Grounded

by Neta Jackson

  “And I won.”

  He laughed. “Yes, you won. Twice.” His face sobered. “You won my heart too.”

  Grace gulped. “I can’t understand why. You said it yourself. I was a mess.”

  Jeff reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “All I knew was, I’d just met a beautiful, incredible woman, and couldn’t understand how her fiancé could just kick her to the curb like that. I think I started to love you then. Wanted to protect you, or punch the guy out. But it scared me. At first I denied it. I was your new agent, after all. Not supposed to fall in love with a client. But … the feeling wouldn’t go away. I’d already listened to every CD Bongo had of your concerts. And every time I heard your voice, scratchy as it was, my feelings grew. I watched you fight to overcome some pretty big obstacles and I fell in love with your toughness, your passion—”

  “Thought you said I’d lost it. Down in St. Louis, remember?”

  “No, I knew that passion was still there. You just had to dig deep to find it again. And … and you did, Grace. Everything about this last tour has just confirmed what I knew all along about the amazing woman I met in Chicago.”

  She believes in me, even when I don’t believe in myself … Harry Bentley’s words echoed in her head. Grace’s eyes teared up, and she fished in the pocket of her jacket for a tissue.

  Jeff looked alarmed. “I’m sorry, Grace. I don’t mean to upset you. If you tell me to stop, I will. But I couldn’t stay silent any longer. When you told me Roger had asked you to patch up your relationship, and you were thinking about it, I thought I’d lost you. Then I realized I’d never told you how I feel. So … here I am, doing that very thing. I know it’s crazy, and I’m probably way over the line here, but … I just want to know if there’s any chance for us.”

  Grace looked away, staring at the river rippling through the city, at the large buildings rising on the other side. “You don’t really know me,” she whispered.

  “But I love what I do know. And I’d like a chance to get to know you more.”

  Grace gripped the stone bench again, afraid to look at him. Afraid she’d melt into his arms without thinking. But his gentle words felt like cool water spilling over her spirit. Was this what love felt like? Was it real—or just a fragile bubble that would burst if he knew the truth …

  He had to know. She had to tell him. She turned and met his eyes searching hers. “There’s … there’s something I need to tell you. About me.” She drew in a deep breath, her voice tremulous. “You wanted to know why I chose this new theme about grace, and I said I’d tell you later—but I think you need to know. You might change your mind …”

  Taking a deep breath, she managed to get it out in fits and starts—about being raised “a good Christian girl,” and how everyone had so many high expectations of her, expectations that felt impossible to live up to. How much she wanted to fit in at school, to be liked. How naïve she’d been, dating a popular guy behind her parents’ backs and ending up in the backseat of a car—and pregnant. “I couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face letting everybody down. So I …” Her eyes fell to her lap. “I had an abortion. And I never told anyone. But I hated myself. Thought God hated me too.”

  “Oh, Grace. I’m so sorry. That must have been so hard to face alone.”

  “I tried to make it up to God, to make myself worthy again—that’s why I got so passionate about my purity theme. Huh. Traveling all over the country, people thinking I’m this great role model, telling kids they’re ‘worth the wait.’ But …” She lifted anguished eyes to his face, once again fighting back tears. “That woman you say you fell in love with? She was a fraud. A fake. Worth the wait? She didn’t wait herself. All those years, living with secrets, afraid I’d be found out.”

  Jeff seemed about to say something, but she lifted a hand to stop him. “I’m … I’m only now beginning to understand that God’s grace is so much bigger than my sin. That’s why I wanted to rename this tour, why I wanted to sing about God’s gift of grace. But … I still didn’t have the courage to tell my own story from the stage. I—I still haven’t told my parents. Or Roger.” She paused, sobered by a sudden realization. “I haven’t told Roger, but I’ve told you …”

  Grace’s shoulders began to shake with regret … and relief. Regret that she hadn’t told her parents or Roger. Regret that she had to burst Jeff’s bubble of the “wonderful woman” he thought she was. But also relief that she’d been honest with him. She never wanted to live with secrets and fear, ever again. Even if the truth pushed away a truly wonderful man who’d just said he loved her. Who believed in her. Who—

