Devlin's Grace

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  “At my first break,” Devlin said. “I started feeling sick less than an hour later. Puked up my guts three times before I decided I should come home.”

  “It’s my fault,” Gracie said. “Oh, Devlin, I’m sorry.”

  “Can it,” he said, “It’s not. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

  No, she hadn’t, but she’d still made him terribly sick. “Would you be more comfortable in the bedroom?” she asked, wanting to make everything all better, knowing she really couldn’t.

  An ominous gurgle issued from his abdomen and Devlin’s face contorted. “I think I’d better head for the bathroom,” he said and did.

  The unmistakable sounds of diarrhea came from behind the closed door and when he came out, Devlin’s pallor had become even whiter. He walked hunched over like his belly hurt.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Bad,” he said, spitting out the one terse word. Then he added, “I feel like I’m going to puke, my stomach’s cramping, and my head’s pounding. I have to sit down.”

  Devlin collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh and put his head down. Gracie parked beside him, one arm around his waist. He seemed like he could use the support as well as comfort. “You probably need to lie down,” she suggested.

  His body constricted beneath her arm. “I would,” Dev said as he jumped up and headed toward the restroom. “Or I would if I could just quit barfing long enough.”

  He landed on his knees before the commode and heaved. Gracie trailed him, concerned he might pass out on the bathroom floor. He vomited clear liquid streaked with bile. Devlin sagged against the seat when he finished, and she offered him a fresh wet cloth for clean-up.

  “Thanks,” he gasped, eyes streaming.

  “Maybe I should run out and pick up something to settle your stomach,” Gracie said.

  Tough guy and all, Devlin cut his eyes up and shook his head. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to leave me, Gracie.”

  His plea jerked her heartstrings and tied them into a knot. “I’d be right back,” she said, torn between getting what he needed and staying beside him.

  “Uh-uh,” Devlin said.

  Gracie caved. “All right, but come see if you can rest for a few minutes, anyway.”

  Curled into a pretzel like shape on the bed, Devlin drifted into an uneasy doze. Gracie paced the apartment and searched without success for any kind of stomach aid. Her mind compiled a short list of the things she’d buy if she left. Devlin defined loner, so he didn’t have any friends to call on for help. The few guys he kept in contact with were people he served with in Iraq, more comrades than pals. Gracie’s friends scattered like dandelion seeds over her college years until she didn’t keep up with any of them. Her besties from high school had married, several had children. She didn’t consider any of her co-workers as friends. Faith, her sister, lived in Joplin, an hour or more away and was old enough to be a parent, not a pal. About the time Gracie decided neither she nor Devlin had any to ask for assistance, she thought of Lauren.

  Dev’s cousin had become about the only friend she had and without hesitation Gracie grabbed her cell phone. She sat down at the kitchen table and called Lauren.

  “Hello,” Lauren said. “You caught me on break. What’s up?”

  “I need a favor,” Gracie said.

  “Sure, what is it?” From her casual tone, Lauren probably expected her to ask if she could re-check a book, find a research material, or loan her five bucks. With no easy way to say it, Gracie said, “Devlin’s sick and he doesn’t want me to go anywhere. Could you get a few things for me and drop them off? I’d pay for them.”

  Concern put an edge in Lauren’s voice. “What’s wrong? Devlin hardly ever gets sick.”

  “I think its food poisoning,” Gracie said. “I made him some tuna salad, but the egg or the mayo or something must’ve been off. He’s vomiting and now he’s got diarrhea, too. He’s wearing himself out and needs to rest, but he doesn’t want me to leave. I hate to ask, but I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Oh, I’m glad you called,” Lauren replied. “Sure, I’ll be glad to do it. He’s family and God knows we don’t have as much as we did. I’ll be over in a little while – does he still live on the corner of Summit Avenue?”

  “Yes,” Gracie said. “Thank you, Lauren.”

  She provided a list of items and ended the call, reassured she didn’t have to deal with Dev’s unexpected illness alone. Before she could check on him, Gracie heard him in the bathroom again. Minutes later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wall, spent.

  “Jesus,” he said. “I can’t take much more of this.”

