Rose flipped off the stove and turned to Grace. "I can't begin to imagine all that you've been through, sweetheart. For whatever hardships you''ve had to endure, I'm truly sorry. You are such a sweet, beautiful young woman and I am so glad to have you in my life. I promise you, as long as you're here with us, I will protect you. I''m afraid I haven't done a very good job of it so far, but you have my word that Mike will never hurt you again."
She drew Grace into her arms. They were two wounded souls who needed each other and had somehow managed to find one another. Grace went to bed that night and begged God to spare Rose's life. She wasn't perfect, but she was the best thing that''d happened to her in a long time, and Grace was beginning to need her.
God help her, she didn't want to, but she did.
In early May, a crowd of people gathered around the English department bulletin board, looking at the results of the essay contest. When Grace arrived, they clapped. She looked around to see who they were clapping for and realized it was her.
She'd done it. She'd won the contest! Her essay would now be entered into the National Essay Contest. When she shared the news with Rose, the two of them whooped and danced around the kitchen in celebration. Then she wrote to Maggie and Valerie to share the good news.
In the last week of school, an announcement came over the loud speaker. "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I come to you this morning with some excellent news. It seems that our school, and one outstanding student in particular, has received national recognition. It is my pleasure to announce to you that Grace Elizabeth Adams is the winner of the National Essay Contest. Congratulations, Miss Adams, on a job well done."
Excitement tumbled through her. She couldn't believe it. That meant that she would have her essay published in Reader's Digest. It felt like the start of something big.
Grace was asked to read the essay at the senior class graduation ceremony--an honor for a freshman student--which she readily agreed to. She got to invite her family, and even Valerie came. When graduation day arrived, Grace walked up to the platform, trying hard to steady her voice as she spoke.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Grace Adams, and I have been asked to read my essay to you tonight. The name of my essay is Sold into Servitude, Life in a Nineteenth Century Japanese Bordello."
Though she didn't speak them aloud, there were a lot of similarities between Hiroko's life and her own. Both had been abandoned by their birth parents and forced into lives they never would have chosen for themselves. Both had to fight for their survival. Both had a friend who was like a sister. Hiroko had June, Grace had Valerie.
When she finished speaking, the entire gymnasium erupted into applause. She watched in surprise as the audience rose to their feet and continued to clap. It took only a moment to realize that they were clapping for her, and when she did, her smile could not be contained.
She had the same feeling two weeks later when she received her copy of the Reader's Digest issue that contained her story.
"Millions of people will be reading it!" Rose beamed with pride.
No words could describe how she felt as she handed the accompanying check over to the bank clerk. She was opening her first ever savings account.
Over the summer, Rose enrolled Grace in a creative writing class offered as part of the summer curriculum at the adult education center. Grace loved the class and learned a lot. She wrote and submitted two more articles to Reader's Digest, one of which they published.
Chapter Eleven
Grace's sophomore year of high school passed uneventfully. Rose finished her cancer treatments and had regained her strength and her hair, which was now short and curly. By Christmas, she felt like a full-fledged member of the family. Even Mike seemed to enjoy having her around, though she still kept her distance from him when nobody else was around.
In the spring, Grace had another article published by Reader's Digest and one in Redbook magazine.
Because they were in the same school district now, she and Valerie got to spend time together on weekends. Over spring break, Valerie stayed the entire week with them. She even went with them on their summer vacation to Rose's family home in upstate New York.
By the end of summer, Grace let her guard down. She was no longer waiting for the rug to be yanked out from under her. She was as happy as she'd ever been. She was part of a family who loved her, and she loved them.
In the fall of her junior year, however, Grace noticed that Rose looked tired and needed more help around the house than usual.
"Rose, are you feeling okay?" she asked one night while they were doing the dishes together.
To Grace's horror, Rose cried.
"Rose, what is it?"
Rose confessed that her cancer had never fully gone away and had now spread to her spine. She hadn't yet told Mike or Joe, and asked Grace not to say anything.
Rose's confession was like a punch in the stomach.
Oh, God, I should've known better.
"So you'll go back into treatment, right?" she asked. Rose had gotten better once. She could do it again.
Rose shook her head. "I'll do some radiation to help with the pain, but in the end, there's nothing they can do, Grace.""
The air drained from her lungs and hot, angry tears dripped slowly down her cheeks. She wasn't sure whether she was more angry with herself for allowing herself to need Rose, or with God for giving her something beautiful and then, once again, taking it away. The rug had been all but yanked from under her, and before she fell completely flat on her face, she bolted from the kitchen and ran upstairs to her room.
The next morning her eyes were red and swollen, and Joe asked her what was wrong as he drove toward the school.
"I don't want to talk about it."
They drove the rest of the way, and home again, in silence.
Rose told the rest of her family later that week and things were very solemn around the house for months. As Christmas approached, Grace convinced Mike and Joe that they needed to make Christmas special since it might be Rose's last one.
They bought the tree right after Thanksgiving so they could enjoy it as long as possible. Mike bought every decoration and light set he could find and they spent an entire weekend decorating. Mike even took them all to a concert at Rockefeller Center in the city.
