’t the most glamorous route, skirting the trash cans and recycling.

  “What do you do?” he asked, sticking close to her.

  “Meet and greet.” Her mind was already racing ahead to what she expected the night to bring.

  “Tell me more about your mother’s clairvoyance. Is that for real?”

  The unexpected change of topic nearly caused her to swallow what was left of the breath mint she’d been sucking on. “Well…she’s had her moments.”

  “What kind of moments? Like that John Edwards guy on television? Can she contact the dead? Can she tell me what horse to bet on? Or who will win next year’s Superbowl?”

  Grace sighed. She’d tried over the years to explain her mother’s abilities to nonbelievers. Most remained doubtful, to say the least.

  “Nothing so practical, I’m afraid.”

  He waited for her to go on.

  “A hundred years ago, Mom would have been called Puri Dye—the wise woman of our tribe. Even when Dad was alive, if someone had a problem, they’d come to Mom for guidance. Sometimes she’d warn someone not to travel, like when my sister Liz was going to board a plane for Costa Rica.”

  “Did it crash?”

  “No. But it was delayed and she would have missed her connecting flight in LAX. Mom was sure something bad would have happened. There was no way of proving whether she was right or wrong because Liz took a different flight.”

  His half smile seemed to appreciate the irony. Grace gave him credit for not laughing.

  “But after my dad’s stroke, she didn’t trust herself anymore because…well…we were all blindsided when it happened.”

  “Shit happens. Why should you get any warning?”

  Outsiders had said the same thing in the past. Usually, she didn’t bother trying to explain. “Because we’re Romani. We’re different. We’ve retained access to a metaphysical connection that the rest of the world gave up and doesn’t trust. If we’d known about the stroke…”

  His broad shoulders lifted and fell. “If I’d stopped after two beers, I wouldn’t have gotten in a fight and landed in jail.”

  Grace had a feeling he was poking fun of her, and she resented it. “Listen, you don’t know what it was like around here before this happened. Dad was healthy. Robust. He wasn’t a candidate for a stroke.” She looked away, feeling tears beginning to prick behind her eyelids.

  “We were all devastated, of course,” she continued after a few moments. “But Mom got hit the hardest. She not only lost her husband but all faith in herself. She’s just now starting to come back.”

  “So who’s head of the family? Claude?”

  Grace shook her head. “Uncle is a sweet man, but you saw for yourself at lunch that he isn’t particularly savvy about the world. Dad used to call him a throwback to another generation.”

  She checked her watch. She had hoped to go over Charles’s plans with Kate before the kitchen geared up for dinner. Walking a little faster, she said, “Claude still believes it’s okay for Gypsies to bend the rules.”

  “And he works for Charles.”

  “Off and on. He does odd jobs to support his ponies.”

  “Ponies? As in Thoroughbreds?”

  “Ponies. As in four-foot-tall hay burners.”

  His half smile sent flutters where flutters didn’t belong. She picked up the pace. “He puts on performances for children’s groups and lets classrooms visit his stables. It’s pretty neat to see the children interact with the pygmy goats, ducks, chickens, dogs
…”

  “He runs a petting zoo?”

  Grace nodded. “Sort of.”

  “He makes a living at that?”

  “Enough to augment his social security and disability check. Dad used to say that money washes through Claude’s fingers like rainwater.” She ran the backside of her nails along the four-foot-high chain-link fence that outlined Claude’s small front yard. Instead of grass, Claude’s lawn was nickel-sized chunks of white rock held in place by bender board. Two elongated diamond shapes of red bricks encircled a pair of stubby-looking Joshua trees. “Fortunately, his eldest son has taken over the ranch and makes sure all the bills get paid.”

  The home itself was a 1960s ranch-style, three-bedroom structure, with an attached single-car garage that was full of junk. Grace couldn’t remember ever seeing a car parked in it.

  “What kind of disability?”

  The question seemed a bit nosy, but since he’d be living with Claude, she answered truthfully. “He served in Korea. Got a Purple Heart. Has a steel plate in his head. When I was little, I’d tap around trying to find it.” Grace paused, picturing her uncle, who at times seemed as much a child as his grandchildren.

