by Neta Jackson
Grace grinned. “I don’t know. I didn’t really think anything of it. My mom used to wear an apron all day around the house.”
Estelle rolled her eyes upward and patted the top of her head. “Well, at least I took off that ugly net cap I gotta wear when I’m cookin’ at the shelter. Now, you better tell me first thing if you ever see me comin’ home wearin’ that.”
Her new neighbor followed Grace into the kitchen, chatting away as Grace made a pot of herbal tea and prepared a tray with a plate of almond-and-chocolate biscotti. Once they’d settled back into the living room with their teacups, Estelle said, “Well, I came to pray and I don’t want to take too much of your time.” She set her cup down and pulled a worn Bible out of her tote bag. “Came across this prayer the apostle Paul prayed for his friends in Colossae, and it seemed a good place to start. Do you mind?”
“No, no, of course not.” Well, this was different than what she’d expected.
“Well, Lord,” Estelle began, her eyes scanning the open page in her Bible, “I want to thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, as we pray for my dear sister here, ever since I heard of her faith in Christ Jesus and of her love for all the saints—especially her love for the young people who attend her concerts. Her faith and love spring from the hope stored up for her in heaven, ever since she first heard the truth of the Good News. This same Good News is going out all over the world and bearing fruit everywhere by changing lives, just as it changed her life from the day she first heard and understood the truth about God’s wonderful grace …”
She was reading from her Bible, but paraphrasing it as a personal prayer—for her. Grace felt a little uncomfortable about all the spiritual things Estelle was saying about her, but she closed her eyes and listened to the rich voice, which was becoming more passionate.
“… For this reason we want to keep on prayin’ for her, askin’ that she would be filled with the knowledge of your will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding—especially, Lord, as she seeks the focus you want for this upcoming concert tour. And we pray that she would walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing you, bein’ fruitful in every good work and growin’ in the knowledge of God, strengthened with all might”—Estelle’s voice rose, almost as if she was pleading with the Almighty—“accordin’ to your glorious power. Give her great endurance and patience, joyfully giving thanks to the Father who has qualified her to share in the inheritance of the saints …”
Estelle’s voice dropped and the powerful words hung in the quiet room. Grace hardly dared to breathe. The silence stretched for a long moment and she opened her eyes. But Estelle’s eyes were now closed, her face tilted upward, glistening with perspiration, and she was moving her lips as if praying silently.
Grace waited, the words of the prayer still ringing in her ears. “… that she would be filled with the knowledge of your will in all wisdom and spiritual understanding …”
Finally Estelle opened her eyes and smiled. “Amen!”
Grace blew out the breath she’d been holding in. “Whew. Where did you find that prayer?” Her question came out in a squeak.
“First chapter of Colossians. Look it up and pray it over yourself!” Estelle reached for her tea and munched on another biscotti. “Mmm, these are good.”
But a rumble of thunder in the distance caused her to rise. “Better get myself home before that thunder chases rain this way. You know spring is really here when these late-afternoon showers roll through most every day.” Giving Grace a warm hug, she opened the door, and then paused. “Bible says to ‘pray without ceasing.’ I’m going to go see Mother Bentley tomorrow after work, but … how ’bout Wednesday, same time? I’m excited to see what God’s gonna do for this tour of yours.” She laughed and waved a hand in the air as she headed out the door. “Hallelujah!”
Grace wasn’t sure she deserved most of what her neighbor had prayed. Thanking God for her “love for the saints”? Implying that she was “bearing fruit” and “changing lives”? But she did want to read the last part of the prayer—the part about asking God for “wisdom and spiritual understanding.” She needed that for sure! And the part about endurance and patience … she needed that, too.
She got out her old King James Bible and read Colossians, chapter one, and then compared it to her modern English translation. Did she dare pray this prayer for herself?
A guitar strum interrupted her musing. She picked up her cell and looked at the caller ID. Roger. She was glad she’d waited. “Hello?”
