Falling Grace

by Melissa Shirley

  “Okay, I slept with your brother. It was a moment of weakness I would gladly take back. I wasn’t drunk or anything more than horny, and I’m sorry for it in a way I can’t even explain. It doesn’t change the fact you lied to me about who you were. You let me believe Blane was the perfect date tonight, and that is your fault.”

  I knew the rules of dating and too much honesty up front about other men was a no-no that topped the list, but I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t quell the rush of words.

  Finally, he turned to me. “I’ll take you home.”

  I rolled my eyes and stood. “It’s a block. I can get myself home.”

  With nothing left to say and no reason to wait, since he obviously wouldn’t be begging me to stay, I stormed out of his apartment and down the metal steps to the street. Ignoring the darkness, I stalked through my apartment and straight to my room, then flung my shoes and the damned dress into a corner before I slipped under my cold, lonely sheets.

  Chapter 15

  Sleep came slowly, in fitful bursts of unconsciousness disturbed by every sound and creak in my apartment. The refrigerator hummed. A clock ticked. Some wayward branch scraped against the outside of my window. Every single noise jarred me awake. Yet, I remained in bed with the blankets tucked to my chin. More than once, I punched my pillow into a more comfortable shape until dawn broke outside and sun streamed through my curtains.

  Catching my reflection in the mirror on my dresser, I pulled my skin back toward my ears, smoothing the bags under my eyes that immediately reappeared when I let go. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to hide the damage caused by lack of sleep.

  “Damn.” I pulled on my robe and hunchbacked my way out to the kitchen. My phone on the counter blinked with a dozen unread texts and voicemails. My finger hovered for a second over the message envelope. What now? The first message opened.

  CHARITY: Dad had a heart attack. Call me as soon as you get this.

  My stomach flipped, caused a shooting stab inside of me.

  Instead of wasting time to open any more messages, I tried to phone my sister. I couldn’t control my trembling enough to dial while I held it and had to set the phone down onto the counter to dial her number.

  “Hello? Gracie?”

  “Char?” Oh no. My brain screamed the words a second before she told me.

  “He’s gone, Gracie. Last night. You need to come home, now.” I didn’t have to see her to know tears streamed in big droplets down her face.

  “Where’s Hope?” I’d left my baby sister home to deal with this on her own? Guilt, grief, more guilt slammed into me from all sides.

  “She tried to call you last night, and when she couldn’t get you, she flew home on her own. She’s here.”

  Stupidly, all the little details flooded into my head. I had no car to drive home, no way to get to the airport. I wasn’t even wearing underwear, just a bathrobe with a torn pocket. And my dad died. I slid down the wall and sat with knees tucked to my chest, the sound of Charity talking in my ears drowned out by the pounding of my heart.

  “Can you hear me?” When I didn’t answer, couldn’t speak around the lump of anguish in my throat, she shouted through the speaker. “Answer me, dammit. Grace.”

  “What?”

  “Can you get home?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I sat there trying to clear my mind enough to formulate a plan. Making a mental list, I dialed Jamie’s number. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

  “Hey, babe. Sorry about last night. Did you get my gift?”

  Blane? Had I dialed wrong? I focused on the smooth sound of his voice, smothered a sob behind my hand. “My dad died.”

  “Oh my God, honey. I’m sorry.”

  “I have to get dressed and find a flight home and--”

  “I’m on my way, babe. You hang in there. I’ll take care of everything.”

  A quiet click introduced silence into my ears, and I remained seated on the floor in my kitchen until he burst in, calling my name. I turned my head to the side as he crouched beside me, wrapped his arms around my shoulders and brought me against his chest.

  “What can I do to help you, sweetheart?” I shook my head, words still too much to form. “Never mind. I’ll take care of everything.” With one arm still cradling me, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, typed a command with his thumb, and held the phone to his ear.

  I blocked the sound of his voice from my head and focused on the things I could control. A breath in. A breath out.

  “Okay, sweetheart, we have two hours before we have to be at the airport. Let’s get you ready.”