  Gracie moved to stand in front of Devlin. Her hand touched his cheek, light and fleeting. In response, he wrapped his arms around her and held her. She embraced him, aware of the faint odor of bitter vomit wafting from him. “I wish you felt better,” she said. “You will, soon, I hope.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Devlin said. “Or be put out of my misery.”

  When Lauren showed up, Devlin was sprawled in the rump sprung, worn old recliner in the living room. Sitting half upright worked better, it seemed, or else his nausea settled to a more tolerable level.

  Gracie, curled into the corner of the couch next to his chair, thought he still looked ghastly, pale as a vampire in daylight. Lauren rapped at the door and Devlin startled.

  “Who the hell’s that?” he asked.

  “Lauren,” Gracie said, hoping he wouldn’t explode. “I asked her to bring a few things over.”

  Although he grimaced, he didn’t gripe. Gracie let his cousin in and took the multiple bags out of her hands. “Thank you,” she said. “Let me go sort the stuff out.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Lauren said. She headed over toward Devlin. “Hi, you look like death warmed over. I hope you don’t feel as bad as you look.”

  “Worse,” he said, his tone harsh. Gracie watched from the kitchen but when he extended one hand to his cousin, she relaxed. “Thanks, Lauren.”

  “I’m glad to help. And I’m sorry you don’t feel well. I hope you’re better soon.”

  Devlin nodded. “No shit.”

  Gracie sorted out the items on the kitchen table, some pink liquid to settle Devlin’s upset stomach, clear and dark colas, a box of tea bags, some pre-made gelatin in single serving containers, a bag of red and white striped peppermints, a cardboard carton of chicken broth, three cans of soup, and a box of saltines. Lauren delivered everything she requested plus a few additions. With her purse in hand she headed into the living room to pay the other woman, but Lauren refused to take any money.

  “No, no, its fine,” she told Gracie. “I’m glad to help. I won’t stay so Robert can get some rest, but I wanted to ask him something.”

  “Go ahead,” Devlin replied. Either he felt too sick to care or didn’t notice, but he didn’t protest her use of his first name.

  “Mom wanted me to tell you you’re invited for Thanksgiving next week,” Lauren said. “She’d love it if you’d come and bring Gracie.”

  Emotion rippled across Devlin’s haggard face. “Thanks, cousin,” he said, “I’d think about it, but I’m going home with Gracie, to her parents. But I might come some other time.”

  Surprise increased the size of Lauren’s eyes and she stared at him, as rounded eyed as an owl. “Well,” she said. “I’ll tell Mama. I imagine she’ll ask you again. Get better, you hear?”

  He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  Gracie’s heart fluttered with excitement. Devlin never mentioned he’d decided to go home with her for Thanksgiving, but his decision made her glad. Now she’d have to tell her parents to expect another guest. As Lauren let herself out, Gracie daydreamed about a family meal at the old round table, her parents, her sister and all Faith’s family, herself and Devlin.

  “Did you mean it?” she asked after Lauren drove away. “Are you coming home with me for Thanksgiving?”

  A faint grin flickered over his lips. “
Yeah, I am unless you don’t want me to come.”

  “I do, Devlin, very much.”

  “Then I’m coming,” he said. “Just make sure your family’s ready to meet the devil himself.”

  Laughter bubbled up within. “Oh, they will be,” Gracie said. “You just concentrate on getting better.”

  Devlin almost laughed, but his expression shifted and he put a hand to his belly. “I will,” he said with a grumble. “Or I would if I could quit puking long enough to try.”

  He retched into the wastebasket, but didn’t bring up much. Afterward, Gracie plied him with peppermints, made him the cup of tea he asked for, and dosed him with the stomach remedy. Devlin puked it back up, but he kept down the second cup of tea. He suffered several more rounds of diarrhea, but by early evening, his tortured digestive system seemed to settle down.

  By then, so exhausted Devlin drifted in and out of sleep, Gracie coaxed him to rest in bed. He sprawled on his back and she plumped up pillows beneath his head. His skin remained clammy so she covered him. She hadn’t eaten since coming home, so Gracie slipped into the kitchen to heat a microwave entrée. She ate the small meal and hoped the aroma wouldn’t linger to bother Devlin.