“Grace? So glad I got you! Do you have a few minutes to talk?
She felt wary. “Maybe a few. Depends.”
“Actually, I called to see if I could take you to dinner. Are you in town this weekend?”
Dinner? “Roger, I don’t think that’s appro—”
“I know, I know how it sounds. But please, just give me a chance here. I actually called to apologize for ending the engagement so abruptly without giving us time to talk—you know, really talk—about the stresses in our relationship. I’d … I’d like to make that up to you.”
She sighed audibly. “It’s a little late, Roger. What’s done is done. Time for us both to move on, don’t you think?”
“Well, that’s, uh, that’s what I’d like to talk about. I never gave you a chance—never gave us a chance—to even see if we could work on the problems we were experiencing.”
Oreo jumped on her lap, but Grace pushed him off. “Not ‘we,’ Roger. You. I didn’t know we were having any problems.” She felt her throat go tight.
“I know. I … I wasn’t forthright with you. But I’d like to back up and do things right. I was hasty and I see that now. Maybe … maybe things didn’t have to end up this way. But even if they do, I’d like to make amends for how I handled things. At the very least, I’d really like to remain friends. We could go out to dinner just as friends, couldn’t we?”
Grace was silent. She was tempted to hang up. Let it go. Let him go.
But was that the right thing to do? Even if their relationship was over, if he wanted to apologize for how he’d ended it, shouldn’t she give him a chance? If she was going to move on, it might be good to lay it all to rest, not hold on to any anger and bitterness …
“Grace? I know I’m asking a lot. But I don’t really want to do this over the phone. That was my mistake in the first place. Please … let me take you to dinner. Are you free Friday or Saturday?”
She hesitated. He sounded genuinely contrite. But no way was she going to let this hang over her head for five days. She’d be a basket case by the time the weekend rolled around.
“Wednesday,” she said. “You can pick me up at seven.”
Chapter 29
“You agreed to do … what?” Samantha’s mouth hung open, staring at Grace as if she’d sprouted pointy ears and announced she’d just arrived from the planet Vulcan. “Dinner with Roger?!”
Grace’s assistant had shown up at nine o’clock the next day, looking rejuvenated after her day off—wearing a tunic in a black, red, and tan African print over tan slacks, her perky twists redone, sporting a fresh manicure of deep red polish with white feathery designs on her middle fingernails—but “ready to work,” she’d said. Pouring a cup of coffee, Sam said she was waiting for a callback confirming the tour bus from Seattle to LA she’d lined up months ago, and she’d asked Bongo Booking to e-mail her any updated info for the ten-day tour schedule.
“So, do you want me to answer fan mail first, or do you want help putting together a song list for the upcoming tour? Using ‘Grace Meredith in Concert’ as your promo title leaves you lots of room—you could even have several different sets with a different focus. Whatever we do, just keep in mind the band needs—”
“Stop.”
Sam had blinked in surprise. “Okay. Sorry. I was just wanting to know—”
“Just stop a minute. I need to tell you something. But you should probably sit down.” Sam sat. Taking a deep breath, Grace told her about Roger’s call l
ast night, and that she’d agreed to go out to dinner with him Wednesday night.
“Dinner. With Roger,” Sam said again, plopping back against the couch cushions bowled over. “You’re kidding, right?”
Grace shook her head.
“Okaaay, not kidding.” Sam sat forward again, elbows on the knees of her slacks. “Grace, I know it isn’t any of my business, but … do you know what you’re doing? I don’t want you to get hurt again. Why is he doing this? Did he give you a reason?”
Grace, sitting in the opposite chair, nodded. “He said he wanted to apologize for how he ended the engagement, without even giving us a chance to work on the problems in the relationship.”
“But—”
“I know. I told him that was all very nice—well, I didn’t say it like that—but what’s done is done, it’s over, we both needed to move on.”
“Exactly. Good for you.”