  I didn’t answer. He lifted me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom. Propping me against his body, he reached into the shower. Steam clouded the air, and I breathed deep, trying to pull myself together.

  “I’m okay.” I shoved him back as he tugged the belt of my robe.

  “All right. You take a shower, and I’ll pack you a bag.”

  The spray of hot water washed away the tears I set free. I cried until the water ran cold, then stepped out and wrapped a towel Blane set on the sink around me. He’d also deposited a pair of jeans and a T-shirt along with a bra and underwear.

  With the moves of a robot in need of a good oiling, I dressed and pulled my hair back. I ignored the mirror, the ringing phone on the vanity, and the knock at the door.

  Blane poked his head in and took me by the elbow. He led me to the sofa and sat me down. “I wasn’t sure what to pack, so I brought a black dress and a pants suit I found. I also got you…”

  I tuned out his words and closed my eyes, leaning back. My thoughts wouldn’t form, and I couldn’t organize the words floating through my mind into anything that resembled a command from my brain to my body. I was helpless.

  My dad died.

  * * * *

  The hustle and bustle of the airport, the voices announcing boarding for flights, and the passing of travelers as Blane led me to the terminal didn’t shake me, or so much as inspire a sound to escape from my lips. It wasn’t until the flight attendant asked me if I wanted a drink that I found the strength to speak. “Jack and Coke.”

  From the aisle seat next to me, Blane handed the woman his credit card, and a minute later, I had a cold drink in my hand. Seconds after that, an empty glass. Three or four or ten--I’d lost count--drinks later, I looked over at Blane, needing to say something, but couldn’t remember what, so I lowered my head to his shoulder and closed my eyes.

  I stumbled off the plane. Blane wrapped his hand around my waist to keep me upright and helped me through baggage claim, then into my sister’s car. Joy, one of the middle girls, stowed my bags in the trunk before she and Blane slid into the car. Faith sat in the passenger seat, eying me with enough animosity even my alcohol-induced peace shriveled. After her third over-the-shoulder glare at me, I leaned forward, my chin connecting painfully with the side of her headrest. “What? Do you have something to say?”

  “Did you drink your way home?” She spat the words between the tight line of her lips.

  “I did.”

  “And I guess you were out getting laid last night while Daddy was laying on that table dying, using his last breath to ask for you?”

  Joy gasped. Blane sat back as though he’d been slapped, and I stared at her, the fury in her eyes flashing at me. “No, Faith. I wasn’t getting laid.” Not for lack of trying, my one sober brain cell chimed in.

  “You brought your boyfriend home with you. What does that say, Grace?” Never before had my name sounded as much like a swear word.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s freaking married, smarty pants. So, turn around and mind your business.” I pushed her cheek until she faced forward and slapped my hand away.

  “Married? Jesus, Grace. That’s a new low for even you.”

  “Go to hell, Faith.”

  Blane’s fingers dug into my shoulder as he pulled me ba
ck against him. “Did Jamie tell you I’m married?” His warm breath tickled my ear, and I shoved my hair away, pulling my head back as I turned to face him.

  “It doesn’t matter who told me. It only matters who didn’t.” I slapped both hands against his chest and pushed off with enough force I slammed my head into the window. Rubbing the spot, I dropped an F-bomb with a bit of authority inspired by a lot of pain.

  Joy checked me in the rearview mirror. “Are you okay?”

  “No, Joy, I’m not okay. I’m not one bit okay.” Suddenly, the words poured out of me. “How about you? How are you and grumpy Gus doing up there? Are you okay?”

  “That’s enough, Grace.”

  “Screw you, Faith.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “How will you ever have time when you’re so busy screwing everyone else?”

  I clenched my fists in my lap. “I swear to God I’m going to kick your ass.”

  Joy yanked the wheel hard and slammed on the brakes until the car came to a shuddering stop on the shoulder. She shoved the gear shifter into park, then turned in her seat to face me. “Stop it now. We get it. You’re hurt, but so are we, and damn you, Grace, for trying to make this all about you. He loved you best, and this is one more time you let him down, but you deal with that on your own and stop taking it out on Faith and”--she turned to my sister--“you too. She can’t help who she is. She doesn’t hide it or try to excuse it, and when you need her, she always comes. Now, both of you rein it in or I’ll be the one kicking ass here. Got it?”

