Grounded

by Neta Jackson

  The two women brainstormed and sorted, and finally had a set list. Grace was pretty sure the band already had scores for most of these—except the songs she’d written while still a student—but Sam said she’d drop them off that weekend.

  As Sam left the house, she poked her head back inside the front door. “Hey! My sister and cousin are coming in for the weekend. You want to come have a sleepover with us tomorrow night? Do you good to just have some fun.”

  A sleepover? She hadn’t done anything like that since crazy high school days. She didn’t really know Sam’s sister and cousin—just a brief introduction after the concert in Memphis. Would feel kinda weird. “Uhhh, thanks for the invite, but think I’ll decline. Need my beauty sleep, you know.”

  It was supposed to be a joke, but Sam didn’t smile. “What you need, Grace Meredith, is some girlfriends.”

  Grace felt mildly annoyed. What did Sam know about her friends? But she couldn’t let it bother her. She really did have stuff to do this weekend and she couldn’t afford to stay up till all hours and risk getting sick again.

  Grace spent Saturday morning rehearsing several of the songs they’d selected, accompanying herself on the piano, but keeping her voice level to about a third of her normal concert strength. “Don’t want to wear out the instrument too fast too soon,” she told Oreo, who’d taken up residence on the piano bench beside her, his rumbling purrs adding a steady rhythm section. But it felt good to sing some of the old songs again …

  “I could sing of your love forever …”

  She couldn’t help smiling as the words to Martin Smith’s hit came flooding back into her memory and through her fingers on the keys. Still, she was surprised how limited her range was. She should’ve been more faithful to do the at-home vocal exercises Dr. Erskine had given her. But … there was still time.

  And there was the first song she’d composed at Greenville. “You said follow me (and yes I will but …) First I need to see what life can offer … before I bend my knee (one day I will, but …) …” Never recorded—for obvious reasons. Kind of corny, but it had reflected a real spiritual struggle she and many other students identified with back in the day. Might speak to some of today’s students too.

  Grace finally closed the lid on the piano, bundled up, and went for a walk in the welcome afternoon sunshine. The sun had traveled in a clear sky all day Saturday, sending temperatures into the forties again. Most of the snow was finally gone, the lawn chairs and saw-horses had disappeared, and flocks of chickadees could be heard twittering in the trees up and down the block.

  Several of the neighbors were out tinkering with cars or sweeping salt off their sidewalks. She nodded hello as she passed, noting that the two-flat across the street was still empty. There was another two-flat on the block, this one two houses down on her side of the street. The family on the first floor was Hispanic, with two or three cute kids Grace saw from time to time. She’d seen several other adults of various ages too. Maybe they were related. All the other houses on the block were single-story brick bungalows similar to hers, probably with functional basements. A few had one or two garret rooms in the attic with curtains in the gable windows.

  She glanced back over her shoulder. All, except for that oversized McMansion at the dead end, backing up against the cemetery. What was his story?

  As Grace reached the end of the block and turned the corner, planning to walk around to the main gate of the cemetery, she saw the Jewish family who lived on the corner walking toward her. Of course … Saturday. Probably had been to synagogue. The man sported a serious beard and wore a large black hat with a flat brim and a black suit coat, the fringes of a white prayer shawl hanging beneath it. The mother wore a long black skirt beneath her winter coat, hair gathered into some kind of covering, pushing a stroller with a sleeping toddler. Two other children—a boy wearing a yarmulke and a girl in a winter coat and dress—trotted alongside, chattering away happily, noses red from the still nippy air.

  Grace nodded, smiled, and said hello, and the woman smiled back. Her husband grunted absently as they passed. Must be Orthodox. Seemed to be a lot of Orthodox Jews living in the area. Somewhere she’d heard they had to live within walking distance of a synagogue. She wondered where it was.

  Reaching St. Mark’s Cemetery, she stretched her legs, walking as fast as her snow boots allowed. She could tell the exercise at Curves had been helpful. She avoided a graveside service—a small huddle of people under a protective tent—choosing another wide path … but realized she wasn’t being entirely successful stuffing down feelings that she should be in Houston that weekend, filling another large venue.