  “Hmm. I knew an old guy inside who had a head injury from the war. Sometimes he’d black out for no reason.”

  Inside. Grace didn’t like the sound of that. “Claude gets really bad headaches occasionally. Mom treats him with herbs.”

  “Your mother is an herbalist?”

  Grace smiled. “The Romani traditionally lived close to the land and knew what plants held medicinal values. And Liz is a physical therapist. She went to India to study holistic medicine and hopes to open her own practice some day.”

  Grace looked over her shoulder. She could almost see more questions forming. She gestured for him to hurry. “I forgot my hat and my SPF is overdue for a touch up. Come on.”

  She dashed up the sidewalk and opened the screen, which was made of lightweight metal. The front door was solid wood, but the varnish was peeling.

  She knocked once then walked inside. “Hello,” she called. The small, square foyer was dark, thanks to walnut paneling. Family photos of Claude’s three sons occupied one wall, with a couple of newer shots of grandchildren resting on a decorator table.

  “You met Greg,” she said, pointing to a framed photo of her cousins. “He’s the youngest. The guy in the middle is Enzo. He lives in Henderson. His daughter works for us at the restaurant. And Damon, the oldest, almost never leaves the ranch.”

  The place smelled musty, like old smoke and laundry waiting to be washed. To the right, Grace could see the living room and kitchen. Both looked fairly presentable. She wasn’t surprised that the kitchen stayed neat since Claude took most of his meals out, either with his sons or at Romantique.

  “Mom?” she called.

  There was no answer, so Grace turned to the left. “Claude’s bedroom is at the end of the hall,” she said. “Mom thought you’d be okay here,” she said, opening the first door they came to. “The two guest rooms share a bath, but since you’re his only company at the moment, you can pretty much make yourself at home.”

  She stepped back to let Nikolai pass into the room. His arm brushed against her shoulder and she sucked in a breath to make sure that was the only part of her body that made contact. He glanced sideways as if reading her reaction all too clearly.

  “I, uh, hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

  Grace looked around the room. A brown tweed rocker. A double bed that looked inches too short to accommodate Nikolai’s frame. Generic tan carpet and a couple of faded posters Grace’s aunt had probably bought at a swap meet. The room didn’t fit him. She closed her eyes and saw him standing in front of a bank of windows overlooking a green lawn where a young boy was playing fetch with a dog.

  “Where’s my coat? It’s not in the closet.” Nikolai’s voice, which held a note of accusation, shattered her vision.

  Grace blinked twice and took a deep breath to regain her composure. That hasn’t happened in a long time, she thought. Was it real? Too much sun? Hormones?

  “Well?” He was looking at her strangely. Could he tell she’d had a moment? The kind of moment she refused to talk about—even with her sisters.

  “Front-hall closet,” she said, her voice not quite her own.

  Grace had been nine when she’d first experienced the odd sensation of seeing a door open to a scene nobody else could see. Had she been with her mother at the time, Grace might have reacted differently, but she’d been at school. Her teacher had acted as though Grace were having some kind of seizure. The school nurse had been called. The principal had come in to frown at Grace. The word Gypsy came up in the whispered conversations among the adults who surrounded her. She’d decided then and there that whatever this was, it wasn’t a good thing.

  “Are you okay? You went kinda pale all of the sudden.”

  “No. I’m fine. But I have to go.”

  He followed her to the door. “What about the fax?”

  “What facts?”

  “Your mother said you have a fax machine at the restaurant. Charles wanted my application back ASAP.”

  Grace opened the door and walked out on the stoop. “Oh. Well, sure. I can send it to him tonight, if you fill it out before I leave for work.”

  His lips flattened pensively. “I might need a little longer. Gotta find a few numbers. He said he takes that sort of thing seriously.”

  Grace didn’t know or care. She usually went with her gut when she hired someone to work at Romantique. “Well, drop it off later or we can send it tomorrow. I doubt if Charles will look at it till then. I seem to remember him saying something about some kind of banquet tonight.”

  “And you’re not going?”