  Faith mumbled a reply as I nodded and Blane dragged my hand across the seat to rest on his lap.

  I spent the rest of the ride battling motion sickness, holding my gaze on a single fixed point on the back of Joy’s seat. The world around me spun as she drove. I leaned forward on my fists and stared at the floor, praying the nausea away. Before Joy brought the car to a complete stop in the driveway, I hopped out and headed for the nearest bush to throw up.

  Charity rushed off the porch and pulled my hair back as all my insides battled to join the alcohol in the perfectly manicured hedge. “Just as she left, so she returns.”

  I gave her my best version of the drunken stink-eye, and she helped me up the porch steps. Blane brought our bags in and set them in the foyer. Instead of taking me upstairs, she pushed me onto the sofa and covered me with a blanket. Joy handed me two aspirins and a glass of water. This wasn’t their first foray into dealing with drunken Grace. Faith shoved a trashcan at Blane and muttered, “Better keep this close.”

  “It was the car ride.” I closed my eyes. “I’m not drunk. It was the car ride.” Repeating it didn’t make it anymore true.

  Charity nodded. “Of course, it was. Lie down and take a nap. We’ll talk when you wake up.”

  Chapter 16

  I wiped the sleep from my eyes and used the back of the sofa to pull myself into a sitting position. With only the smallest movement, my head throbbed and my eyes threatened to explode right in their sockets.

  As though they sensed I’d left the blissfulness of sleep, my sisters descended, bringing the sting of reality in concerned gazes, teary eyes, and tight-lined mouths. Charity sat next to me, Joy took a spot on the table, and Temperance stood with her back against the fireplace, arms crossed and eyes blinking a wariness I’d seen a few times before. Hope, Prudence, and Faith were absent, the older girls obviously taking the brunt of the responsibility for me.

  “Did you guys send Blane away?”

  “He’s taking a shower. I think you might have thrown up on him in your sleep.” Charity pushed her hands through her hair.

  “I should probably apologize for that later.” Their frowns all firmly in place said they neither found me cute nor funny. I swallowed hard, back to the business of dealing with a death. “What happened to Daddy?”

  “We went out for breakfast yesterday morning, and he said he didn’t feel right. I made him promise to call Doc Weber, and he said he would, but he didn’t. When I tried to get a hold of him at lunch, he didn’t answer. I called Faith, because she was off work yesterday, and she came over to check on him. She found him on the floor in the kitchen.” Her voice thickened and tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Temperance picked up where Charity left off. “She called nine-one-one and did CPR until the paramedics got here. He woke up yesterday afternoon, and they were going to take him to surgery, but he had another attack and didn’t make it.”

  I leaned against Charity’s shoulder, the act of holding my head up too much for me.

  “He asked for you, Grace. His last thoughts were of you. Try to remember that.” Charity ran her hand over mine, gripped my fingers, and gave them a little squeeze.

  “Try to remember I wasn’t here when he asked for me?”

  She brushed her other hand along my back, up and down. “No, honey. That’s not what I meant.”

  “But it’s true. He died and I didn’t say good-bye or tell him how much I love him. I was too busy”--I flipped my gaze to Joy--“trying to get laid.”

  Temperance sighed. “That guy?”

  I shook my head. “It’s complicated.” Too complicated for a half-drunk to process, much less communicate to girls who didn’t need law degrees to put judging on their resumes.

  “We have an appointment at the funeral home tomorrow morning.” Joy wiped her eyes and another round of guilt stabbed me in the heart.

  The sun had long ago set, and rays of moonlight peeked in through the curtains. I stared out the window wishing for the heavens to open up and swallow me, taking me away from the ache in my heart. The clouds closed up. Another prayer unanswered.

  “Where’s Faith?” Not that I wanted another battle, but I always liked to know where my adversaries stood. The farther she stayed from me, the better.

