Where Grace Appears

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  Only when it failed me had I doubted all I’d begun to build my world upon. Only then had I revisited the comforting truths of my childhood.

  Mom came down the stairs of Orchard House, and I slipped into the passenger side of her car, trying to wipe Finn’s message from my mind as easily as I’d done on my iPhone.

  But it was no use. I thought of Professor Rutherford, of how I’d admired her teachings in my psychopharmacology class last year. I would have given anything to work under her, to gain professional experience in the field under her guidance and mentorship, to work alongside her in some capacity in the years ahead.

  Little Mouse moved within me, and I rested my hands atop my abdomen, the old dream fading. I leaned back against the headrest, looked toward the elegant windows of the bookshop, the orchards ripe with fruit. Bronson had harvested what he could, intent on learning how to care for delicious, pesticide-free apples.

  I thought of Tripp’s kiss, and my heart ached.

  I closed my eyes. I had changed a lot in a year. I didn’t want New York. I didn’t even really want a psychology degree. I wanted to help people, but maybe not in a counseling office. Maybe I could help them by putting the right book in their hand, by creating a space where all felt welcome to come and browse and read and learn and grow. Maybe I could help my child by being the best mother I could be.

  Mom opened the driver’s side door. “All set?” She stopped short. “What’s wrong? You look pale.”

  I forced a smile. “I’m okay.”

  And I would be. Maybe I should even thank Finn for texting me, for putting some things in perspective once and for all.

  “Maggie, this is beautiful! It’s really coming together. Wow.” I pointed at the scrolling pictures on Maggie’s laptop where we sat at Mom’s dining room table surrounded by half-packed boxes labeled with black marker. The picture on the screen showed Aunt Pris’s Orchard House in the background, deep blue hydrangeas in the foreground. The next showed Mom’s Eggs Benedict garnished with flowers, a cup of delectable fruit, and a fancy glass of orange juice in the background.

  “I’m going to add more once the rooms are final and we have the sign in front of the house.” She clicked over to a page that read Our Area. “I’ve started listing things to do and see—hiking, lighthouses, food, kayaking, art, history, culture, festivals, seasonal events. If you two think of anything else let me know.”

  Mom shook her head. “You outdid yourself. And these photographs are superb.”

  “Amie’s to thank for that.”

  “What am I to thank for?” Amie came up behind us.

  “These pictures.” Mom put an arm around my younger sister. “They’re exquisite.”

  She grinned. “Thanks. Did you order the sign for out front yet? And the plates for the bedroom doors? I could get some nice ones and take some pictures for our home page.”

  Mom nodded. “Street sign’s ordered. Josie said she was going to try her hand at wood burning the door signs.”

  “No way.” Amie glanced at me. “You remember what happened the last time you used the burning tool, don’t you?”

  “Come on, Amie, give me a break. That was over nine years ago.”

  “And my favorite jewelry box is still ruined.”

  I offered her a weak smile. I’d thought it a swell idea to personalize her precious wooden jewelry box by wood burning her name on it for her ninth birthday. It hadn’t turned out so well. “It’s a memory, right?”

  “One I’d rather forget.” She sat in a chair and placed crossed arms on the table.

  I tried not to bring up her art-inspired mishaps. Her own wood-burning endeavors had left a few well-loved marks on the railings and beams of our home as well as the stench of burning wood pervading our living space for days. She’d made so many clay figures they came tumbling from shelves to endanger the lives of all who lived in the Martin home. Traces of her mud pies still dulled the back of Mom’s favorite white sweater from a sloppy hug.

  “We’ll let Josie give it a go, and if we’re not satisfied with the result, we’ll order some, okay?” Mom turned back to Maggie’s laptop. “We need to finalize prices for the rooms. I’ve been researching other inns in the area. I want to be comparable, but take into account the full-service breakfast without being overpriced.”

  Maggie nodded. “I’ve been meaning to look too, but things have gotten busy with Josh working so much.”

  “He started school this week, right? And cross-country must be in full swing.”