  At least things were coming together for the concert at her alma mater. That helped. She and Sam were going to drive—that was a relief. And she had a song list. Once the band had had time to work on the music, they could schedule several sessions and decide on the final sets, which would be important, since most of the songs were different from the New Year, New You tour—

  Things were coming together …

  An answer to prayer?

  A pair of cardinals flitted from one bare tree to another, chirping happily in the welcome sunshine. Grace stopped and turned her face upward, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Maybe God hadn’t turned a deaf ear to her after all.

  Chapter 21

  By the end of the next week, Barry Fox called to say the band was ready with the retro songs, and he and Sam scheduled a practice with Grace for that Saturday. Barry thought the mix was good—a sampling of songs by Steven Curtis Chapman, Michael W. Smith, Avalon, and Sonicflood, plus Grace’s early original songs—but he met Grace and Sam at the practice studio with a wry grin. “Just remember, a few of these guys”—he jerked a thumb toward the band members who were setting up—“were only in middle school ten years ago. They’ve never heard some of these songs.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Grace swatted his arm. “Nice way to make a girl feel old.”

  “Don’t they go to church?” Sam asked. “We still sing some of these worship songs at my church … well, okay, not many. Salem is big into black gospel. But I bet County Line and those other mega-churches do.”

  Grace thought the first practice session went well—though Sam had to remind her to hold back on volume and intensity. And even then, Grace was a little hoarse the rest of the weekend, and back on lemon-and-honey tea and frequent gargles.

  But it was March—surely spring was coming, in spite of the up-and-down temperatures. Some of the days had already made it into the fifties and sixties, along with foggy mornings, cloudy skies, and the occasional soggy drizzle. “Sure would like to see the sun, though,” Grace muttered to the cat the following Monday as she got ready to leave for her session at Curves. The countdown toward the Greenville concert seemed to be speeding up. Another practice with the band that evening, a third scheduled for Wednesday, and the drive to Greenville on Thursday.

  Whatever happened to that long, leisurely sabbatical?

  At least she’d cleaned out the bedroom closets. And the sessions with the trainer at Curves were definitely paying off—or would eventually. She felt stronger physically, actually had an appetite, and was sleeping better.

  Except on those nights when she let her mind wander into that wasteland of her failed relationship with Roger.

  Strange that she hadn’t heard from Jeff, though, for … what, over a week? He’d said he’d keep in regular touch with her during her sabbatical. When he still hadn’t called by Wednesday, she decided to call the office to give him an update. She eyed Oreo as the phone rang in her ear. “And, hmm, what am I going to do with you for three days?”

  “Grace!” Newman said when the receptionist at the Bongo Booking Agency put her through. “Believe it or not, I had you on my to-do list to call today. Sorry I haven’t been in touch, but I’ve been out of the office. Trying to get face time with each of the clients Fowler handed off to me. How are you feeling? How�
�s the prep coming for the Greenville gig?—hey, that’s this weekend! Can’t believe it! You doing okay?”

  It took Grace a moment to actually answer, “Uh, yes, I’m fine,” because her mind was still dodging Jeff’s pinball greeting. She was an item on his to-do list? Good grief, Grace. She shook off the niggling temptation to feel neglected. Talk about being oversensitive! He sounded genuinely glad to hear from her. “Thought I’d let you know I’m feeling ready for this weekend. Greenville is my alma mater, you know, so I decided to do a retro concert, putting together popular worship songs from the years I was a student there with some songs I wrote back then—”

  “Grace! What a great idea.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe, maybe not. Half the guys in my band hadn’t heard of some of the songs I chose. So it probably won’t be a walk down memory lane for today’s crop of Greenville students.”

  “Hey, shoot me the song list, will you? I still think it’s a great idea. We need to keep some of these classics alive. They’ll love it.”

