Say Goodnight, Gracie

by Julie Reece Deaver

  “It’s not fair,” I said. My voice was hoarse, and all my insides felt like they had been scraped raw. “He was an artist and he would have touched a lot of people’s lives.”

  “He touched your life,” my aunt said. “And the people you meet will know Jimmy through you . . . because you’ll touch their lives.” She leaned over and grabbed a box of Kleenex off the coffee table and handed it to me. I pulled out sheet after sheet and wiped my eyes and nose. My head was hot and swimming.

  “That kid at the dance school,” I said. “It’s like he stole everything Jimmy taught him and now he’s using it for himself.”

  “No one can take Jimmy’s place. Not really. You know that.”

  “I miss him a lot.”

  “I know you do.”

  When I was waiting for Jimmy to pick me up on North Wells that night, part of me had known something was wrong, something serious. I was scared on the way to the hospital and scared as we hurried through the halls, but here’s the funny part: As soon as we turned a corner and I saw my aunt telling Mrs. Woolf Jimmy was dead, I stopped feeling scared. I stopped feeling anything at all.

  “It’s like I’m picking up all the feelings I left behind the night Jimmy was killed,” I said.

  “Well. You protected yourself from the hurt for as long as you could. Until you were ready to face it. Until now.”

  “This is more than I thought I’d have to go through.”

  “You’re worn out,” my aunt said. She brushed some hair away from my face. “Let’s go home, okay? I’ll call Fay later and tell her you’re spending the night.”

  “It’s okay?” I said. “You don’t have other plans?”

  She gave me a hug. “Not a thing. Come on. Let’s go home.”

  At home I changed into a plum-colored sweatshirt of my aunt’s and a pair of her shorts. I tossed my wet clothes into the dryer, turned it on, and stared at the dryer window. I watched Jimmy’s jacket tumbling around and around. The metal of the zipper kept clanking against the metal of the dryer walls.

  “There you are,” my aunt said. “I made up the bed in the guest room; why don’t you lie down for a while—try to get some rest.”

  “I don’t know.” I turned and looked at her. “Do you think you’ll have to go out? What if a patient calls or something?”

  “I wouldn’t just sneak off without letting you know. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  “I know I’m being a real pain in the ass, but I can’t help it. I just want to know someone’s around. I mean . . . I guess I need you.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “I’m almost eighteen. I’m supposed to be an adult.”

  She smiled. “Adults don’t need other people?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I know you’re exhausted. Come on.” She took my hand. “Let’s go upstairs. You look like you’re about ready to collapse.”

  I kicked off my shoes and fell into bed. My aunt pulled the quilt up around me, then leaned back into the chair next to the bed. She tucked one foot under her and lit a cigarette.

  “Am I screwing up your whole weekend?” I asked. “Who were you having lunch with when I called you at the restaurant? Dr. Petrie?”

  “No . . . Dan and I aren’t seeing each other anymore.”

  “You’re not? When did that happen?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “But I liked him! I thought maybe you guys’d get married and live happily ever after and all the rest of that stuff.”

  “Hmm . . . it doesn’t always work out that way.”

  “God, everything’s changing. You and Dr. Petrie . . . the Woolfs are moving and Jimmy’s gone. . . . I guess I’ve changed too, and it scares me. I feel like I started out on a long trip when Jimmy was killed and I just kept getting farther and farther away from myself.”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I don’t know. On my way back, I guess.”

  “Maybe the trip’s finally coming to an end, then.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I think grief has to travel a certain route, honey. If you could plot it out on a map, you’d probably have a line that twists and weaves and eventually ends up near the point of departure.”

  “I don’t think I’m there yet. I still have a way to go.”

  “That’s all right. You’re doing fine.”

  “You think I’ll be able to work all this stuff out?”

  “I’m sure of it. Close your eyes now; you really look wiped out.”

  I closed my eyes. I could hear the dryer downstairs, tossing my clothes around in a rhythmic hum.

  “I got so I could feel Jimmy’s death,” I said. “Now just tell me something: When does it stop hurting?”