  On Friday, Devlin called in sick, exhausted and still vomiting a little. He’d yet to hold down anything solid and remained more than a little shaky. Gracie skipped classes, a rare thing she seldom did, to stay home with him. He admitted he felt a little better, but his stomach still hurt and his headache remained. Until he could keep down food, she doubted he could handle pain relievers without puking. As an alternative, Gracie wrapped some ice in a towel and he applied it to his aching head.

  “It helps, some,” Devlin said.

  “Good. Do you want to try some Jell-O?”

  “What color?”

  “Orange or red.”

  “I’ll try orange.”

  He managed it, then asked for another cup of hot tea. Devlin sat in his recliner with the cup cradled between his hands and sighed. He sounded happy despite his illness, so she asked, “Better?”

  Devlin see-sawed his hand and nodded. “I don’t feel as bad as I did yesterday,” he said. “Damnedest thing is, I’m happy. I like the time with you even when I’ve been sick. You make me happy, babe.”

  Gracie sank down to the floor to sit at his feet. She gazed up at him with adoring eyes and said, “I try, Devlin. You don’t look as awful as you did. I worried about you yesterday.”

  He snorted. “You shouldn’t. I’ve been through a helluva lot worse.”

  “I wasn’t around, then.”

  He exhaled a long sigh. “Wish you had been, Gracie.”

  In response, she laid her head across his knees. Devlin stroked her hair, his big hand clumsy but gentle. Gracie savored the quiet moment, the halcyon respite from everything else. Right now she didn’t care about her classes or the weather or anything but the present, here with Devlin.

  “You know what,” he said, vulnerable for once.

  “What?”

  “I need you, babe. I wouldn’t want to go it without you.”

  His words enriched her and strengthened her. Devlin’s tenderness evoked a warm outpouring of emotion. Love floated in the air, almost visible between them and Gracie sat up.

  “You won’t ever have to,” she said, grasping his hand in hers.

  “Just don’t let me drag you down to hell,” he said, serious now. His eyes burned with fire, not passion. “Don’t forget I’ve been called Devil all my life.”

  Until now he’d never admitted the nickname dated farther back than his Marine years and Gracie marked it.

  “Anyone who said you were was wrong,” she said. “Mixed up, crazy, confused, but totally wrong. Besides, it doesn’t matter now anyway.”

  “How’s that?” He sounded curious not angry.

  She intended what she said to be amusing, a little joke, nothing more. “You’re not a devil and never were, but it doesn’t matter what you’ve done, you have Grace now.”

  Devlin’s eyes became distant as if he traveled to a faraway place. His body stilled, and in the room Gracie sensed the same dead calm as before a storm. She tensed, now afraid she’d gone too far or touched some scarred nerve somewhere. She waited for his response, her hands resting across his knees where her head had just laid.

  After a pause of a minute or a year or maybe half a lifetime, Devlin leaned forward. He took her face between his hands, gentle as a spring breeze. “Gracie, honey, you’re my salvation and I know it. You’re a God damn miracle in my life and I love you. If I don’t burn in hell someday, it’s because of you.”

  Then he kissed her mouth, slow and with the pent up longing of abstinence. Devlin savored her lips between his, caressed and cosseted them. Gracie kissed him back, sealing his vow with promise.

  Devlin reached down, shifted her and pulled her up into his lap where he kissed her again, longer. Then he clasped her in his arms and kept her close until the shadows of dusk surrounded them.

  Chapter Ten

  Thanksgiving morning dawned crisp but clear. Although the drive to the farm wasn’t far, they headed out early. Until they left, Gracie figured Devlin would want to take his motorcycle, but he shook his head.

  “Babe, I don’t want the first impression I make on your folks to be my devil horns,” he explained. “They may decide I’m Satan anyway, but I’d rather not offer any suggestions. I thought we’d take the car.”

  “Okay,” Gracie said. Although her mom would cook everything she could and sister Faith would drag more dishes from Joplin, she baked four pies, two apple and two pumpkin to bring. “It’ll be easier to bring the pies anyway.”

