Saving Grace

25

We waited until sundown, when all those glittery moths flew out into their boats and sailed into the setting sun. Crouched in the bushes with leaves in our hair and twigs in our sides, we narrowed our eyes as they left, feeling more excited, terrified, and alive than ever before.

"Are they all gone?" I whispered, voice trembling in anticipation.

"We're about to find out," Grace said.

She jumped to her feet without so much as one cautionary glance and a burst of adrenaline filled my veins and shook my lungs, making every limb tremble. I followed her, stumbling, and she eyed me with a look of pristine calm on her face, as if she'd done this a hundred times before. With still hands, she pulled the door open and winced when it groaned, creaking and wailing all across the reddish dock. I peered through the crevice, eyes dashing between her and our foolish endeavour.

On the other side was a kitchen, lit by bleached fluorescent lights and populated by dozens of sauce-covered cooks and sweaty dishwashers. The air smelled like soaps and spices and shook with the sounds of dishes clanking and the hum of chatty foreigners. Grace and I exchanged glances and the door shut behind us.

"Oh God," I muttered, clenching my fists. "What are we doing? What happens if we get caught?"

"Don't you dare freak out on me now, Richie. This was your idea, remember?"

"I didn't think this all the way through."

"You're not supposed to think. That's the whole point."

"But what happens if someone sees us?"

"Then they kick us out and we're back to square one. Look," she grabbed my shoulders, pulled me down to her level. "The name of my stalker is literally written on the wall in the next room. Once we have it, we can stop him. We can go back to normal. Get our lives back. You just need to keep it together for a little bit longer, okay?"

Her hands slid up my shoulders and cupped my face, a bare inch from hers.

"Okay?" She whispered.

I felt my eyelids droop, head leaning into her tender hands. She always knew how to get to me, how to make me agree to anything, like the siren singing out to the sailor.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, let's go."

She smiled, slapped my cheek playfully.

"That's what I like to hear."

So, like two children up to no good, we tip-toed across the vinyl floor, ducking under sinks and carts, behind stoves and ovens, inching our way to main door. Grace moved with perfect stealth, even in heels and a ball gown, yet my movements were clunky and awkward; twice I fell over and nearly exposed us. Regardless, we made it to the door and seemingly freedom, until it swung open and a hundred pairs of eyes fell on us.

We both froze, looking at the dozens of glamourous individuals sitting at their tables, dancing in pairs, chatting by the open bar. And they, too, looked at us for the longest second with the most criticising eyes, and I was sure the night was over.

"I thought you said it would be empty," Grace hissed, not looking at me.

"The vet said they were all going sailing at dusk."

"Well, obviously she was full of shit."

"So what do we do?"

Grace gulped, eyes wandering to the dance floor, packed with old couples in ball gowns and sleek suits swaying to the beat of some smooth 60's classic.

"We blend in."

I followed her gaze, coughed out a shaky laugh.

"You've got to be joking."