By spring, the cancer had spread to Rose's liver, and she declined rapidly. They set up a bed in the living room for her so she didn't have to climb the stairs. By the end of the school year, they had no choice but to call hospice.
Grace sat with her most days until late at night. Rose slept most of the time while Grace wrote in her journal or sketched. When Rose was awake, Grace read to her or they talked.
One evening, Grace sat with her sketchbook on her lap, working diligently to finish her most recent drawing. She was almost done when she looked up and found Rose watching her.
Rose touched her head and, feeling the pink stocking cap that helped to keep her warm, she grimaced. "This thing won't be in the sketch, will it?"
Grace only smiled and shook her head. Mike had selected a few of his favorite photographs of Rose and given them to her for her sketches. She promised to do a few for him and for Joe, but she also wanted a couple for herself. To remember the woman whom she had come to love deeply.
When she finished the sketch, she showed it to Rose, who gasped in surprise. "It's me on my wedding day." Her eyes welled at the memory. ""It was the second happiest day of my life."
"What was the first?"
"It's a toss-up between the day Joe was born and the day you came to us."
Grace kept her tears in private. She wanted to be strong for Rose, and for Mike and Joe, but Rose made it impossible not to cry now. A tear trickled down her cheek and she laid the sketch on the bed, pulled her chair closer, and held Rose's frail hand.
Rose opened her arms to Grace, and she climbed onto the bed and lay beside her. They held each other and eventually fell asleep in each other's arms. Whe
n she woke up in the early hours of the morning, someone had placed a blanket over the two of them.
She closed her eyes and pressed her body close to Rose and felt an arm clasp tightly around her. She knew it wouldn't be long now, and she knew her heart was going to break, but she wanted to give her love to Rose and be loved in return.
Just for tonight.
Just this once.
Chapter Twelve
Grace watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. She was only vaguely aware that she was broken. She wasn't sorry she'd given her heart to Rose, but she knew she would never do it again. Could never do it again. It just hurt too much.
When the service was over, she packed her belongings. With Rose gone and Joe going to college soon, she knew she was no longer wanted. Besides, she could only imagine what Mike might do if he was drinking and didn't have Rose there to hold him back. So Mike arranged for her to move back to the group home, where she spent the rest of the summer speaking only as much as she needed to in order to keep her life going, day to day.
Shortly before her senior year began, Grace moved in with another foster family. Linda and Kevin James had three foster daughters already, and Grace shared a room with the oldest one, Carla. This was the fourth home Carla had been in over the past year, and after a few days, Grace understood why. By the end of the first week, Carla had accused her of stealing her things and made a big deal out of it.
A month later, Linda and Kevin called a family meeting and explained that someone had stolen a hundred dollars from Linda's wallet. None of the girls admitted to stealing it, so Kevin searched the girl's rooms. They found the money hidden between the mattresses of Grace's bed, along with the other items that Carla claimed she had stolen. Grace was sent back to the group home the next day, and Carla waved goodbye with a smirk on her face.
The next home was not much better. Her roommate there, Velma, smoked pot and when their foster parents began getting suspicious, Velma planted the marijuana in Grace's underwear drawer. This time, both girls were sent packing.
After the last foster home, Grace kept to herself. She spoke to no one at the group home, and even started getting in fights with the other girls. And for the first time, she was doing poorly in school.
Sessions with the social worker from the group home proved fruitless. Grace was uncooperative and skipped her sessions whenever possible. By early February, it was clear that further intervention was needed, and Grace began seeing Carolyn Thomas, a child psychologist from Westchester County Social Services.
Grace sat down in Carolyn's office and looked around at the diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall. Wellesley, with an MSW from Barnard. Pretty impressive credentials. Carolyn was black with a short, sassy haircut and warm brown eyes. She looked at Grace with an easy smile.
"How are you today, Grace?"
She shrugged.
"Tell me what I can do to help you," Carolyn said.
Grace shot her a look. "You want to help me? Just leave me alone."
"Okay, well, I'll tell you what. The state requires you to be here twice a week for an hour, but they don't dictate what happens inside this room. I don''t know about you, but I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. There are some magazines on the table if you want to read while I work. Next time you can bring your homework, or whatever you want, and we can just work silently for an hour. How does that sound?"
Grace's lips curved slightly upward and she nodded. Grabbing a magazine from the stack on the table, she sat back down on the sofa and flipped through the pages. Forty-five minutes later, a buzzer sounded.
"Time's up," Carolyn said. "See you Thursday.""
During their next three sessions, Grace sat quietly on the loveseat and sketched while Carolyn worked on her computer. They didn't exchange a word. Halfway through the fifth session, Carolyn glanced up and caught Grace watching her.
"What're you sketching?" Carolyn asked.
Grace shrugged and shifted her gaze back to her drawing.
Carolyn crossed the room and sat down in the chair opposite Grace. "May I see what you're drawing?"
Grace pursed her lips, then tentatively handed the sketchpad to her therapist.