  I felt her hand close around mine. “Oh, honey—that,” she said, “is the million-dollar question.”

  31

  Maybe in the night the first healing began, I don’t know. I only know that when my aunt woke me up the next morning, I knew I was going to be okay. My best friend had been killed and the sadness was there, but at the same time and for the first time I knew I was going to be okay. I really was.

  “You look rested,” my aunt said. She put her hand on my face. “How do you feel?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not awake yet.”

  “I’ll let you go back to sleep in a minute. I’m going out on a house call, and I wanted you to know—”

  I closed my eyes. “When’ll you be back?”

  “It may take a while. Why don’t you meet me at Field’s around noon, all right? We’ll have lunch.”

  “Field’s,” I said. “Noon.”

  “The Walnut Room.”

  “Uh-huh.” I rolled over onto my side and pulled the covers over my head.

  “The Walnut Room. Did it register?”

  “Yeah, I heard you,” I said. “The Walnut Room.”

  Later in the morning, when I finally woke up and was really conscious, I got dressed and took a cab over to Jimmy’s dance school and tracked down the registrar in an upstairs office.

  “I was a friend of Jimmy Woolf’s,” I said. “I know the scholarship’s already been given, but I want to make a contribution anyway. Maybe for next year or however you want to use it.”

  There aren’t too many people who are going to argue with a cash contribution, and this woman was no exception. She thanked me and gave me a receipt, and I walked out of that school feeling pretty terrific, like I’d finally closed the book on something, like I’d finally done something for Jimmy, or maybe I’d only done it for myself. It didn’t matter. It made me feel good, and that would have made Jimmy happy. I walked over to State Street and into Marshall Field’s, past the counter where Jimmy had bought me my first pair of earrings. I took the elevator up to the Walnut Room and got a table for my aunt and me. It wasn’t too long before I felt a familiar tug on my hair.

  “Hi there,” she said.

  “How was your house call?”

  “I need some aspirin.”

  “That bad, huh? I’ll tell you a secret. When I’m sick and you drive out to take care of me, I always pretend I’m the only person you’ll go on a house call for.”

  My aunt smiled. She dumped her purse and medical bag onto the empty chair next to me. “I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered. “You’re the only house call I ever look forward to.”

  She signaled the waitress, who came and took our order for lunch: French dip, salad, fries.

  “Guess what?” I said. “I think I’m going to be okay.”

  My aunt nodded and looked at me: a clear, even gaze. I had never seen her look so serious. “That’s quite a discovery to make about yourself.”

  “I had to choose between Jimmy and me . . . and I picked me. That’s what you were trying to get me to see yesterday, isn’t it?”

  “You couldn’t get on with your own life, honey, until you let go of his.”

  “I know that now.” My eyes filled with tears. “I guess you weren�
��t kidding when you said it was going to hurt.”

  “It’s going to take a little while.”

  “I’m still afraid. Afraid to like someone that much again. I guess I’ll have to work on that. I mean, I’m glad Jimmy was a part of my life, and I don’t want to close myself off from other people like him.”

  “Knowing what you have to lose, but risking the loss anyway,” my aunt said. “That’s what it’s all about.” She took a little gift-wrapped package out of her jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Happy birthday.”

  “I forgot! I forgot all about my birthday!” I tore the paper off the package and opened it. Inside was a silver necklace with a tiny diamond flower dangling from it. “This is really beautiful. Thank you.” I fastened it around my neck. “How does it look?”

  “Pretty. Like you.” She reached over and opened her medical bag and took out a pack of Tareytons that was lying right next to her stethoscope.

  “I don’t believe this! You even carry them around in your medical bag! Aunt Lo, come on . . . it really bothers me when you smoke.”

  She stared at the pack of cigarettes for a second, then put it down in the ashtray. “All right, honey, okay. You’re right. This is as good a time as any to stop.”

  “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She took her lighter out of her purse and put it next to the Tareytons. “There.”

  “Good,” I said.