  “It is. Only he’s insisting on helping Tripp on nights he doesn’t have meets. I thought working for Colton Contractors was a summer thing, but he doesn’t want to give it up. Meanwhile, I feel like a single mother over here.” Her gaze fluttered to me. “Sorry, Josie.”

  I waved her off. “Come on, Mags. You know I’m not that easily offended. Did you talk to him?”

  “By the time he gets home, I’m dead to the world. This morning, I woke up to make him breakfast, but he was kissing me goodbye before I turned on the Keurig.”

  Mom closed Maggie’s laptop. “You’ve been working hard too, honey. You two need some time away. Why don’t you let me babysit this weekend?”

  My sister shook her head. “I can’t let you do that. Look at this place. There’s still so much to do before closing. Not to mention all that’s left with the B&B.”

  “Then let me,” I chimed in. “Those boys need some fun with their Aunt Josie. Maybe Tripp will even help out.”

  Maggie bit her lip, the bags beneath her eyes noticeable. “Really? You think so? Maybe just one night…but the boys haven’t been without Josh since Trisha died.”

  “They’ll be great. It will be fun.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair. “It would be nice to get away for a little. I think I’m more stressed about the fact that I’m not pregnant yet. We’ve been trying for months.”

  “Maybe you should ask Josie for pointers.” Amie spoke from the couch.

  “Amie!” Maggie and Mom said in unison.

  My younger sister winced. “Sorry. I was trying to be funny. I guess that came out kind of rude.”

  I glared at her, but Maggie hid a smirk. “It’s okay. We know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Huh, sure.

  Mom squeezed Maggie’s arm. “It will happen for you, honey. You’ve been through a whirlwind this past year with those boys and now helping me out. You need to relax, spend some time with your husband. Josh will probably jump at the chance to be alone with you.”

  My sister didn’t look convinced, but in the end, we finalized a time for me to watch the kids next Friday, then chatted about prices for each guest room, along with tentative dates for the open house.

  “Josie and I can work on a press release for some of the local papers to stir up some hype,” Maggie said.

  Mom tapped her chin. “If everything falls into place, we might be able to plan an open house Columbus Day weekend, catch some of the leaf-peeping tourists. Oh, I can’t wait to decorate for Christmas! Lights and greens. Red roses, white chrysanthemums, trailing vines, a glittering tree.”

  “It sounds divine.” Amie sighed. “It’ll be tough saying goodbye to this place, but it will be grand and romantic living in that old house, won’t it?”

  Maggie stared at me. I knew her thoughts to be the same as mine. Still, I wasn’t sure if I was ready. Finn’s text had shaken me up more than I cared to admit.

  She didn’t stay silent. “You could have the baby by then. Have you given any more thought to…you know?”

  The room grew silent, tension thick, as if everyone held a collective breath as Maggie touched the nearly untouchable topic of these last couple of months. Ready or not, I’d decided. And ready or not, I was going to be a mother.

  My stomach danced a nervous jig, and it had nothing to do with Little Mouse doing somersaults fit for an Olympic floor exercise routine. I dragged in a breath. If only Lizzie were here, but she’d gone for another hike, taking advan
tage of the cooler September afternoon.

  “I’ve decided to keep the baby.” I exhaled the words all in one breath.

  “Oh, honey.” Mom wrapped her arms around me. “I was ready to support you no matter what, but I just know this baby is going to be a blessing—just as Esther insists. And I’ve been eyeing the cutest little baby socks down at Jo Ellen Designs.”

  We laughed.

  “I think a baby will be the perfect addition to this family—and to the beginning of our new endeavor.” I didn’t miss the tiny spark of sadness in Maggie’s eyes.

  My heart went out to her. She was such a great mom. She deserved children of her own. I, the one who’d messed up royally, should not have the privilege of having the first Martin grandbaby—the first one to carry Dad’s blood.

  “Am I the only one who sees how hard this is going to be?” Amie leaned forward. “How will you provide for this baby, take care of it while working? It’s not a pet like Scrabble that you can just dump on Mom whenever you need a break, you know.”