  The question bothered her. Hadn’t he been paying attention when she told him she and Charles weren’t involved romantically? Or hadn’t he believed her? “Well, not that it’s any of your business, but Friday is Romantique’s busiest night. I very seldom take weekends off. Plus, lawyer things are boring and I’d rather stay home and give myself a pedicure than hobnob with Charles’s cohorts.”

  He appeared surprised by her frankness.

  Before she could qualify her snippy answer, which had mostly been to put him in his place—she actually liked some of Charles’s friends, just not the type that attended the annual I’m-more-successful-than-you-are dinner—a voice hailed her from the street.

  “I’m glad we caught you, Nikolai,” Yetta said, tugging on her granddaughter’s hand. “Maya has something to say to you.”

  When the pair reached them, Maya took a big breath. Grace could tell her niece was resigned to doing something she didn’t relish. Grace hid a smile.

  Dark curls screening her face, Maya stared at the ground and said, “Sorry, Mr. Nick.”

  To Grace’s surprise, Nikolai moved closer and knelt beside the little girl, who’d plastered herself against her grandmother’s leg after delivering her apology. Nikolai touched his finger to her tiny chin and made her look at him.

  “Apology accepted. As long as you promise never to do that again. What you and Luca and Gemilla did could get you in a lot of trouble. I wouldn’t want to see that happen, okay?”

  Grace was impressed that Nikolai got all three children’s names right.

  “Mom, we both know Maya wasn’t behind this little stunt. Did you talk to Claude about not teaching them any more tricks?”

  “Of course,” Yetta said, “but you know your uncle.”

  Grace’s phone rang. She wasn’t done talking about the subject, so she ignored it. “Nikolai is right. What if they’d tried that on a stranger? They could—”

  “Auntie Grace,” Maya said, interrupting. “It’s Mommy. And I need to talk to her. Please?”

  Grace looked at the incoming number. Romantique. Her skin tingled. “Wow, Maya, you’re right,” she said, picking up the child. “How’d you know that?”

  The phone rang again.

  Maya
rolled her eyes. “She always calls Grandma’s after school and we’re not there.”

  So she called me looking for you. Logic, not prescience. Grace felt her face heat up. Hopefully, nobody noticed her silly mistake. She glanced at Nikolai, who was grinning.

  The phone rang again.

  Grinning. As if he knew what she was thinking. As if he knew her. Damn. Damn, damn, damn. This was not supposed to be happening. She could not—would not—be attracted to an unemployed ex-con with zero prince potential.

  “Hello,” she barked, feeling practically choked by frustration.

  “Jeesch. Bite my head off, why don’t you?” her sister complained. “I’m looking for my daughter. Where are you? When are you coming in? You can handle dinner, right? I’m taking the night off.”

  Kate’s words sank in. “You’re what?” Grace exclaimed in shock. Kate never took the night off. Never.

  “You heard me. I’m going to take Maya to Game-Works. She’s been asking for weeks.”

  “But…who’s cooking?”

  “Jo. I took your advice and made her our new assistant manager. I’d planned to tell you at lunch, but you split. Where’d you go? What did you think of Nikolai? Quite the hunk, huh?”

  Grace blew out a sigh, handed the phone to her niece and lowered Maya to the ground. “I’ve got to get to work before your mother loses the rest of her marbles.” She glanced at Nikolai. Hunk, indeed. What happened to the hit-man theory?

  JUREK DEBATED before picking up the phone to make a call. He was moving a bit stiffly, but outwardly there was very little proof that he’d been violated once again by a doctor’s intrusive explorations. He’d been released with a smile and the reassurance that all was well.

  “Go home and relax for a few days, George,” his doctor had said. “I’ll call you when the lab results come back.”

  Jurek wouldn’t hold his breath. He didn’t need tests to tell him he was dying. But he hoped to stick around long enough to make sure Yetta and her family were safe.

  “Hello,” a cheerful voice said.

  Jurek’s heart lifted in his chest. He loved and admired Yetta’s sunny disposition. She’d been through hell the past few years, but somehow she’d regained her spirit and her optimism. Except when it came to her youngest daughter’s affairs.