  But then she felt Jeff’s arms go around her, and he pulled her close, holding her, his lips on her hair, whispering in her ear. “Oh, Grace. I’m so glad. So glad you trusted me enough to tell me, to let me know what you’ve been struggling with. None of us are perfect. You are who God made you to be. And I love the whole Grace even more than the Grace I knew before …”

  A loud rap on the door of the sleeper bedroom shook Grace out of her memory of those precious moments in the park. Reluctantly she got up and slid back the door. There stood Billy, red-headed, owlish glasses perched on his rather short nose, holding a tray with a covered dish. “Your dinnah, madam!” he announced playfully. Did they call him Billy the Kid?

  “Thank you so much.” She took the tray. She should give him a tip. But before she could get to her purse, he’d already disappeared down the hallway, whistling. Well, they’d take care of him later.

  Grace sat back down. Jeff’s words still echoed in her ears. What was it Mr. Bentley had also said about Estelle? … She makes me feel like a complete person. Like I can be who God wants me to be.

  Jeff had always been totally supportive. Well, of course, he had to be. He was her agent. That was his job. And yet … it’d been more than that. Jeff sincerely believed her voice was a gift from God, and that she should use it to glorify him. But he was also sensitive to her needing time to recover, time to regroup, time to rebuild her confidence—and he’d done everything he could to build up her confidence too. Not just to sing again, but her confidence to be … herself.

  Had she ever felt that kind of support from Roger?

  Grace sighed. Maybe it wasn’t fair to compare the two. Jeff had been thinking about her career. Roger had been thinking about their life together. She couldn’t totally dismiss his concern about how much she traveled and its impact on him … uh, she meant, on them.

  Grace blinked. No. She was right the first time. He’d never once worried about the impact of her travel on her. It was always, “I don’t like it.”

  The door of the compartment slid open. “Grace Meredith!” Sam scolded. “You haven’t touched your food! Bet it’s all cold now. Good thing I brought you something to warm you up.” She handed Grace a disposable cup with a plastic lid. “Hot tea with lemon and honey. The café guy made it special.”

  Grace took it gratefully, suddenly realizing she was hungry after all. “Don’t worry, I’ll still eat it. Just been thinking …”

  “Mm. Let me know when you feel like talking.”

  Grace nodded. She did want to talk to Sam. But not yet. She didn’t need opinions. She needed … prayer.

  As she lay in the dark later that evening, she turned her thoughts and her heart toward God. God, I confess I … I think I love Jeff. But I don’t want to rush into something I don’t fully understand. I loved Roger once—if I gave our relationship a chance, would I love him again? I need your guidance! What is my next step? I need to talk to Roger—I owe him that much. But what do I say?

  She’d been honest with Jeff. Before she and Roger could move forward, she needed to be honest with him too, about the Grace he didn’t know. About the secrets of her past. About the spiritual crisis that had launched her new theme of God’s undeserved grace. The truth about herself that she couldn’t promise to keep private forever—not if God wanted her to share her story with the young men and women who came to
her concerts, who thought they were the only ones who’d messed up.

  How would Roger react to that?

  The whistle at the front of the train hooted once … twice … three times. Passing some lonely country crossing in the middle of the night. Taking her home—where she’d need to face the music.

  Chapter 43

  Even though the California Zephyr had been late arriving in Denver, it managed to make up most of the time during the night and early morning hours and pulled into Chicago’s Union Station only ten minutes late the next afternoon.

  “Three o’clock—not bad,” crowed Sam, as the sleeping car attendant helped set their luggage on the platform. “Thanks, Billy.” She pressed a twenty into his hand.

  “And thank you!” The Kid beamed. “Would you like assistance into the station? An electric cart will be coming shortly.”

