Saving Grace

42

I gathered the pieces of Dani's poor body and buried them at the edge of Grace's yard. Then I spent the rest of the night sat up in bed, staring at the front door, trying to convince myself that it didn't change anything.

Dogs escape all the time, I thought. They get hit by cars. This doesn't change anything. You hear me? This doesn't change a goddamn thing.

Except, it did. Of course it did. I knew deep down that Dani's death was no accident, but the idea that our ordeal was anything less than over was too horrific to contemplate. So, at five a.m., after spending hours staring at that door and waiting for Him to come through it, I got up, went to the kitchen, and made some coffee. The house was perfectly silent, filled only by the clicks and clangs of Grace's coffee machine, rumbling in the dark. I stirred in a sugar, leaned back against the counter.

This doesn't change a thing, this doesn't change a thing.

I pressed my lips together, felt my shoulders tense.

This doesn't change a thing, this doesn't change a thing.

"God dammit," I muttered. "Fuck this."

I downed the last of my coffee, went to the fridge, and cooked everything in it. Four hours later, when Grace finally stirred, she wandered downstairs and was met by the overwhelming scent of sugar, salt, and burnt bread.

"Richie?" She mumbled, rubbing her tired eyes. "What are you doing?"

I looked up from the omelette I was making, spatula frozen in one hand.

"I made breakfast," I said.

Grace looked at the counter, cluttered with pancakes, waffles, finger sandwiches, salads, smoothies, bagels...

"And lunch and dinner and supper," I added.

Grace scoffed, smiled, sat on a stool on the other side of the bench.

"How long did this take you to make?" She asked, eyes fixed on the pot roast sitting on the stove.

"Oh, you know. A little while. But you were out of eggs, so I made deli run."

"I only just bought a dozen," Grace said, leaning forward to pick a raspberry from the fruit salad. "So you didn't sleep, then?"

I shrugged, slid the omelette onto a plate and handed it to her.

"Grace," I said, "I, um... I have some bad news."

She paused, dropped her knife and fork.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Dani," I said. "She was hit by a car while we were away. I found her in an alleyway about a mile from here. I'm sorry."

Grace lowered her eyes and I watched the dark, sticky sorrow spread in them, fill them up, snuff out the light.

"Where is she?"

"I buried her."

Her eyes flicked up.

"Without me?"

"You wouldn't want to see her like that," I said. "I thought it would be better if you remembered her how she was."

Eyes glassy, Grace bowed her head, offered a small nod.

"Hey," I said, taking her hands in mine. "I know this is a pretty shitty situation, but think of it like this: you're free now. You can do anything, go anywhere. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

Grace tilted her head and that thick sorrow started to thin.

"Yeah, I know."

I smiled, squeezed her hands before I let them go.

"So tell me," I said, cracking two new eggs into the pan. "Now that you're officially a free woman, what are you going to do?"

Grace tilted her head, cut her omelette into bits.

"Back to partying?" I asked. "Or maybe finish off your insane bucket list?"

"No," she chuckled. "I don't care about any of that anymore. I can't believe I ever did." She paused. "What about you? Back to study prep and exam week?"

I shook my head.

"No. I don't care about that anymore, either. I can't go back to doing the same old things. Not after everything that has happened." I paused. "But who knows? I've always wanted to travel. Go to America, see New Orleans. Maybe go up to Asia or Europe. There are so many places."

"So many places and New Orleans is the only one who gets a name call?"

"Hey," I said, "I hear it's amazing there. And you can't really go wrong with old jazz."

Grace smiled, teasing.

"Well, let me know when your flight leaves so I can come down with pneumonia."

I shook my head.

"Why do you hurt me?"

She laughed, took a sip of her coffee as my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, flipped it open.

"Who's it from?"

"Scott," I said, scrolling down through my messages. "I promised I'd meet him." I glanced at the clock. "And I'm late."

I met her eyes.

"You go," she assured. "I'll stay here and eat all your food."

I smiled, tucked my phone in my pocket and headed upstairs to change.

© A.G. Travers 2018