Saving Grace

Chapter 10: Ghosts

After Halsey drops me off at the uni parking area, I head home in my Mustang. I enter my house, shouting a greeting to Mom in the kitchen. The aroma of freshly baked cookies wafts in from that direction, luring me into the kitchen.

"What's cooking, good lookin'?" I wink at Mom, intentionally sounding cheesy, making her cringe and laugh.

"Elizabeth Lockwood's special chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies." Mom announces in a grand manner, putting a plate piled high with the sugary goodness on the counter in front of me. 

I immediately dig in, picking up a cookie and shoving it into my mouth whole in one go. My mom is an awesome baker, a trait she passed down onto me, along with a major sweet tooth. We both usually bake together, a form of familial bonding experience.

Helen had also shared our love for everything sweet, but she sucked at baking. She couldn't even distinguish between flour and icing sugar, she was that bad. So it usually used to be me and Mom baking while Helen roamed around the kitchen on the lookout for cookie dough I usually hid behind the fruit basket.

We used to call her Cookie Monster.

Now I can barely imagine the blue thing without breaking down.

Blinking back into the present, I bite into the chocolatey and nutty goodness. Popping my mouth open, I start bouncing around the kitchen, mumbling "Hot! Hot!" through my full mouth.

"Grace, you should've at least let them cool!" Mom says, exasperated at my antics. She quickly fills a glass with chilled milk and hands it over to me. I gulp it down, trying to cool my burning tongue.

Everything good comes at a price. Sigh.

I shrug and repeat the process of scarfing down hot cookies and gulping down cold milk to stop my tongue from burning.

Mom rolls her eyes at me, leaving me with the cookies, and starts cleaning up the kitchen, her strawberry blonde hair in a high bun on her head, wisps of loose hair floating at the sides of her face. Her ice blue eyes, an exact replica of mine, focused on the invisible specks of dust on the counter she's so vigorously rubbing, her willowy frame moving along with her arm from the force with which she is doing so.

She's still in her office attire, a soft green loose blouse over a black pencil skirt. Even though she's baking, there's not even a speck of white on her black skirt. Apparently, my Mom is a neat freak.

Needless to say, I got my willowy physique and features from her, along with the baking trait. My dark brown hair and the calculating brain, the dry humor and sarcasm I got from Dad.

Helen was a spitting image of Dad, only a female version with softer angles, a knack for all things girly and blonde hair from Mom. She had tons of Barbies, while I had Rubic's cubes and transformer robot cars.

Come to think of it, today I look more like how Helen did, dressed up in pink and wearing wedges and not my usual jeans and t shirt with converse shoes.

She was also spontaneous like Mom, and used to be quite popular in high school, dating the popular jock and being the clichèd 'perfect couple'.

I used to give her such a hard time about it, teasing her about how her boyfriend will knock her up and they'll have to marry young and become broke highschool sweethearts living on a farm in the outskirts of town.

She took it laughingly, well aware of my harmless jokes and my sisterly love for her boyfriend of two years, Johnathan. He and I were like partners in crime, always coming up with pranks to annoy Helen. I wasn't really social back in those days and so a popular senior like John making me his friend and helping me through highschool meant a big deal to me.

It has been two years since I last heard from him or saw him, the last time being after the accident, when he came to check up on me in the hospital, having missed meeting me at the funeral since I was in a coma.

He had brought me white lilies, which my Mom had later placed in a vase on the bedside table, where they remained for a week till I was discharged. I refused to let Mom discard the dead flowers, which were left unreplaced since John never came back to visit.

He loved Helen. He was as heartbroken about her death as I was, maybe even more, in a different way. Apparently, his parents couldn't bear to see him drop everything and stay at home, wallowing in his room for days, so they sent him to London at his aunt's, thinking a 'change of scenery' would help him get over Helen's death.

He was meant to be on a flight to London the day after he came to visit in the hospital.

I never saw him again. I always felt a pang in my heart whenever I thought about him, how he left me when I needed him the most, needed his support.

Halsey did help me, supporting me and comforting me, letting me talk it out with her at every odd hour. But she was miles away, and you could only do so much on the phone. Also, only those really understand what you're going through who have gone through the same thing themselves. The rest can sympathize, but never fully grasp how you feel.

For me, John was that person.

I don't blame him for leaving like that, I was among the only few who could understand what he was going through. But you can't change how your heart feels.

I don't even remember his full name now.

Sometimes, I wonder how he's doing with his life. Does he miss Helen? Does he still feel a gaping hole in his heart where he once said Helen lived? Does he even remember her?

Does he even remember me?

Snapping out of my internal musing, I stare at my mom. Something's up, I can tell.

"Mom." I start, trying to gain her attention. "Come sit with me."

She sighs, her shoulders drooping low, as if she already knows what I'm about to ask and it's hard for her to talk about it. My worry increases.

"What's up, Mom? You're baking without even changing out of your office clothes." I say, furrowing my eyebrows at her as she sits at the table with me. "Not to mention, you're avoiding looking at me." I add, noticing how she keeps her gaze on her hands folded on top of the table.

I place my hand on top of hers, silently giving her comfort and strength, urging her to open up.

She takes in a deep breath, and brings her head up, her gaze meeting mine.

"Gracie." She starts.

I keep looking at her, waiting for her to say whatever is making her act this way, thinking about the worst case scenarios my overworking brain comes up with.

Did she find out I got kicked out of class today? Did someone from the university admin call her and complained to her about it?

Not that this is usual, in fact, we don't even have to attend all of the classes, we just have to maintain a 75% attendance for every course. Also, this often happens in many classes, where students are asked to leave.

Regardless of the fact that it was my first time to get kicked out of a class like that, I'm pretty sure this isn't what Mom is worrying over.

Then what is wrong? I ponder, biting my lip nervously.

Then Mom replies with something I could've never thought of.

"Johnathan, Helen's boyfriend in highschool, is back from London and wants to meet you."