  “Thanks, but we’re fine.” Grace gave him a smile, balanced her tote bag, her purse, and the plastic cleaner bag with the tan suede jacket to ride on the top of both her suitcases, and wheeled them down the platform toward the station. She was more interested in getting home than waiting for a cart. Threading their way past slower passengers, they followed the barked instructions of Amtrak employees, who were directing foot traffic past the departure doors and toward a large open entryway marked Arrivals.

  “Grace! Hold up a minute.” Sam stopped, fumbled for her phone, and held it up to her ear. A moment later she pocketed the phone and caught up with Grace, who’d stopped to wait. “That was Rodney Bentley. The limo’s waiting up on Canal Street. Told him we’d be up in a few minutes. Uh, let’s see … there. The escalator’s straight ahead.”

  Grace nodded and let Sam lead the way. Sam had called Lincoln Limo about their change in plans, but Grace decided to call Rodney directly to apologize for canceling on such short notice, and said she hoped it wouldn’t jeopardize anything about his job. He’d said no problem, he’d work it out—in fact, he’d insisted on picking them up today and seeing them safely home.

  But she was tired. Hard to believe she’d left home fifteen days ago from this station. So many miles covered—fifty-five hundred at least. And so much had happened! She couldn’t wait to pick up Oreo, get home to her own little nest on Beecham Street, stop living out of a suitcase, sleep in her own bed … and have time to sort through all the jumbled thoughts and feelings that had kept her awake most of the night.

  Feelings she needed to sort out before she called Roger—or before he called her. “Grace, look. Isn’t that the girl you met on the train?”

  Sam’s sudden question startled Grace out of her private thoughts. “Where? … Oh! You’re right.”

  Ramona was standing at the bottom of the escalators, hands in the pockets of her skinny jeans and shoulders hunched, looking this way and that as if waiting for someone. What was she doing at the station? Hadn’t she and Max gotten into Chicago yesterday? Grace had promised to get the jacket to her if Ramona called and gave her an address. Whatever the reason, Grace felt a stab of relief. She’d wondered if she’d ever see the girl again. As they got closer, she called out, “Ramona! Over here!”

  The girl’s eyes lit with recognition and she hurried toward them. The three met and stopped, making other passengers flow around them in the busy passageway. Ramona eyed Grace soberly. “You got my jacket?”

  She smiled. “Matter of fact, I do.” She unhooked the cleaner bag from the handle of her large suitcase and handed it to Ramona. “Here it is, good as new I hope.”

  The girl took it, and to Grace’s surprise, slipped the plastic up, held the jacket up, and inspected it closely. “It came clean. Cool.” Taking the jacket off the hanger, she put it on, running her hands up and down the soft suede. “Gracias.” She finally smiled. “So … how was your time in Denver?”

  Grace wanted to laugh. “It was great. Not long enough, though.” She caught Sam giving her a smug smile. She’d told Sam that morning about her walk in the park with Jeff, asking her to please just listen for now. She knew Sam was highly amused at the romantic bind she was in, and no doubt had an opinion or two on what she should do.

  But she ignored Sam’s knowing glance and kept her attention on the girl. “How about you? Have you had a chance to do any sightseeing yet?” Okay, that was dumb. If they were going to chat, they should get out of the way. “Actually, do you have a few minutes? We could … uh, Ramona? Are you okay?”

  The girl suddenly seemed to sway and her eyelids fluttered. “Not … feeling so good. I—I need to sit down. Can we … over there, by the fountain?”

  “Yes, of course … go.” Grace anxiously hustled after Sam and Ramona, threading her way through the throng with suitcases and bags—but just before they reached the square fountain, Ramona stopped … swayed again … and suddenly sank in a listless heap to the floor.

  “Ramona!” Grace and Sam fell to their knees beside the inert girl, whose thick fall of black hair splayed out around her. O God, O God, what do we do? Grace gripped one of Ramona’s hands and felt her wrist for a pulse, even as Sam took off her light jacket, quickly folded it, and slipped it under the girl’s head.

  A small crowd gathered around the figures on the floor in the narrow area between the fountain and the back of the escalators. “Does she need a doctor?” “What happened?” “Want me to call 9-1-1?”