  We were halfway through the French dip when this ear-blasting beep started coming from my aunt’s pocket. I concentrated on my sandwich and tried not to notice the entire restaurant staring at us like we were aliens receiving a coded message from our home planet.

  “That’s a really embarrassing piece of equipment you’ve got there,” I said.

  “There are worse places it can start beeping, honey, believe me.” She pulled the pager out of her pocket and snapped it off. “Something tells me I better go find a phone.”

  She wasn’t gone too long. A minute or two at the most. When she came back, she didn’t sit down. She picked up her purse and her medical bag.

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “An emergency?”

  “I’m sorry, honey. I have to go.”

  “That’s okay. I guess someone else needs you now.”

  She pulled some cash out of her wallet and put it beside the check for our lunch. “What train are you catching home? Do you need cab fare to the station?”

  “No, I’m okay. Anyway, it’s kind of nice out. I think I’ll walk.” I took a last bite from my French dip and stood up. “Wait a second; I’ll ride down with you.”

  There were a lot of things I wanted to tell my aunt and not enough time to tell them in. Before I knew it, the elevator ride was over and we had stepped into a crowd of shoppers.

  “There’s something I have to tell you.” I practically had to shout, but she stopped and looked at me intently, like I was the only other person in the store. “I just wanted to thank you . . . for giving me back myself.”

  “You’re the one who did it, honey. All I did was point you in the right direction.”

  “I don’t know. I think maybe you did more than just point me in the right direction. I think maybe you dragged me there.”

  And then there was that great smile. “You don’t think you can get away without a hug, do you?” She put her arms around me and held me tight for a minute. “You’re going to be okay,” she said. “You know that now.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I know it.”

  “Call me tonight; let me know you got home okay.”

  “I will. ’Bye.”

  I turned around and walked out of Marshall Field’s and onto State Street. I thought about the emergency she was rushing to: I had no idea what the problem was or who the patient was. I only knew that someone was in bad shape somewhere and maybe their first connection with something good would be when my aunt came into their life. And that person would be damn lucky, because they’d be in good hands.

  I walked down Madison and stopped on the bridge over the Chicago River. I remembered the Saint Patrick’s Day a couple of years earlier, when Jimmy and I had stood on the bridge and watched them dye the river bright green. “Hang in there, kid,” Jimmy had said to me that day. “Spring is just around the corner.”

  Hey, Jimmy, I thought, spring is here now and I’m going to be okay. I really am.

  I unzipped Jimmy’s jacket and took it off and hurled it over the railing.

  Knowing what you have to lose, but risking the loss anyway. That’s what it’s all about.

  I stayed at the railing long enough to watch a gust of wind catch Jimmy’s jacket and send it whirling around and around in a downward spiral. Then I remembered my train, and I hurried to the station.

  Praise

  “A memorable first novel.” (Starred review)

  —School Library Journal

  “A wrenching first novel, written in the best modern tradition, with power and appeal.” (Starred review)

  —ALA Booklist

  Credits

  Cover art © 1988 by Michael Deas

  Cover © 1989 by HarperCollins Publishers

  Copyright

  PICK YOURSELF UP by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern. Copyright © by T.B. Harms Company. Copyright renewed (c/o The Welk Music Group, Santa Monica, CA, 90401) International Copyright Secured. All rights reserved. Used by Permission.

  SAY GOODNIGHT, GRACIE. Copyright © 1988 by Julie Reece Deaver. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Deaver, Julie Reece.

  Say goodnight, Gracie.

  “A Charlotte Zolotow book.”

  Summary: When a car accident kills her best friend Jimmy, with whom she has shared everything from childhood escapades to breaking into the professional theater scene in Chicago, seventeen-year-old Morgan must find her own way of coping with his death.

  [Death—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Actors and actresses—Fiction. 4. Chicago (III.)—Fiction] I. Title.

  PZ7.D3524 Say 1988 [Fic] 87-45278

  ISBN 0-06-021418-X

  ISBN 0-06-021419-8 (lib. bdg.)

  ISBN 0-06-447007-5 (pbk.)

  EPub Edition July 2013 ISBN 9780062311900

  * * *

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