Carolyn gasped at the likeness of herself. "This is unbelievable. You are very talented, Grace."
"Thanks."
"May I look at some of the others?"
Grace nodded and Carolyn flipped through the pages. She stopped on one sketch and turned it toward Grace. "Who is this woman?"
"She's no one."
Carolyn paused before responding. "Well, she must be someone. There are a number of sketches of her."
Grace shrugged and cast her eyes on Carolyn's expensive red alligator pumps. "She's just someone I dream about. I don't know who she is."
Carolyn handed back the sketchpad and leaned back in the brown leather armchair to study Grace. "What role does she play in your dreams?"
Pausing to consider the question, Grace tilted her head and cast her eyes upward. "Lots of different roles. Mother...friend...even lover."" She decided not to bother explaining that June hadn't always been a woman.
Carolyn wrote on the pad she kept on the small table next to her chair. "I see. And do you remember the first time you dreamed about her?"
"June Crandall. Her name is June Crandall."
Carolyn looked up from her pad. "In every dream her name is June Crandall?"
"Yep. Same name, same face, every time. Even when she was a he."
Carolyn raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever met someone by that name?"
"Uh-uh."
Carolyn tapped her pen on the notepad, a curious expression on her face. "How old were you when you first dreamed about June?"
Grace looked at the clock over the door. "Aren't we out of time or something?"
Carolyn glanced at her watch and sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid so." She walked Grace to the door. "See you Thursday. Thanks for sharing your drawings with me. They truly are amazing."
When Grace arrived for their next session, Carolyn asked her whether she preferred to sketch or talk. Grace liked that she had the option. Like there was no pressure, either way. "I don't care. Talk, I guess.""
Carolyn offered Grace a soda, which she gratefully accepted, then picked up her pad and pen and turned to her client. "How are things at school?"
"Fine." But things were not fine. Counting the school she was in now, she'd been to three that year. She hadn't even bothered trying to fit in.
"I'm glad to hear it," Carolyn said. "Do you want to talk some more about June Crandall?"
Hoping Carolyn could help her understand who June was, what she meant to her, she agreed.
"Good. Do you remember the first time she appeared?"
"It was when Sister Maggie left. She got transferred to a convent in Boston."
"And you two were close?"
"She was like a mother to me. The only mother I'd ever known. I didn't even get to say goodbye. They just whisked her off in the early morning. I chased after them, but I was too late."
Carolyn shook her head. "I'm sorry, Grace. That must've been really painful."
Grace lowered her head and nodded.
"What happened after that?"
"I'm not exactly sure. I remember tripping...falling...someone laying me in my bed. I grabbed Theodore Izzle--he's my stuffed bear--and the next thing I knew, I was standing in a field with a hoe in my hand.""
"So...you fell asleep and had a dream about standing in a field with a hoe in your hand?"
"I guess so, but I don't remember falling asleep. It was more like going through a dark tunnel and waking up in the field."
"Tell me about the dream. What were you doing in the field?"
"I was working. I lived in a concentration camp with my mother. It was 1942. My name was Adrianka Crandall and my mother was June Crandall. I was happy, even though the food was awful and I had to work so hard because...I had a mother, and she loved me. I went to sleep in her arms and woke up in
my bed at St. Andrews."
Carolyn wrote furiously and Grace watched her. When she was done, she asked Grace what St. Andrews had been like after Maggie left.
"Lonely. The kids there were mean. I tried to make friends, but the girls thought I was strange and didn't want to be my friend. The nuns were nice enough I guess, but they weren't like Sister Maggie."
"That must have been difficult."
"You think?"
"Did you keep in touch with Sister Maggie?"
Grace shifted in her seat. "Yes, I wrote to her until a year or so ago." She'd stopped writing Maggie after Rose died. Before that, she''d always been able to find a silver lining in any situation, but her silver linings had all dried up.
"Did you tell Sister Maggie about what life was like for you after she left?"
"No. I didn't want her to worry about me, so I told her I'd made lots of friends and was having fun."
"It sounds to me like you were being more like a mother to Maggie than the other way around."
Grace shrugged. "Maybe. I just loved her that much."
"Who's been there for you, Grace, to listen to you, to take care of you and help you with your problems?"
"Well, I had a pretend dog named Fiona once, and she helped, and of course there's Theodore Izzle, who has been there for me my whole life. But other than that...it''s just been me."
"Why is this bear so special to you? Did Sister Maggie give it to you?"
"No, it was my mother's. It's all I have of her."
"Tell me about the next time June appeared in your dream."
Grace squirmed in her seat. More than anything she wanted to understand her dreams, to understand who June was, but she wasn't prepared to talk about Robert Sampson. She'd managed to shove all her feelings about that night into a tiny pocket of her soul and stitch it closed, and she wasn't prepared to open it up. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Tears pooled in her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. Carolyn leaned forward with a box of tissues, and Grace snatched a handful and blotted her eyes.
"I'm sensing that the next time June appeared followed another difficult moment for you."
The Many Lives of June Crandall Page 6