“But he said he wanted to back up and do things right. Said he wanted to make amends, apologize for how he’d handled things, and be able to talk about what went wrong in the relationship—”
Sam snorted. “He probably had his eye on somebody else while you were gone, but it didn’t work out, so now he’s crawling back to you.”
“Sam! You don’t know that!” Though the thought had flitted through Grace’s mind a time or two.
Sam put up her hands, palms out. “Sorry. I’m just sayin’.”
“Well, don’t say. Unless you know. I don’t think he’d do that.” Grace took a deep breath. “Anyway, he said at the very least he wants us to be able to be friends. And to be honest, Sam, I’ve wished that too. At least wished I didn’t still feel so mad at him for how it happened. Maybe if he apologizes—he did seem very sincere, contrite even—I could forgive him and move on. That’d be better than just stuffing it down, like I’ve been doing. Right?”
Sam looked at her for a long moment. “Does he want you to give him another chance?”
“I—” Grace hesitated. Roger had said maybe things didn’t have to end up this way. She licked her dry lips. “I’m not sure.”
“Ohhh, Grace.” Sam’s response sounded almost like a groan.
Grace felt a little miffed. “What would be so wrong with that? I mean, I don’t have any expectations, don’t know if I’d even be able to take him back—but would that be so horrible? Good grief, we were in love, you know. Engaged for almost a year. Planning to get married. You don’t throw all that away without some serious thought.”
“He did.” Sam’s hands went up again. “Okay, okay, I need to shut up. Maybe you’re right. Go to dinner, see what happens. Give the man a chance to apologize. Just … be wise, Grace. Don’t rush back into anything. Pray about it—a lot, okay?”
Pray about it …
She would ask Estelle Bentley to pray about it with her when she came over Wednesday afternoon. She wouldn’t have to share all the details. The woman did seem to have a special connection with God.
After spending Tuesday coming up with a solid song list for the tour and e-mailing it to Barry, Grace had told Sam she could work from home on Wednesday and Thursday, since “work” for the next few days mostly involved e-mails and phone calls double-checking arrangements at each of the ten venues along the Pacific coast.
“I’ll schedule practices with you and the band for next week,” Sam promised when she left on Tuesday. “Meantime, be good. Don’t do anything tomorrow night I wouldn’t do.”
Grace snickered. “Ha. In that case I should probably clock him one. If I do, I’ll tell Roger it’s from you.” She shut the door behind Sam with a sigh of relief. She didn’t really want her assistant hovering over her all day tomorrow, making her more nervous than she already was about her date with Roger.
But where the time went on Wednesday, she had no idea. The temperature had dropped again and the day turned to drizzle. She’d planned to spend most of the day doing voice exercises and practicing the songs she and Sam had chosen for the tour, with an appointment at the beauty salon to get a manicure and pedicure before her dinner with Roger.
But she no sooner got home from Curves than Jeff called. He’d gotten a call from Samantha about sticking with Grace Meredith in Concert for the tour title, and wanted to double-check with her. “It’s fine, really. Your name alone will draw plenty of your fans. And I know you’ll do a great job with the concerts. But I just wanted to hear from you, you know, to see if you had any more thoughts about what we talked about in St. Louis.”
Grace flushed, remembering the touch of his hand over hers in the coffee shop. She quickly shook off the memory. What was she doing? Here she was, going out to dinner that evening with her fiancé—okay, ex-fiancé—and having fleeting fantasies about her agent.
“I …” she stumbled, realizing she hadn’t responded to his question. “I haven’t forgotten. But I don’t know …”
“It’s okay. And I mean that.” Jeff’s voice was kind, reassuring. “We’re praying for you and the tour here at Bongo, and if God has a new focus for you, he’s going to show you. So don’t stress about it. I mean that too. In fact, one of the other Bongo agents read a couple verses in Proverbs this morning during our staff time, which made me think about you. Look ’em up—chapter three, verses five and six. Hold on to that last phrase … Hey, gotta go. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”
Grace knew those verses. “Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding. Seek his will in all you do, and he will show you which path to take.” They were some of the scriptures she often shared with her fans during her concerts. Hold on to the last phrase, Jeff had said: “Seek his will … and he will show you …” The words were comforting.