  Grace started to say a panicked yes, but just then she heard Ramona groan, “No, no …” To her relief, the girl’s eyes fluttered open and she struggled to sit up. “Don’t need a doctor … just got dizzy.” She hunched over and hugged her legs, resting her head on her knees.

  Grace sat down and put her arm around Ramona and held her. She glanced at Sam crouching on the other side of the girl and shaking her head as if to say, “I don’t know what to do either.”

  “I’ll … I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.” Ramona’s voice was muffled as she cradled her face between her knees and tentatively touched the back of her head, which she’d probably banged when she fell. The crowd lost interest and started to disperse.

  Grace’s heart went out to the girl. Ramona was so young, couldn’t be more than seventeen or eighteen, in Chicago for the first time, probably didn’t know anyone except her “man,” who didn’t seem to be anywhere around at the moment. What if Ramona had fainted with no one around who knew her? At least it happened while she and Sam were here—and no way would Grace leave her alone until she knew the girl was going to be all right.

  Ramona raised her head and blew out a breath. “I’m … I’m okay now, I think.” Grace and Sam got to their feet and helped her stand up.

  “You okay? Here, sit down.” Grace and Sam led the girl to the flat marble bench that surrounded the square fountain, then turned back to retrieve their luggage. Grace picked up her tote bag from the floor where it had fallen and slipped the strap over the handle of her wheeled carry-on case while Sam gathered her luggage. Okay, that was two … but where was her larger case? “Sam? Where’s my big suitcase? I thought it was right here with the other one.”

  “Huh, don’t see it. Maybe somebody moved it—it was probably in the way.”

  Grace and Sam swiveled about, looking for the teal-blue suitcase. The lobby was a five-way junction, with the escalators coming down from Canal Street, the splashing fountain tucked behind the moving stairs, the row of kiosks on one side of the fountain where online tickets could be printed out, plus the row of standard ticket counters and lines of waiting passengers.

  Sam said, “Wait a sec,” and walked clear around the escalators while Grace circled the fountain. But both came back shaking their heads.

  Grace felt a growing worry in the pit of her stomach. “You don’t think … could someone have stolen it?” Then she remembered the girl. “Oh, Ramona, I’m sorry.” She turned back to where Ramona had been sitting.

  But the girl was gone.

  Scrunched into a small cubicle office with Sam and an Amtrak security agent, Grace finished filling out the police report about
her missing bag and laid down the pen. Her eyes felt tight, as if holding back tears. All the courage she’d built up taking the train instead of having to submit to the intense security at airports had drained out of her spirit. Her luggage had been stolen, of all things, right behind her back! Wasn’t there any safe way to travel?

  She glanced at Sam, sitting patiently in a folding chair off to the side, and mouthed, “Sorry to make you wait. Did we lose our ride?”

  Sam shook her head and mouthed back, “Rodney said he’d wait. Are you okay?”

  Grace shrugged. It wasn’t just the suitcase. Ramona had disappeared too. It felt like two losses, just minutes apart. She was worried about the girl. Perhaps Ramona would still call her. But she had no reason to call now.

  Somewhere in her purse, her cell phone rang, but she was distracted by a frustrated voice saying, “I’m sorry, Bentley. Your dog won’t come.”

  Bentley? Was that Harry? Grace half stood and looked over the partition of the cubicle toward the reception area, but only saw the door leading out into the station wheeze shut. Did Mr. Bentley know her suitcase had been stolen? She wished she could talk to him before they left. She wanted to tell him about Ramona. Maybe he could—

  But first she had to finish filling out the police report. Reading through it once more, she finally handed it to the security agent, who also looked it over and nodded. “Guess that’s it. So sorry about this, Ms. Meredith. We’ll do our best to recover your property. Glad you filled out the estimated cost of the suitcase and its contents—in case you need it for your insurance.”

  Grace nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It wasn’t the cost that bothered her as much as the sense of being violated. Not to mention pretty darn inconvenient too. That case had most of her concert dresses! She didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Ah. You’re still here.”