  I grit my teeth to contain my anger. Leave it to Amie to bring up our only pet—a stray dog I’d brought home on a cold winter’s night that neither Dad nor I had been able to take to the pound. I’d neglected him all too much, forgetting to feed him or take him out. More often than not, Mom had picked up the slack. But that was years ago. I was not a child anymore.

  I struggled to rein in my temper, but one look at Amie with her upturned nose and judgmental attitude—with her jabs at my attempts to wood burn or be a mother or do anything right—fed the fire growing within me. A fire that included all the wrongs she’d ever done me. Emptying my bureau drawers onto my floor when I was in middle school. Always tagging along with me and Maggie or me and Tripp, never giving me a moment of privacy in early high school. Always clinging to me just to correct me.

  Words tumbled out before I could bother to stop them. “I don’t understand why you have to keep throwing all my faults back in my face. You’re all hoity-toity, aren’t you? Perfect little golden child. Well, don’t worry, I don’t want you having anything to do with my baby, okay?” Even as the words left, I knew they were wrong, filled with rage, childish. But Amie knew how to push my buttons good. She always had. My retaliation had always been to push her away, hard and forceful.

  Amie stood, leaving the throw pillow she’d been holding to fall at her feet. “Well, that’s just fine! You always think everyone will be ready to jump and cater to you, but I’m not. I don’t want anything to do with you or your bastard child!”

  I didn’t think, I lunged. Reaching for yellow hair, seeing red, arms holding me back.

  “Amie, go to your room,” Mom said.

  “I’m eighteen. You can’t just—”

  “Go to your room!” The entire house grew silent, for I couldn’t remember a time Mom raised her voice. It hit its target, for Amie stomped up the stairs, mumbling murderous threats along the way.

  I let my head fall in my hands. “I’m sorry. I got angry. But who does she think she is—”

  Mom quieted my words by smoothing my hair. I expected some sort of lecture or platitude. A kiss for a blow is always best or some such nugget of wisdom. But nothing. Just the calm stroking of my hair.

  The gesture had the desired effect, for the next thing I knew, my shoulders shook with sobs. “She’s right, isn’t she? I can’t even control my temper. How will I ever be a mother? Maybe I’m wrong to think I’m what’s best for this child. All I ever do is screw up.”

  “Josie, no….” But Maggie ran out of words.

  Mom continued stroking my hair. “My dear girl, God doesn’t require us to be perfect to be mothers.”

  Maggie let out a small laugh. “Isn’t that good news.”

  “I should say so.” Mom tugged my hair until I looked at her. “You can do this, Josie. You must do this if you’re feeling the pull. If not, you will forever wonder if you made the wrong decision. But I can promise you, if you keep this child, you will never wonder. He or she will grow you, just like you kids did for me. You gave me the best gift of all. Showing me the depths love can go, growing and molding me into a person who isn’t perfect, but one who knows she can’t do it on her own but by leaning on the Lord.”

  I sniffed. “I haven’t been leaning much.”

  “Me neither.” Maggie slumped in her seat.

  “It’s never too late.” Mom draped her arms around us and squeezed my shoulder. “I hope you and Amie can work out whatever it is that’s between you two.”

  “If I knew what was between us, that’d be helpful,” I muttered. “For now, I think we both need to cool off. I’m going for a walk.”

  Amie and I both ran hotheaded. More alike than our other siblings, we were driven, passionate, and opinionated—probably why we clashed so much. I’d talk to her soon. But not today. Maybe not even tomorrow. She’d been bent against me keeping this child from the beginning. Why couldn’t she just support my decision? Her hateful words about my baby resounded in my head, the newfound mother-bear inside of me clinging to them instead of brushing them off.

  As I walked toward Curtis Island Overlook, I sank into a prayer. More of a monologue really. A beseeching on behalf of my child, a plea for wisdom.

  I turned left onto the path, my feet throbbing, my swollen belly heavy. A ding sounded in my pocket and I scooped it out.

  Finn’s name again. I closed my eyes in defeat and stopped walking. It had been almost a week since his first text. I thought that if I ignored it, he would get the hint—he wasn’t welcome. Not in my life, or our baby’s.

