Four Rubbings

Chapter Twelve: A Story from Grace

Grace pushes a rusty red wheelbarrow across the lumpy grass. "You're all frowns today, Josie-girl. Too many tricks and not enough treats?" she says, studying me with a sideways glance. There's a sparkle in her brown eyes, a fleck of gold.

There's something comfortable about Grace. I find myself wanting to spill the truth instead of stuffing down my feelings like usual. I'm heartbroken that I didn't end up rubbing Mom's grave. I'm scared of the grave I did find. And those rumors about witches in the Ghost Forest? What'd I get myself into? That's what I want to ask Grace, just not in front of Casey.

I realize both Grace and Casey are staring at me, so I collect my thoughts, or rather, my white lies. "Mondays are the worst is all. And I've got a ton of homework. The teachers loaded us up with papers." To avoid their eyes, I look across the cemetery and my gaze lands on the mammoth cedar that grows over my mother's grave.

Grace shakes her head. "There's too much pressure on you kids nowadays. School's tougher, and then you've got that social media stuff twenty-four seven. It's a pressure cooker compared to my childhood."

Grace pushes the barrow up the hill and we follow behind her. "Don't know if it'd help you girls, but when I'm bothered about life, I think about about other people's problems. It puts mine in perspective real quick."

"Like how?" Casey asks. She slides her cell phone into her jeans pocket.

"Well," Grace says, "a story in the paper today made me realize the world is complicated and beautiful and, well, just plain amazing."

"You're gonna tell us the story, right?" Casey asks.

"Well, sure." Grace stops the wheelbarrow and tugs a dandelion out of a planter bed we pass. She plunks the weed in the barrow and continues walking. "It was about a tragedy in Fremont. A fellow witnessed a car accident and pulled over to help. People were trapped inside one of the cars."

We travel over uneven ground and a hand trowel bounces out of the wheelbarrow. Casey scoops it up and plunks it back inside.

"Thanks, Casey." Grace tucks the trowel away and continues. "The car caught fire. Could've exploded at any moment, so the stranger tugged a door open and pulled a little girl from the backseat to safety!" Grace says in a rush. "In spite of the fire, the man went back into the car a second time to fetch the driver! Can you believe it?" She takes a deep breath. "Kind of makes worrying about homework seem a little silly, doesn't it?"

She gazes at the sky above, thinking.

Casey says, "Oh my gosh. What happened to the driver? Please tell me he survived."

I slip my heavy backpack to the ground next to Casey's feet. We stand beside a glossy black tombstone, not fifty feet from the entrance gates to Lakefront Cemetery, with the name "Marlene Smith" carved across its surface.

It's four o'clock in the afternoon and the morning fog has finally evaporated. I squint into the sun, unaccustomed to its brightness. The grounds glow gold, my favorite light for sketching. Though I'm in no mood to draw, Grace's story has begun to pull me out of my own complicated, guilt-laced thoughts.

Stuffing a curl under her knitted cap, Grace clasps her hands together and continues. "No. Unfortunately, the driver suffered major injuries. When the stranger reached him, though, the driver was still alive. He was trapped inside the car by his seatbelt.

"Instead of leaving the driver alone to wait for help, the stranger crawled inside next to him, held his hand, and waited with him until the paramedics arrived. When the ambulance made it to the scene, they cut the driver free and within minutes pronounced the driver dead," she says. "It's so damn sad." She shakes her head.