Grace (11 page)

One Sunday a minister in a small, pious community decided to play hooky from church and go golfing instead. He was afraid of being caught, so he changed out of his Sunday clothes, put on sunglasses and a hat, and quietly slipped out the back door of the church.

As he drove to the golf course, the voice of God spoke to him. God warned the minister that if he played golf on the Sabbath he'd be cursed. But the minister had made up his mind and went anyway.

The minister got to his first hole and hit the ball. It sailed all the way to the green and bounced in for a hole-in-one.

“Incredible!” shouted the minister.

He went to the next hole and hit another hole-in-one.

“Fantastic!” cried the minister.

The exact same thing happened on all eighteen holes. “A perfect game!” the minister shouted. As he carried his clubs back to his car he looked to heaven and said, “God, I thought you said you were going to curse me. Instead I shot the best game in history!”

“Yes,” replied God. “But who are you going to tell?”

 

That's exactly how I felt about having Grace as a girlfriend.

WEDNESDAY, OCT.
31

Every Halloween my mother made an enormous cauldron of chili and a couple pans of hot Parker House rolls that Joel and I would consume smothered in butter and honey. Those were good times. Part of that tradition was my mother saying, “Where are you boys putting all that?” and her favorite, “You must have hollow legs.” We were never quite sure what that meant.

After dinner my parents retired to the living room for television and candy bowl duty, while Joel and I suited up in our Halloween costumes.

Oddly enough, Halloween costumes were the one thing we had plenty of. My mother liked to sew and back when she stayed home she made us new costumes every year. She even once helped make costumes for a school play I was in. We saved them all.

Joel went as the Lone Ranger complete with mask, bandanna, a cowboy hat with a drawstring, and a cap gun. I went as the devil with a red cape, a long tail, and horns. We had a pitchfork too and even though it looked cool, I wasn't about to lug that around all night.

After we were dressed we went out back, taking chili and rolls for Grace, as well as all the costumes we thought might fit her. She devoured the chili and rolls as happily as we had. Then she began trying on the costumes, eventually settling on a clown outfit my mother once wore. It was a little big on her, but no one would notice. That's kind of the point with clown costumes.

She put on a red foam rubber nose and a bright orange wig and she lined her mouth with a wide swath of lipstick. She decided to be a sad clown, so she drew tears on her cheek with eyeliner. When she was finished, I couldn't have picked her out of a police lineup.

“You really can't tell who I am?” she asked.

“Nope,” said Joel.

I shook my head. “Your own mother wouldn't recognize you.”

It was hard to tell with all the makeup but I think she frowned when I said that.

 

We decided that we would go for an all-time candy harvest record. With ambitions as high as ours, we'd have to go some distance to find fertile ground—someplace far away from our poor, stingy street.

We were discussing the positives and negatives of taking our bikes when Grace said, “I know the perfect place. But we'll have to take the bus to get there.”

Joel and I were open to going any place that promised more candy. I got three pillowcases from the linen closet, then the three of us walked down the street to catch the bus.

The bus ride was only fifteen minutes long and our destination turned out to be as fruitful as Grace promised. It was a crowded suburb of small, tidy homes built close together, just ripe for the picking. There were scores of children out and the streets looked like an elementary school Halloween parade.

The three of us swept the streets with remarkable efficiency. For the first two hours we rarely even had to say “trick-or-treat,” as invariably someone would already be at the door dispensing candy to another group of children.

As evening fell, the crowds started to thin, and by ten o'clock most of the little kids had gone home to bed. We continued to add to our haul, carrying our bulging pillowcases over our shoulders like Santa Claus. Although it was a reasonably warm night, relatively speaking, we still had to wear coats over our costumes.

We had worked our way over by my school when Grace led us down a small, dead-end street with pumpkins smashed in the middle of the road. The houses were smaller than the homes on the other streets we'd been to and not as well cared for. A couple of the homes had dilapidated cars parked in their front yards, with flat tires or wheels missing altogether.

“This doesn't look like a good street,” Joel said. “Let's go down a different one.”

“I second that,” I said.

