Grace (5 page)

Joel was in the kitchen making himself a glass of Ovaltine when I walked back into the house. “She still there?”

“Yeah.” I poured myself a glass of milk, measured in a couple heaping tablespoons of Ovaltine and began stirring, the spoon ringing off the sides of the glass.

My dad called from his room. “Hey, Eric, what did you do with that food?”

I stopped stirring. “What food?” I asked.

“The food Geniel sent home with us.”

I didn't know what to say.

“You didn't forget it, did you?”

Joel looked at me. Without saying anything I pointed to the back door.

“Oh.”

“Sorry,” I shouted. “Guess I did.”

My father groaned. “I wanted another one of those ham sandwiches.”

SUNDAY, OCT.
14

As a boy I hated church. Not the institution or God, just going to the Sunday service. I believed in Jesus and I always said my prayers and grace over meals. It was just the boredom of sitting on a hard bench hearing the same thing from old people every week.

I suppose my church experience was a bit more varied than most. My parents never really settled on a specific religion. My dad always said that heaven was like a wheel and every church was a spoke leading to the same place, so with that core philosophy my parents selected their church the way most people select diners—by proximity. We had gone to Methodist, Baptist, and Lutheran churches. Since the closest church was a Mormon one about three blocks from our home we started going there.

Mormons go to church for hours on Sunday. In fact, they'd go in the morning and then they'd go back again at night. I couldn't figure out why anyone would want that much church. I did my best to survive it. Usually I'd take my pad of paper and pencils and draw a lot; that's where I decided to be a cartoonist and made up my first comic strip. But as often as not, I tried to get out of going, sometimes feigning illness. Looking back, I'm sure my mom knew what I was doing but she rarely called me on it.

A few years earlier I told her that I didn't want to go to church anymore at all. She said nothing but the look on her face was punishment enough. I'm sure it made her feel like she had failed me, or Jesus, or both of us. I spent that whole Sunday feeling guilty about disappointing my mother and in the end decided it would be less painful just to go.

My dad was pretty vocal about his belief that no one should ever be made to go to church, which was a little self-serving since he was pretty much hit-and-miss himself. After his illness he didn't go to services for about six months. When he finally did return, it was usually just a half hour or so before the hard pew became too uncomfortable for him, and we stood up as a family and left.

Joel didn't mind church. In fact, I suspect he liked it. The first week at our new church he came home with a star on his forehead for being a good boy in Sunday school. Of course I made fun of him and he never wore a star home again even though I'm sure he got more. Joel was always good.

That Sunday I decided Grace was a good enough reason to stay home. I told my mom that I didn't feel like going to church but promised I'd go next week. I waited for her face to register disappointment but for some reason it didn't. She just said, “Okay,” and “C'mon, Joel.”

After my mother left I got out of bed and got dressed. I went to my parents' door and peeked in; my father was still asleep. I put on my shoes and coat, spooned the oatmeal my mother had left on the stove into a bowl, and went out back, closing the back door quietly behind me.

Grace was sitting in the corner of the clubhouse eating a cookie. The meat and cheese were gone from the platter, which amazed me since there were at least five sandwiches worth. Although she had changed her blouse, she was still in the sleeping bag and it was pulled up to her waist. She smiled when she saw me.

“Hi.”

“I brought you some breakfast.”

I gave her the bowl. She set down the cookie and began eating the oatmeal. It seemed like she was always hungry. I wondered if girls just ate a lot. The only female I really knew was my mother and she never ate much. “How was your night?”

“Good,” she said between bites. “It wasn't too cold.”

I sat cross-legged across from her. “My dad says it's always warmer before a storm. There's supposed to be another big snowstorm this week. Bigger than yesterday's.”

“What day?”

“I'm not sure. I think Wednesday.”

She took another bite of oatmeal. “Figures.”

“Why figures?”

“Wednesday's my birthday.”

“Really? How old will you be?”

“Sixteen.”

This surprised me. We were in the same class and I was just fourteen.

As if reading my mind she said, “People start school later in Hawaii.”

“So what are you getting for your birthday?” I asked. She looked at me with a pained expression. It was a stupid question. “Sorry.”

“It's okay.” She finished eating the oatmeal and handed the bowl back to me. After a moment she said, “I miss how my birthdays used to be. For breakfast, my mother always made chocolate chip pancakes. Then she would take off early from work and we'd go somewhere, like the zoo or the park.” A distant look came to her eyes. “It's been a while. My last birthday she gave me a Twinkie with a candle in it because Stan was taking her away for the day. I could tell she felt bad about it. Stan plans these ‘outings' whenever something important in my life comes up. It's his way of showing who's the boss. He's big on who's the boss.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. Again.

She looked at me and forced a smile. “But I'm here now, so I don't have to worry about that.”

“You must have been real hungry.”

“Because I'm eating so fast?”

“No, because the plate is empty.”

“I put the cheese and meat outside in the snow to keep it cold.”

“Outside?”

She nodded.

“That's not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“There are a lot of animals around here. Rats and raccoons and stuff.”

“Rats?” She turned pale. “I didn't know.”

“Where'd you put it?”

“Just outside the door, around the corner.”

I looked out. The platter was still there, but the meat and cheese were gone, and Saran Wrap littered the snow.

“Looks like they got it. I should get you a bucket or something. You could fill it with snow, like a refrigerator. That's how they used to keep things cold.” I looked at her. “So I was thinking today we could go exploring.”

“Where?”

“Just out back.”

“Are you sure no one will see me?”

“My dad's still in bed. Mom and Joel won't be home for a few hours.”