  “Okay.” Grace felt warmed by his support. “I’m kind of glad this first concert after my sabbatical is Greenville. The college isn’t that big so it’ll be a small crowd.”

  “Let’s see … they’ve got you in the LaDue Auditorium. How large is that?”

  “Mm, I’m guessing it holds four hundred, give or take. If the crowd is smaller than that”—she grinned at the thought—“they’ll probably move us to the Blackroom. It’s a professional performance space with great sound and lighting, mostly for campus groups, but quite a bit smaller than LaDue. I gave a few concerts there when I was a student.”

  “So this will be quite a homecoming.”

  I laughed. “I doubt it. After all, that was almost ten years ago. Nobody there would know me personally except maybe a few of my old profs.”

  “But you might have a whole new crop of fans.”

  “Thanks, we’ll see. Well … guess I better let you go—”

  “No, no, no. Hold on. I was going to call you today, remember? Because I’ve got a new venue for you—a church in St. Louis. They had to cancel a band that got into some legal trouble, and called Bongo asking if we had an artist who could fill in. When I told them Grace Meredith might be available, they got very excited. Just got the official invitation this week.”

  Grace’s mouth went dry. “When?” It came out almost in a whisper. But Jeff didn’t seem to notice.

  “Uhh … first Saturday in April, two weeks away. That’s after the Cincinnati concert but still a few weeks before you leave on your West Coast tour. It’s a really great opportunity for you, Grace.”

  She was silent for a long minute.

  “Grace? Look, if this is too much, you don’t have to do it. But to be honest, I’ve been worried about the impact the cancellations might have on other opportunities—word tends to get around. This invitation gives you a chance to say, ‘I’m back!’ Still … it’s up to you. I mean it.”

  “Uh, when do they need to know?”

  He snorted. “Yesterday. But seriously, by tomorrow or Friday if at all possible. I’m really sorry for the crunch. Wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t such a great opportunity.”

  Tomorrow! But he did say St. Louis. That was still within driving distance of Chicago. She wouldn’t have to pass through an airport …

  Samantha picked her up at nine the next morning in a rental, a comfortable road car with a CD player and a handy GPS. She’d brought a stack of gospel CDs—“To get us in the mood!” she laughed. “Hey, don’t we have to take Oreo to that cat boarding place? Or did you ask a neighbor to come in and do scooper duty?”

  Grace shook her head as she snapped her seat belt. “Don’t really know anyone around here well enough to give them the key to my house. My brother said he could stop by this weekend—but fat lot of good that’d do since we’re coming home on Saturday. Oreo will be fine for three days. I left lots of food and water.”

  “Ooh, living dangerously. Will your curtains survive?”

  “Just drive.” Grace settled into the passenger seat, enjoying the smell of new leather—like the rustic smell of the tack room in a riding stable. That took her back—back before … everything.

  She had looked forward to the drive, but the temperature had dropped back into the forties and the forecast said strong winds. It wasn’t so bad going through the city, but once they were on Route 57 heading south through midwestern flatlands, the unhindered wind shook the car relentlessly and Sam had to white-knuckle the wheel, especially after a large semi roared past and they nearly got blown off the road in its wake.

  Grace chewed on a thumbnail and stared out the side window.

  “All right now, God,” Sam said loudly, gripping the wheel as another truck flew past, “we’ve got two of your daughters here in this car, and we need some of those guardian angels the Bible talks about. We’re on our way to do the Father’s business, so we’re asking for your protection from wind, from any crazy drivers, from accidents, from flat tires, or any other thing that ol’ Satan might try to throw at us to keep us from doing your will. So I’m thankin’ you now for keeping us safe!”

  Grace almost laughed. It was such an in-your-face prayer—but she murmured, “Amen,” and then eyed Sam sideways. “Wish I could pray like you.”

  “Like me? What do you mean?”

  “So confident that God’s listening. Going to take care of it.”

  Sam tossed her a look. “Well, of course he’s listening! That’s what prayer is, talking to God, just telling him whatever’s on your heart.”