Grace continued on as if she hadn't heard us. She walked past several homes then stopped at the edge of the yard of a small bungalow. The home was pretty much the same size and construction of the other houses on the street, but it was in even worse shape. The yard was engulfed by orange-berried Firethorn bushes that also spilled over and poked through the front and side chainlink fence. One of the windows was broken and was covered with a sheet of plywood held in place with duct tape.

The sidewalk in front of the home hadn't been shoveled but had been tramped down, probably by earlier trick-or-treaters.

There was a motorcycle and an old red Ford pick-up truck in the driveway as well as another pick-up that was hoisted up on cinder blocks.

Grace just stared at the house. The curtains over the picture window were drawn but a light was on and I could see the silhouette of a woman moving around inside.

“Do you know who lives here?” I asked.

She didn't move.

“Grace?”

She turned to me with a peculiar look in her eyes. “This was my house.”

My heart raced. “You shouldn't be here.”

She just turned back and looked at the house. “Would you ring the doorbell?”

“What?”

“Please.”

I glanced back at the house then again at her. “Are you sure?”

“I want to see my mother.”

Joel stood next to me silently staring at the house. I could tell he was afraid. I suppose I was too. I took a deep breath. “All right. Come on, Joel.”

We went to the front gate and opened it then marched up the walk. There were no pumpkins or Halloween decorations but I didn't think the house needed them. It was kind of scary already.

“Trick or treat,” I yelled. Joel said it too, but almost inaudibly.

After another minute I went to ring the doorbell but it was covered over by duct tape on which was written “Doesn't work.” I knocked instead. I was glad when no one came and was ready to go when I heard footsteps. The door opened. A balding man stood in the doorway. He was taller than my dad, and had a large belly. He wore a white sweat-stained sleeveless T-shirt and his pants were secured by suspenders. He held an open can of beer.

“Trick or treat,” I said.

He looked me over. “Well if it ain't Scratch himself.” He looked at Joel. “Who are you, Howdy Doody?”

“I'm the Lone Ranger,” Joel said.

He looked back at me. “Guess that makes you Tonto, sweetie.” He punctuated his remark with a swig from his can. Even if I hadn't already known who he was I wouldn't have liked him. He looked out across the yard where Grace had been. I panicked.

“Are you going to give us candy or not?”

He looked back at me. “Oh, a smart aleck. Show me a trick first. That's the deal, ain't it?”

“No,” I said.

“No trick, no candy.”

I heard a woman's voice. “Quit giving them a hard time Stan.”

He looked at me. “You think
you're
the devil?” He laughed. “Here's a trick for you. Get on all-fours and bark like a dog. Go on.”

I turned. “C'mon, Joel, let's go.”

“Oh, don't like that, huh?”

We walked away.

“What a couple of Marys,” he yelled after us. He laughed, then slammed the door.

“I told you this was a bad street,” Joel said.

When we reached the sidewalk Grace was gone.

“Where'd she go?” Joel asked.

“I don't know.” I was sure she'd be waiting for us. When we got near the end of the block we found her sitting on the curb behind a garbage can. She was sobbing so hard she could hardly catch her breath. I knelt down next to her. “You okay?”

It was a while before she could speak. “Let's go home, please.”

I helped her to her feet and we all walked five blocks to a bus stop. Grace didn't say a word until the bus came and we were safely on board.

“Was that your stepfather?” I asked.

She didn't answer.

“We didn't like him either.”

She didn't say anything the rest of the night. She didn't even want her candy.

MONDAY, NOV.
5

Another Monday at the Queen. I was standing up front at the cash register when a woman about my mother's age walked in. She had a bouffant hairdo that looked like it was a yard high and pretty eyes that matched her blue topaz necklace. In one hand she held a rolled-up poster.

“May I help you?” I asked.

She said with a slight southern accent, “I'd like to speak with your manager.”

“Our assistant manager's here,” I said. “I'll get him.” I walked to the back where Gary was checking receipts against a cash register tape. “Gary, there's a woman up front asking for you.”

He looked up, his eyes wide with fear. “Is she like five foot tall with kind of ratty red hair and painted-on eyebrows?”

