The Color of Grace

by Linda Kage

  “Ryder,” his father growled, grunting as he put his entire body into keeping his son from physically rushing Barry. “Just shut up.”

  “No. I don’t know who this jerk wad thinks he is, or which two guys he thinks she’s been with, but I can tell you I never touched her. And neither did Todd; he complained to me about it every day.”

  “Stop!” I screamed, covering my ears as if there were a million more voices in my head. “Please stop.”

  Barry pulled my mom around to face her. “Kate?”

  Mom jerked her arm away from him. “How could you?” she hissed.

  He actually looked shocked she didn’t believe him. “I didn’t,” he said, but Mom came at him as if she was going to hit him.

  He retreated away from her.

  “You touched my daughter, you sick, sick—” If Mrs. Yates hadn’t let go of me to catch her around the waist, she probably would’ve attacked.

  “Whoa,” she said in a steadying voice. “Please try not to kill anyone in my house. It tends to leave nasty stains on the carpet.”

  “How could you?” Mom repeated, straining against Mrs. Yates.

  “It’s her fault,” Barry accused, pointing at me. “She was begging for it. Every time she walked around the house in those tight little—”

  “Get out!” Mom boomed. “Get out right now.”

  Barry gaped. “You can’t throw me out; this isn’t your house.”

  “I’d listen to the lady if I were you,” Mr. Yates advised. “Before I let my son loose on you.”

  Barry eyed Ryder and promptly surged toward the door, slamming it as he fled. For a moment following his departure, no one moved. Then my mother wilted, slumping against Mrs. Yates with these great, heaving sobs.

  “Mom?” I said, my voice all wobbly and hoarse. I hurried to her and she let go of Mrs. Yates long enough to reach for me and clutch me hard.

  “Oh, Grace. Grace,” she moaned, rocking me back and forth, making my own tears start up again. “My baby. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Lifting my face from her shoulder, I wiped at my drenched cheeks. “After all the fighting and the doctor’s office, I…I didn’t know if you’d believe me.”

  Gritting her teeth, she closed her eyes and pulled me close again. I rested my cheek against her neck as her tears saturated my hair, wetting my scalp. “I’ll always believe you,” she said, making the insistent, whispered promise. “Always.”

  I nodded, holding her close. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” She tightened her grip. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I brought that man into our lives.”

  I closed my eyes, melting into my mother’s warmth, inhaling her familiar fragrance. Standing there in her soothing embrace as she rocked us gently back and forth, I listened to Mr. Yates’s quiet voice as he called the police and Mrs. Yates as she lectured Ryder for not telling them about my situation.

  Then my mom said something I’ll never forget. She sobbed against my temple as she moaned, “I want Daniel.”

  Chapter 25

  As Mom and I continued our pity-fest together, sobbing and crying all over each other and clutching one another as if we’d just survived a nuclear blast, Mrs. Yates set her hands on her hips and nailed Ryder with a scowl.

  “If you knew something like this was happening to one of your friends, then why in heaven’s name didn’t you come to your father and me about it?”

  Ryder shrank back a step and opened his mouth a good second before he thought up an answer. “I…I wasn’t even totally sure what was wrong with her. She refused to tell me anything. How could I come to you when I didn’t even know what was going on?”

  His mother drew in a breath to respond, but he rushed to explain, “She was scared to death and didn’t want to be home while her mom was at work. That’s all I knew. So I figured I’d just stay the confidential, supportive friend she needed until she was ready to talk. And then…I would’ve come straight to you and Dad.”

  Shoulders slumping from Ryder’s practical explanation, his mom glanced at me. The hard-set frown on her face melted into a look of pity. “I guess I can’t blame the girl for wanting a place to escape.” Then with a regretful huff, she conceded, “And I can’t say I’m not proud of you for taking her in when she clearly needed a friend.”

  “Dear Lord,” Mom croaked as she listened to Mrs. Yates. “A place to escape? Where are we going to go, Grace? All our things are in his house.” Her arms tightened around me as a shiver rippled through both of us.