  Our baby’s.

  I groaned. Like it or not, I couldn’t cut Finn off from our child. Or couldn’t I? He’d squandered any rights when he’d demanded I get rid of the babe, when he cast me aside because of our child.

  I didn’t need his presence now. It was just too much trouble.

  I walked to the end of the path, sat on the empty bench, and looked across the harbor to the lighthouse, clear and white. I sighed. No use putting off the inevitable. I clicked into Finn’s text.

  Can we talk, Josie? Please? Call me anytime.

  The unfamiliar, vulnerable tone caught me off guard. I couldn’t ignore him forever, even if he did deserve it. Trying to summon some of my residual anger toward Amie and fuel it toward Finn, I hit his name at the top of the phone, and lifted it to my ear, ready for a fight.

  Lord, help me.

  If ever there was a time to lean, it was now.

  21

  Finn jumped at the hollow sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table. His pulse ratcheted at the sight of Josie’s name. In truth, he hadn’t expected her to call, and so soon. But the sight of those five letters forming her name caused ten kinds of longing and regret and fear within him.

  He swiped the button to accept the call and paced his fifth-floor apartment. Katrina would be here soon. They planned to go to the Museum of Modern Art, browse a bit, then have dinner at The Modern, an upscale restaurant with spectacular views of the sculpture garden.

  All of that could wait.

  “Josie, thanks for calling.” His words came out in a rush. He needed to speak his piece before she changed her mind and hung up.

  The nightly tears continued. A single text to Josie hadn’t stopped them. Almost like a part of him was crying out for something only Josie could give—closure of sorts, maybe a cleansing of guilt.

  “I really don’t think we have much to say to one another.” He almost didn’t recognize her strong, firm tone.

  “I—did you get my text last week? I thought you might be interested in Professor Rutherford’s offer.”

  “I’m not, but thank you. I plan to stay in Maine.”

  He swallowed, unsure he wanted to hear her answer to his next question. “Are you in school?”

  A long sigh. “What do you want, Finn?”

  “I’ve been thinking about you. I guess I’ve been kind of worried about you.”

  “Nice time for you to g
row a conscience.”

  He sat on his sofa, tapped his socked foot against the area rug. “I-I was wondering if you…you know.”

  “No, I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue.”

  He silently cursed. She wasn’t planning to make this easy for him, of course. “If you were still pregnant.”

  “Not for much longer, but yes, I am.”

  He released a trembling breath. She hadn’t gone through with the abortion. Of course she hadn’t. But now, what did this mean for him? He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Only knew that reaching out to her had been what he needed to do.

  “Then we need to work this out.” He almost didn’t recognize his words. But was there any other option? He’d never get peace again. The nightly torment may well last forever. Was he really the kind of guy to walk away from his child?

  “Work what out, Finn? Don’t worry. I’m not going to come hounding you for child support or to be a part of this baby’s life. You made your feelings abundantly clear and, quite honestly, I think we’ll both be better off without you.”

  Her words pierced something deep inside of him—that new feeling, that part of him that longed to be wanted.

  He imagined a baby, his child, and the thought caused pride to fill him, whereas eight months earlier it’d only produced disgust.

  What happened to him? Was he getting weak with age? Was the idea of turning forty causing him to change what he’d previously thought about life, purpose, and his role in it all?

  He raked a hand through his hair. “I want to do what’s right, Josie. I want to be a part of this child’s life. Monetarily, yes. But maybe even an active participant. I’ve missed you. Do you think—well, is there any way….” Behind him, the door of his apartment opened. Blast it all. “Listen, I have to go. Can we talk more some time? I don’t—”

  Katrina entered the living room. “Ready to go, Finny? I could really use a glass of chardonnay, or a couple. The Dowley case kicked my—” She stopped, saw he was on the phone, quieted her voice. “Sorry.”

  “Is that your latest conquest, I suppose?” Josie’s voice on the other end of the line. She didn’t sound angry though. Not even a bit jealous. Just stating facts. Facts he hated about himself in this moment. For how would she take his proposition to start things back up between them while he had another woman in his apartment?