“Let's go.” She climbed out of the sleeping bag and put on her coat and gloves. When we were outside she asked, “Does your family always go to church?”

“My mom always does. My dad goes sometimes. But most of the time she just takes me and Joel.”

Grace thought about this. “I wish my family went to church.”

This surprised me. I didn't see her as the churchgoing type.

We crossed the crusted snow of the backyard to the south end of the property.

“Did you know it snows in Hawaii?” Grace asked.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not like this though. Just at the tops of the volcanoes.”

“I'd like to see a volcano in real life, “I said. “So how come they start school later in Hawaii?”

“I don't know. They just do.” She put her hands in her coat pockets.

“When's your birthday?”

“It was in May.”

“What did you do for it?”

“I got that radio in the clubhouse, a couple of airplane models, and some socks. Nothing special.”

“Did you do anything fun?”

“Well, my dad was just out of the hospital and we were getting ready to move, so my mom took Joel and me to Shakey's Pizza. They play banjos and organ music. It was pretty fun.”

“Groovy.”

I wished I could say
groovy
as naturally as she did. We walked up over a small bridge that crossed the creek and connected the street in front of our house to our next-door neighbor's place, which was set back at least fifty yards from the end of our dead-end street. The house as usual was dark and looked deserted.

“Who lives there?”

“I don't know. Some old guy with a big dog. He's pretty creepy.”

“Why?”

“He never comes out. But one time Joel saw him watching us through a telescope.”

“That
is
creepy.”

The creek below the bridge was a wide path of ice lined on both sides by rows of river willow.

“It's kind of pretty,” she said. “The way it all froze up like that. Is it safe to walk on?”

“The ice is like a foot thick. Joel and I tried to break it with a hammer but couldn't.”

I walked down the side of the steep bank, slipped once on the snow but quickly regained my footing. Grace stood at the top of the bank. “I'm going to fall.”

“I'll help you.” I walked halfway back up and held out my hand. She took it and followed my steps down to the side of the creek. I stepped onto the ice. “See. It's like concrete.”

She followed after me. “It feels solid.”

She slipped and I reached out for her. Grace grabbed on to me, laughing. “It's okay. I'm just clumsy.” She didn't let go of my arm, which I didn't mind. We walked down the creek toward the backyard, completely hidden to the world by the willows that grew on both sides creating an arched corridor.

“Have you ever tried skating on this?”

“I don't know how to skate.”

“I do. It's fun.” She slid across on one leg, the other out behind her, her arms spread wide. “Look, I'm Sonja Henie.”

“I like hockey,” I said. I reached in my pocket and took out a bottle cap, then dropped it on the ice and kicked it with the side of my foot. It only went a few yards before hitting the bank. Grace shuffled across the ice to where it had stopped and kicked it back. I stopped it and kicked it back to her. It went between her legs and maybe ten feet past. “Score!” I said.

“Yeah, wait until my next kick,” she said, sliding back. Suddenly there was a loud crack. “What was that?” she asked.

“I don't know. Don't move.” Suddenly Grace fell through the ice. The creek was only a yard and a half deep but she fell sideways, and her head went under water.

“Grace!”

She sputtered and flailed about until she grabbed on to the edge of the ice. She leaned up onto it and it broke, dropping her back in the water. I ran up the side of the bank holding on to the willow branches for support and leaning out over the water.

“Grab my arm!”

She reached over and grabbed me. I pulled her backward, falling into the bushes with the weight of our motion. Then I pulled her the rest of the way out of the water. She was shivering violently. We edged along the bank until we came to an impasse of a thistle bush.

“We need to go back on the ice,” I said.

“No.”

“There's no other way back. I'll go first.”

I tried the ice, then I took her hand, and we stepped onto the sheet and cautiously shuffled to the opposite bank. Then I put my arm around her and helped her up the steep, snow-covered incline. When we were on solid ground I took off her coat and put mine around her. She seemed disoriented, which I knew wasn't a good thing. I had learned about hypothermia in scouting. They taught us to watch for the umbles: stumbles, mumbles, fumbles, and grumbles. Grace was stumbling and mumbling. We needed to get inside the house. My father was home but the last I saw of him he was in his bedroom. It didn't matter; she had to get inside. I led her back to the bridge. As we neared the house Grace was shaking so hard I practically had to carry her. I walked as fast as I could with nearly her full weight leaning into me. We finally got to the back porch, and I opened the door. I could hear the television; my father must have gotten up.

“Come in,” I whispered.

“Is your dad home?”

“He won't come out.”

Suddenly my dad yelled, “Eric!”

“Yeah?” I shouted back.

“Get me a Dr. Pepper.”

“Sure. I need to go to the bathroom first.” I turned to Grace. “C'mon. Hurry.”

We slunk around the corner to the bathroom. I quickly turned the shower on full and steam filled the room. Grace tried to take her clothes off but her hands were trembling so badly she couldn't do it. I pulled off her coat, then knelt down and untied her shoes. When she had stepped out of them, I pulled her socks down and off. She tried to un-button her blouse but she couldn't push the buttons through. She looked at me helplessly. I suppose this would be most teenage boys' ultimate fantasy, but I was a young fourteen and was as terrified as I was mystified by the opposite sex.

I reached my hand inside the shower. The water was scalding. I adjusted the knobs until it was warm. “Get in,” I said.

“…my clothes…”

“Just get in. You're already wet.”

She stepped inside the shower. The first minute or so she shivered as the hot water soaked through her clothing. Then she seemed to relax.

“I'll be back,” I said.

As I was shutting the bathroom door my dad called again. “Eric, where's my Dr. Pepper?”