  “You can stay here tonight,” Mrs. Yates offered. After sending a frown Ryder’s way, she added, “In the guest room.”

  He gave a rueful grin. “Hey, if I thought I could’ve snuck her down the hall past your room without you noticing, that’s exactly where I would’ve set her up.”

  When his mother only darkened her scowl, he lifted his hands. “Honest, Mom. Do you even realize how uncomfortable that couch is in my room? I’m glad to have my bed back.”

  With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Mrs. Yates turned from him to face Mom.

  “I’m Sandra, by the way. Sandra Yates. That over there is my husband, Michael.” She motioned to the older version of Ryder as he hung up the phone. “And of course, you probably know Ryder.” She pointed out her son.

  Mom gave an audible swallow as she wiped at her face and glanced one by one at the three Yates family members staring back. “Um…I’m Kate.”

  “Once an officer arrives, he’ll probably take a report, and since this is a he-said-she-said case with no proof—” With an abrupt halt in her speech, Mrs. Yates glanced toward me. “There’s no proof, right?”

  “Uh…” Rattled by the abrupt question, I bobbed my head. “Right.”

  Nodding, Sandra continued. “And since you’re the age of consent, which is sixteen in this state…”

  This time she directed a look toward Ryder, who said, “Yes, she’s sixteen.”

  “Then he might charge Dr. Struder with simple battery or rude, insulting touching. Typical punishment will most likely be probation.”

  “My mom’s a probation office,” Ryder interrupted to explain, which made Mom and I assume the bulb-light-turning-on expression.

  “We can have the police stand by tomorrow while you remove all your items from his house, if you like.”

  Mom breathed out a breath and squeezed my hands. “I would like that very much. Bless you.” Glancing at me, she gave a tremulous, watery smile. “Thank goodness our house in Hillsburg hasn’t sold yet, huh?”

  The truth suddenly struck me. We would be going home, back to Hillsburg, back to my old school, back to my friends. For a split second, joy bloomed inside me.

  Then I paused and glanced Ryder’s way.

  He must’ve come to the same conclusion. His eyes flashed to me, and in their depths I saw deep regret. But he forced a smile that didn’t reach his sad gaze.

  * * * *

  Mrs. Yates’s guess turned out to be correct on all counts. Barry didn’t go to jail that night, or any other night, for that matter. When an officer arrived at the Yates’ house to take our report, I wasn’t up to discussing the gory details with anyone else. But my mother—and Ryder’s parents—were adamant.

  “I want the book thrown at this monster,” Mom raged.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Yates agreed. “Throw a book; like the Bible. Maybe he’ll learn a few well-needed morals.”

  But to my relief, the issue stayed relatively low key. There would be no book throwing and no big long trial. I wouldn’t have to sit in a witness stand and try to make twelve jurors believe me.

  I could picture it now. Innocent tears streaming down my face as I pointed a shaky finger toward Barry, sitting next to his lawyer. I’m not lying. He kissed me. Honest, I would oh-so dramatically proclaim as everyone in the world watched, dissecting every nuance of my voice and body language to decipher whether or not I was telling the truth. The mental image made me shiver. No, thank you. The re
al outcome would be nice and simple, easy to put behind me and move on with life.

  I wish I could say the same for my mother. After Mrs. Yates showed us to her guestroom and Mom and I huddled under the covers next to each other, I listened to her sniff and cry as quietly as possible for the rest of the night.

  When I woke the next morning, I felt groggy and sore. I glanced across the mattress at Mom, who’d finally passed out. Her face looked haggard and worn as if she’d battled sleep and it had finally conquered her and then locked her prisoner in a cell of nightmares. I wanted to shake her awake just to take that awful look off her face, but she had to be exhausted, so I quietly slipped out of bed, used the bathroom and eased open the door of our guestroom to smell bacon and coffee.

  I followed my nose through Ryder’s house and into his huge kitchen to find him—not his mother or father—standing at the stove flipping eggs. I stopped dead, my bare toes chilling against the cool tile floor. Crossing my arms over my chest to keep in body heat, I watched him cook.