But it felt kind of strange, getting spiritual advice from her agent. Not what one normally expected from an agent—but then, her relationship with Jeff Newman hadn’t been “normal” from the beginning. She had to snicker remembering the snowstorm when they’d met …
She mentioned Jeff’s call and the verses from Proverbs when Estelle came over at four, after telling her about the surprise invitation from her ex. Her neighbor nodded. “That’s right, honey. You don’t have to stress. In fact, I think those verses would be a very good prayer to pray about this dinner you’re having tonight with your fiancé—”
“Ex-fiancé,” Grace corrected. But Estelle went right on.
“—as well as for your upcoming concert tour. Now, Jesus, hallelujah, we praise your name …” Holding one of Grace’s hands, the older woman moved right into a prayer, asking God that Grace would trust him with all her heart, even if she didn’t understand what he was doing, and have the confidence that God would indeed show her the path to take. “And for this, we thank you, for all you’ve done and for all you’re gonna do! In your precious name … Amen.”
Estelle rose from the couch. “All right now, gonna get myself on home, since I know you got that date tonight. My men are gonna be hungry too.” She gave Grace a warm hug. “But, there’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to ask you and don’t want to take your time now. An’ I should go see Mother Bentley at the hospital after work tomorrow afternoon, but … any chance we could get together in the mornin’? Besides …” She winked. “I’ll be curious how your dinner date goes tonight. I’ll be prayin’!”
The doorbell rang at five minutes to seven that evening. Grace shut Oreo in the basement so the cat wouldn’t try to escape like he had the last time Roger showed up, let the doorbell ring a second time, and then opened the door. She smiled pleasantly. “Hi.” She held the door open so he could come in.
“Hi, yourself.” Roger smiled back, blue-gray eyes taking her in. “You look great.”
She knew she did. She’d added a wash, trim, and blow-dry at the beauty salon when she got her nails done, and her hair hung casually below her shoulders in a fresh, layered fall. She’d taken extra care with her makeup, highlighting her amber eyes with a soft brown eyeliner and eye shadow, picking up the warmth of her berry blu
sh and lipstick. Her dress—a three-quarter-sleeved wrap style in the same berry tones with a tie belt that hung softly to just above her knees—was one she was sure he hadn’t seen before.
“I’ll get my coat.” The drizzle had stopped, but she still opted for her dark-gray London Fog and a small umbrella in her bag. He ushered her out to his car, a sporty, silver, two-door Acura. She wondered if Estelle Bentley was peeking out her front window, but didn’t see anyone. Beecham Street was empty.
Roger glanced at her as he pulled away from the curb and turned around in the cul-de-sac at the end. “Is Thai food okay? There’s a nice restaurant in the River North area, not too far.”
“Mm-hm.” At least he remembered what she liked.
The ride to the restaurant felt awkward, but somehow they managed with short chats about the weather, the Cubs, a movie he’d seen. But the Star of Siam took her by surprise—a converted warehouse with exposed pipes, done in deep shades of red and burgundy. Guests could either sit at small tables with a padded bench along one side up against a curved brick wall, or at low tables on a raised platform, sitting on cushions with one’s legs in a well beneath a low table. They chose a low table.
Grace ordered chicken satay and pad thai, Roger ordered the crab rangoon and cashew chicken. As he ordered their food, she had a chance to look him over. The familiar dark-blond hair brushed slightly to the side, blue-gray eyes, the always clean-shaven, strong jaw. He was dressed impeccably in an open-necked light-gray silk shirt with almost imperceptible stripes, and a dark, charcoal-gray suit. The good looks that used to set her heart tripping. Not that her heart wasn’t tripping a little even now.