  “She went home.” Faith had married right out of high school, and after college, started her own construction company with her husband. “Charity’s staying here with you and Hope tonight. We’ll all meet tomorrow morning.”

  I nodded.

  “Grace, we’re all planning to get up and talk about Daddy at the funeral. Do you want to?”

  Talk about Daddy? I couldn’t even think about him without dissolving into tears. “I don’t know.”

  “Just think about it, and we can discuss it with the director tomorrow morning.” Temperance stepped forward. “Don’t drink tomorrow, okay, Grace?”

  “You guys, I’m not like an alcoholic or anything. I don’t drink every day.”

  Three sisters aimed their disbelieving gazes at me. With the taste of stale whiskey on my tongue and a hangover that wasn’t yet an hour old, the picture I presented wasn’t that of a girl scout, but I hadn’t found the need for a twelve step program yet either. I threw my hands up, wished I hadn’t, and lay back against the couch cushion. “Fine. I won’t drink tomorrow.” I pushed away from the couch, more rolled off to my knees, then stood as if in slow motion, one unbend at a time. “I’m going up to bed.”

  “Don’t you want to eat?”

  Shaking my head and hanging on to whatever was within reach, I made my way upstairs. I passed the room Charity and Temperance shared as girls, followed by Hope and Faith’s, then Prudence and Patience’s, before finally coming to mine and Joy’s. Instead of opening my door and heading in to bed, I stared down the hall. His bed, his clothes, a world we knew nothing about hid behind that door and an army of tanks and wild animals couldn’t have stopped me from turning the knob and going inside.

  I took a deep breath. The smell of his cologne still hung on the air, and his pajamas were neatly folded on the corner of his bed. He kept a photo of Mom next to his reading glasses on the table by a copy of the Bible and a lamp made of antlers. I picked up his wallet, examined his driver’s license picture and the folio of snapshots he kept bent inside…a picture of me at my college graduation, one of Hope from her senior prom, a photo of each of us at one important event in our life or another.


  Blinking back the tears, I set the wallet down, smoothed the leather, and picked up his wedding ring, a simple silver band he’d worn all his life. It seemed wrong he was without it, and I tucked it into my pocket to bring to the funeral home. While it meant nothing to our mother, it had signified something to Daddy, and I knew he’d want it with him in his eternity.

  I sat down and picked up the Bible, flashed on an image of God, his eyes wide in disbelief. The spine was worn, creased as though it had been opened often, the ends crinkled as though he’d clutched it in his hands, felt its strength. I put my hand on top and thought of the words I’d heard so often…“So, help you God.” Yeah. So, help me, God. It wasn’t a prayer, just a part of the ceremony of a court proceeding that I doubted too many of my clients ever noticed, but at that moment, I repeated the words aloud, begging for something to make the pain gripping my insides stop.

  The tears streamed down my cheeks as I lay back on the bed, cradling his Bible, burying my face into his pillow to sob until I had no tears left, until my body had no more to give and I slept.

  The next morning, I hid my swollen eyes behind a pair of big sunglasses, hid my vodka in a travel mug of orange juice, and my sadness behind a couple of Valium tablets I found in the back of the medicine cabinet. I sat quietly in the back of the room until the funeral director recommended we choose one sister to speak for all of us and all seven of my sisters turned to face me. I held up a hand. “Oh, no. Not me. I can’t. One of you guys do it.” Panic gripped my insides. How would I ever find the words to speak when I couldn’t even hold my head up to meet their gazes and glares.

  “Grace,” Hope said, “you make speeches for a living.”

  Faith’s hiss of hatred didn’t miss its mark. “You owe this to him.”

  I blew out an alcohol-soaked breath and nodded, then stood by as they picked the flowers, the perfect color and style of casket, music, and remembrance cards. As one of the oldest daughters, I should have helped. Instead, I remained frozen in my little corner space, tucked in between a fake ficus and a table, sipping a drink that didn’t stop the ache in my soul, didn’t put conscious thoughts back in my mind.