  He looked just as appealing from the back as he did the front. Hair full of bed head, one thick lock stood up on the crown of his head. If I’d been close enough, I probably would’ve been tempted to reach out and smooth the rooster tail down. He wore sweatpants and a purple t-shirt with a white dragon breathing fire across his back.

  Warmth stirred under my skin. I wondered if I’d ever again meet anyone who made me feel as tingly and alive as simply looking at Ryder Yates made me feel.

  He must’ve sensed my presence because he glanced over, did a double take, and then grinned at me. The swelling on his face had gone down overnight, but the bruises had darkened considerably.

  “Morning,” he said, his face lighting with the same giddy breathlessness I felt swirling inside me. Setting his spatula down and coming toward me, he sucked his lip between his teeth before saying, “I hope you like bacon and eggs. It’s all I know how to cook.”

  I tightened my lips to keep the huge smile that would’ve no doubt split my face clean in half from exploding across my cheeks. “I love them,” I said, and even if I hadn’t they would’ve become my favorite dish at that very moment.

  Relief bloomed in his eyes. “Orange juice?”

  I gave a nod.

  Grinning the exact grin I was trying to contain, he pulled a chair from the table that had been set for five. “Then, have a seat, my lady,” he swept his hand out, “and it’ll be my great honor to serve you.”

  I hesitated, feeling awkward about being the recipient of such gracious service. But he looked so eager to please me, I hurried forward and planted my tush on the chair. Ryder scooted me in and then moved away. After opening the refrigerator, he pulled out a pitcher of orange juice, then proceeded to pour me a glass. I watched as he set the filled cup on the counter and piled a serving plate with eggs and bacon. While he was busy, two pieces of golden brown bread popped out of the toaster.

  Unable to sit still and watch him do all the work, especially with his hands still wrapped in gauze the way they were, I pushed from my chair and went to the counter where a plate of two pieces of buttered toast already sat. Extracting the two freshest slices from the toaster, I silently buttered them. Ryder noticed my help a second later.

  “Hey,” he scolded. “Sit back down. You’re the guest here.”

  “I don’t mind.” After buttering both pieces, I put two more into the toaster, turning just in time to catch Ryder carrying the platter of breakfast to the table.

  “The orange juice is for you,” he called, his back facing me.

  Since my mouth was morning-breath dry, I gulped down a good dose of juice.

  Ryder returned to me just as I let out a quenched sigh.

  He smiled as we faced each other. But the longer our gazes held, the sadder he began to look until he huffed out a short, depressed breath. “You’re going to transfer back to Hillsburg, aren’t you?”

  Glancing down at my half-empty glass, I nodded. “Probably.”

  “Well…” He forced a smile when I lifted my face. “At least you’ll return to your friends again.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed quietly.

  He stepped toward me. “I’m going to miss you, though.”

  I couldn’t repeat the sentiment, even though that’s exactly what I felt. Despite the way my orange juice had just hydrated me, my throat went dry. “Thank you,” I blurted. “Thank you for…for breakfast, and letting me stay over, and standing up for me last night, and…and all of it.”

  He eased another centimeter forward. “No, it was nothing.”

  My gaze probed his. “Maybe not to you,” I closed that last inch between us and rose up onto my tiptoes, “but it was everything to me.”

  Closing my eyes, I tilted my face and pursed my lips. A warm mouth met mine. Ryder’s fingers grazed the side of my cheek and slid into my hair until he cupped my head.

  I felt lifted up, weightless and free while every pore in my body exploded with excitement, buzzing out prickles of joyous sensation to all my extremities until, oh yeah, my bare toes curled. Literally.

  Nothing had ever been so sweet yet exhilarating and completely satisfying. When I finally stepped back, I felt changed. Brand new and sparkly.

  Opening my eyes, I found Ryder looking as dazed as I felt. Then he blinked and began to beam.

  I beamed back.

  Licking my lips and relishing the taste of orange juice and Ryder, I said, “I hope we can still keep in touch after I’m gone.”