  Grace glanced away. “I know.” How could she tell Sam she felt uncertain whether she was on “the Father’s business”? She’d thought so, fulfilling her mission to share God’s purity message with a new generation of young people. But it all seemed to fall apart so quickly after her last tour. So what was she doing now? Just doing her job? Just fulfilling her commitments? Was God—would God still bless her concerts? Or was she still paying for the past?

  She still hadn’t called Jeff with an answer for the church in St. Louis. She wanted to talk it over with Sam first, ask her to pray about it with her straightforward trust that God cares and would answer. But while Sam was keeping the car on the road under high-wind conditions didn’t seem like the time.

  They pulled off at Champaign-Urbana, home to the University of Illinois, to get some lunch, and Grace finally brought up the St. Louis option over fish burgers and milkshakes.

  Sam licked her fingers and chewed. “Pretty cheeky to expect you to show up with only two weeks’ notice. Maybe you should check with the band.”

  Check with the band … of course. If they couldn’t go, her only option would be tracks. Not her preferred approach. She loved the immediacy and energy of performing with a band. “What about you? Is the distance drivable?”

  Sam stopped chewing, her eyes on Grace. “Okay, can I be honest here? I wasn’t exactly hired to be your driver—not that I’m complaining about this weekend, mind you. I offered. But I don’t know, Grace … I’m not really enjoying this drive.”

  Grace grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry, Sam—”

  “Okay, look. I’m not saying no. But, talk to Barry and the band, see what they say, and … let’s pray about it. That’s the bottom line anyway. Is this the Father’s business? When do you have to give an answer?”

  “Today. Tomorrow latest.”

  “Today!” Sam snorted. “Oh, brother. No time to waste.” She reached for Grace’s hand, bowed her head right there in the fast-food place, and asked God to show them the path to take.

  By the time they got back on the road, the wind had died down and the traffic had lightened up. “Thank you, Jesus!” Sam laughed. “Maybe God’s giving us a thumbs-up about that trip to St. Louis.” She stuck a WOW Gospel CD with last year’s gospel hits into the player and happily sang along with Marvin Sapp and Nicole Mullen. “I don’t have to save my voice, so there,” she laughed.

  Understatement. Sam had a good, stron
g voice.

  They pulled into the parking lot of the hotel around two thirty. Grace raised an eyebrow. “Super 8?”

  Sam shrugged as she unloaded the luggage from the trunk. “Best I could find close to the campus. It’s Greenville. Not that many options. If you’d rather try further away …”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” And it was. Clean rooms side by side. Comfy bed. A couple restaurants close by. Complimentary breakfast. Had she been getting spoiled by the higher-end hotels on the New Year, New You tour in major cities? Probably. How many other ways had she let her recent success go to her head?

  Sam called Barry and put the phone on speaker. The band was on the road and would be getting in later that evening. They planned to set up in the college auditorium the next morning and be ready to practice with Grace by eleven. “Great,” Sam said. “But hold on. Grace wants to talk to you.”

  “Whoa!” Barry said after Grace outlined the invitation from the St. Louis church. “The guys were just talkin’ about doin’ some local gigs in Chicago before the West Coast tour. But … St. Louis? I’ve heard of that church you mentioned. Some big names have done concerts there. I think the guys would buy it. We could drive the van—don’t think it’s much further than Greenville, maybe another hour. The local gigs don’t pay anything anyway. So … make up your mind and let us know. By tomorrow, though.”

  Grace handed the phone back and eyed Samantha. “So … what do you think?” She’d been half hoping the band was already booked so she’d have an excuse to say no.

  Sam tossed her corkscrew twists with a grin. “Looks like the door’s still standing open—and I always say, if God opens a door, walk through it unless it closes in your face. Who knows what hearts are waiting to be touched by your songs in St. Louis? I say go for it! We can figure out how to get there later. Maybe the band can squeeze us into the van this once?”

  Grace looked at her, wide-eyed. “There’s barely room for the guys and their Cheetos.”