“No.”

“Good.” He exhaled. “What does she want?”

“How should I know?”

“You didn't ask?”

“I'm a fry cook, not a receptionist.”

“You're getting mouthy these days,” he said. “Tell her I'll be just a minute.”

I walked back out. “He'll be right with you.”

“Thank you.”

The woman picked up an Amway brochure, then slowly paced around the lobby until Gary arrived. From the way he looked at her it was obvious he liked what he saw. “Can I help you?”

She recognized his interest and her voice became honey-sweet. “I sure hope so. I'm Cindy.” She extended her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

Gary reached out, eager to take her hand. “Pleasure's all mine,” he said, wide-eyed.

“So you're the man in charge here?” She was working him like a rented mule.

“Yes I am.”

Right,
I thought.

“I'm from the Granite PTA. You've probably already heard that one of our students is missing. Would it be permissible to hang a poster in
your
establishment?”

Gary just stared at her. I could guess at the battle going on in his head between a request from a pretty lady and the grief Mr. Dick would give him. Mr. Dick would say something like, “What do you think we are, the flippin' post office?”

The blue eyes won out. “Uh, sure, miss. Just put it on that wall above the newspapers.”

“Thank you kindly.”

As she walked to the wall, Gary leaned over to me. “If Mr. Dick asks, I didn't know about this.”

“Sure,” I said.
What a pansy.

The women took out a Scotch tape dispenser and set it on a table. Then, as she unrolled the poster she turned back. “Would one of you gentlemen mind giving me a hand?”

Gary just stood there.

“I'll help,” I said. I walked around the counter.

“Now if you'll just hold it up,” she said, “I'll tape the corners.”

She lifted the poster. Below a black and white image of Grace in thick block letters, it read:

 

MISSING
MADELINE WEBB
SIXTEEN-YEARS-OLD
Last seen at Granite Jr. High
If you have information regarding her
whereabouts please contact the police.

 

It seemed to me an eternity before the woman had the thing hung. The tape got caught on the spool and it took her forever to find the end of it. All the while I stood there face-to-face with Grace. Of course the woman had no idea that she was being assisted by one of the only people in the world who knew where Grace was. When she finally got all four corners taped up, she thanked me and turned back to Gary. “Thank you, sir.”

“You betcha. Anytime.”

The woman walked out with Gary's gaze following her every step of the way. After she drove off he walked out and looked at the poster.

“What school do you go to?” he asked.

“Granite Junior.”

“Do you know that girl?”

“I had a class with her.”

He shook his head. “Her poor parents must be crazy with worry.”

“Mr. Dick will probably go bananas when he sees that,” I said.

“Probably.”

“Maybe I should take it down.”

Maybe it was the lingering memory of those eyes, but to my surprise, Gary chose that moment to grow a backbone. “No. We should leave it up. It's the right thing to do.”

“I don't know, Gary. You really should pick your battles.”

He looked at me quizzically, no doubt wondering what had gotten into me. “I'm glad I'm not one of your school-mates.”

 

Dean came into work about an hour later. I hoped he wouldn't see the poster but, of course, it was the first thing he noticed.

“Hey, corndog, you see that poster out there? That girl looks just like the paper shaker you brought in.”

“No she doesn't.”

“It looks
exactly
like her. What did you do, kidnap her?”

“My friend's name is Grace. Not Madeline.”

This stumped him. “Well, you have to admit she looks like her.”

“No, I don't,” I said.

“You're such a ditz,” Dean said and he went back up front.

That night I closed with Jackie. While she was mopping up the back I went out to the lobby and took down the poster. I rolled it up and hid it up front until Jackie left. Then I put it in my coat and rode home to show Grace.

 

“I feel like a criminal,” Grace said, staring at the poster.

“You're kind of famous,” I said.

“I wonder who told the PTA.”

“Probably your parents.”

“My mom might. Stan wouldn't. He's glad I'm gone.”

I looked at her. “What if he's not? I mean, maybe you got him wrong.”

She looked at me and there was darkness in her eyes. “No, I didn't get him wrong.”