  Ryder’s grin was pure ornery. “Well, I think we better. After all, we still have to name our first kid Absolutely.”

  Then he swooped in and kissed me again…until he bumped his cut lip against mine. Wrenching back, he muttered, “Ouch.”

  We grinned at each other until we started laughing.

  * * * *

  Barry only tried to cause a little trouble. For a few days after the big showdown in the Yates’ living room, he kept phoning Mom, trying to get her to believe him and take him back. But a cop friend of Mrs. Yates’s paid him a little visit, threatening a restraining order, which would’ve endangered his dentistry. And we never heard from Dr. Struder again.

  Which was just fine with me. I was more than ready to put the last month of my life behind me.

  Most of it, anyway.

  On the evening before I transferred back to Hillsburg, after I’d survived my last day at Southeast, Mom and I visited the Osage courthouse where my art project hung on display along with three dozen other students’ masterpieces.

  For a minute, we simply wandered around, studying each display we came across until I spotted mine.

  “There.” I pointed.

  But someone was already standing in front of it, studying both prints. I could tell he was Ryder even before he turned. When he saw me, he smiled and moved toward us.

  Taking both my hands, he kissed my cheek and breathed, “It’s perfect.”

  I didn’t think anything was as perfect as he was—black eye and all—but I appreciated his praise, flattered enough to squeeze his fingers and blush.

  Together, we stared at my pair of photographs hanging on the wall. After a little digital touchup, I’d turned them into black and white shots, only putting red in the picture of the glove lying alone in the snow and red in the picture of my dad’s lumber jacket hanging on a hook in front of a nice warm, lit fireplace. I had titled one photograph Lost and the other Found, but I doubt I need to explain which I had named which.

  Next to me, Mom gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Grace,” she breathed. “Your father’s coat.” Tears sparkled in her lashes as she grinned at the framed picture.

  Even happier I’d managed to please her, I reached out and grasped her hand.

  The three of us stood there longer than necessary, simply studying my work. After a while, my mom excused herself, moving off toward the restrooms as she sniffed and dug a tissue from her purse.

  Ryder stepped closer and kissed my hair. “Want to lo
ok at anyone else’s art projects?”

  I rested my head on his shoulder. “Sure.”

  We cruised the marble floors, staring at different projects: paintings, sketches, sculptures. We’d just stopped in front of a watercolor of birds when a familiar male voice greeted us from behind.

  “Mr. Yates. Miss Indigo.”

  Ryder and I turned to find the school counselor and his daughter approaching.

  “Laina!” I exclaimed. “What’re you doing here?”

  She pointed at the tag below the bird picture, which proclaimed her the artist. “My dad wanted to see my art project,” she said before rolling her eyes. “Though I’m not sure why. He saw it at school, like, every day.”

  “It wasn’t every day,” Mr. Howard grumbled, pausing beside her. “I only stopped in once or twice to take a peek.”

  I grinned. “I had no idea you took an art class too.”

  Laina nodded. “Art 3. I’ve been in it since I was a freshman.”

  “Well, I love your birds.”

  “I can’t believe anyone can manage so much detail with watercolor,” Ryder added. “How the heck do you keep the colors from running together?”

  Laina blushed at his praise and ducked her head but answered, “With a really small brush.”

  As Ryder asked more questions about mixing colors, I glanced at Laina’s father and bit my lip.

  “Can I talk to you a moment?” I rushed out the question before I could change my mind.

  He’d been standing quietly beside his daughter, his coat hanging from his clasped hands he’d folded together in front of him. But he gave a quick nod and answered, “Of course.”

  I didn’t feel like I needed any kind of counseling. Mom, however, thought I was all kinds of traumatized. She had been ready to pay some professional to talk to me when I stopped her, saying I’d try the school counselor first. So I’d spoken briefly to Mr. Howard about the whole Barry incident. He’d been very helpful, which surprised me because I hadn’t even thought I’d need to talk to anyone.

  Now I hoped he could help me with one more thing.

  After waving Laina and Ryder off, we stepped to the side, our heads bent together.