  Baking pies proved she could cook, after all. Devlin’s food poisoning made Gracie both self-conscious about food preparation and more vigilant. After he recovered, she tossed out anything suspect including the inch or so of mayonnaise left in the jar. Although the date wasn’t expired, she suspected it might be the culprit – it or the single egg. Now Gracie checked dates at the supermarket on everything she bought, and she’d also found a meat thermometer at one of the discount stores. Before she served any kind of meat, she made certain it was safe.

  Thinking of his recent illness prompted her to ask, as she did at least once a day now, “Do you feel all right?”

  Most men would’ve tired of it by now, but Devlin smiled. “Babe, I’m good. Don’t worry.”

  Neither mentioned he hadn’t dared drink coffee for fear of upchucking it until Sunday morning or how cautious he was about what he ate and how much. As he climbed behind the wheel of the Ford, his color restored to a healthy hue, Gracie realized she’d never ridden in a car with him before and said so.

  Devlin laughed. “I guess you haven’t. You probably want to put your seat belt on, Gracie.”

  She thought he joked until they hit Highway 60 heading west out of town. As soon as they cleared the interchange beneath the James River Freeway, Devlin opened up the Ford as if he learned to drive on the racing circuits. Scenery flashed by outside the windows in a colorful blur, and Gracie hung onto the dash with one hand, braced tight in the seat.

  “Aren’t we going a little fast?” she cried.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Devlin, please slow down. You’ll get a ticket.”

  “I have to slow down when we hit Republic anyway,” he said, but he lowered his speed to please Gracie.

  On the narrow two lane road leading out to where she’d been raised, Gracie pointed out the little landmarks of her childhood, and once they turned onto the dirt road leading to the farm, she chattered like a squirrel, nervous and excited. She sneaked a glance at Devlin who didn’t seem perturbed in the least he’d meet her parents within a few minutes.

  The familiar two story farm house, weathered for decades, sat beneath the same old tall walnut trees. Round green nuts littered the ground beneath them and her dad’s old Chevy pickup sat in its customary spot. The family Buick, long in service, parked beside the tru
ck and a newer SUV was behind it.

  “That must be Faith’s car,” Gracie said. “You know, my older sister.”

  Devlin nodded. “I remember. Don’t you have a couple of brothers, too?”

  She did and it pleased her he hadn’t forgotten. “Yes. I haven’t mentioned them much, but they’ll be here today, Bill and Chuck, with their families. We must be early.”

  “Better than late,” Dev said.

  He carried in the pies for her and as soon as they stepped through the back door, a wave of memories swamped Gracie. Mom’s kitchen hadn’t changed since her earliest memories. African violets still bloomed in the side window, the familiar Kitchen Prayer plaque hung in the same spot and so did the framed drawing from Gracie’s very first day of school. Her mother glanced up from the stove, face flushed with heat and smiled.

  “Gracie! You’re here. I didn’t expect you for another hour or so.”

  Gracie crossed the worn floorboards and hugged her mom. “Devlin drives fast,” she said with a smile. “Mom, this is Devlin, Devlin, this is my mom, Peggy Alloway.”

  Dev joined them and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Alloway.”

  Peggy wiped her hand on her apron before she shook Devlin’s. “I’m glad you could come. Is Devlin your first or last name?”

  It could’ve turned into a sticky question with Devlin’s hang up about his first name, but before Gracie could try to answer, he did. “It’s my last name. I’m Robert Devlin, like my late dad, but everyone calls me Devlin.”

  Her mom nodded. “Well, Devlin, can I offer you some coffee or anything?”

  “Sure, thanks.” He put the four pies on an empty countertop and parked at the table.

  As she poured Devlin a cup, Peggy Alloway said to her daughter, “Your sister’s in the living room, I think, with the girls if you want to pop in and say hello.”

  If Gracie didn’t know better, she’d think her mom was trying to get rid of her. The little smirk on Devlin’s face confirmed it, but he nodded. With his indication he’d be fine without her, she headed through the dining room into the large front room. Her sister sat on the couch, a Kindle in hand, reading. One of Faith’s two daughters dozed in the armchair and the other sprawled on the floor, watching the Macy’s parade on television.