The Mine (31 page)

"I'll take care of it."

Ginny saw him frown and look down as she tucked the card in her purse.

"Just how long are you planning to be gone?"

"I don't know," Joel said. "It may be a few days or several weeks."

"I
will
see you again, won't I?"

Joel laughed to himself as he thought of the question. His second go-around with Virginia Gillette had finally come full circle. He gave her another hug and smiled as he put a hand on the door and started to leave. For once, he could offer the truth.

"That's one thing I can definitely promise," he said. "I will see you again."

CHAPTER 62

Joel drove Tom's Plymouth to a small green house up the Ave, knocked on the door, and picked up Grace Vandenberg for the last time. She let him in and introduced him to four studious coeds without dates to the ball before throwing on her coat, gathering some papers, and following him back out the door. She appeared harried but happy and more than ready to get her Friday night under way.

"Have you had dinner?" Joel asked when he started the car.

"I have."

"Then what would you like to do? Go to a movie? Get some drinks? Go back to my place?"

Grace smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"My, my. You're an eager boy."

Joel laughed. He didn't have his mind in the gutter, but his matter-of-fact question had implied just that. He was getting slow in his old age.

"Let's go get a drink," Grace said. "There's a new place that opened on Forty-Fifth. I'd like to see it."

Five minutes later Joel pulled into the lot of a windowless establishment called the Dungeon and escorted Grace through the door. They passed two suits of armor, three coats of arms, and two wenches carrying trays of adult beverages on their way to a dimly lit table in the back of the dining area. The only visible sops to the twentieth century were a lighted jukebox by the emergency door and a Christmas tree by the cash register.

"This place reminds me of your hideaway in the library."

"I see no similarities," Grace sniffed. "But it is rather interesting."

When a wench with attitude came around with a tablet, Joel ordered a beer he could not pronounce and Grace selected a red wine she had favored for months.

"Did you finish your project tonight?"

"We did."

"Do you wish we had gone to the ball?"

"I do. But I understand. You have a long trip tomorrow."

She grabbed his hands and pulled them across the table.

"The dance is not important. I'll have other opportunities to get gussied up. The main thing is that we're here, together, tonight. You're all I need."

The words hit Joel hard as more doubt rolled through his mind. Could he really do this? Was he honorable or just plain insane? Who walked away from this? He stared at Grace and for a moment considered laying it on the line. Screw the consequences. He wanted to tell her the truth and wanted to do it now. But he could not.

He looked around the lodge-like room at other tables and saw several couples. Some engaged in conversation. Most seemed happy. All were completely oblivious to what awaited the nation in less than forty hours.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I'm going to spend most of the weekend with Aunt Edith. She needs some help around the house and I need a break from school. But other than that I'm not planning anything special." Grace tightened her hold on his hand. "I am going to miss you."

"Grace?"

"Yes, Joel."

"Do you believe in time travel?"

Grace spit out her wine and burst into laughter. She took a few seconds to catch her breath and mop up the mess on the table with a napkin before turning to Joel.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. But that's not a question I get every day."

Joel turned red and berated himself for misreading the moment. When he should have been quoting Barrett and Browning, he was channeling H.G. Wells.

"That's OK. Forget I asked."

Grace put a hand on his arm.

"Don't feel bad. It's a fascinating subject. It's just not one I've really considered. I'm not sure what I believe. There is so much about physics and the universe I don't understand. I suppose anything is possible. Why do you ask?"

Because I'm about to dump you for a time machine, that’s why.

"I just read something in the paper the other day and wanted your opinion."

"Well, now you have it. Would you like my opinion on anything else? Another glass of this wine and I might be particularly profound."

He smiled sadly.

"What's the matter, Joel? You haven't been yourself for an awfully long time."

"I'm all right. I'm just a little nervous about the trip."

"You'll be fine. I know you will. You'll mend fences with your family and be all the better for it. I really would like to meet them someday."

Joel took a breath and nodded.

"I'd like that too."

Grace looked at Joel for a moment, smiled, and then reached down to retrieve her purse. She poked around inside, pulled out a red envelope, and pushed it across the table.

"What's this?"

"It's your Christmas present. I was going to give it to you when you got back, but I just decided that now was as good a time as any."

Joel picked up the envelope, looked at Grace, and forced a smile. He wondered if it were possible for his messy exit to get messier.

He opened the envelope and pulled out a homemade Christmas card. The front featured an image of a cozy, snow-covered cabin in the woods. The line art illustration appeared straight from the presses of Currier and Ives but came from a source much closer to home. Edith Tomlinson had scribbled her name in a corner.

"I commissioned my aunt to draw this for the price of some cookies," Grace said with a widening grin. "She held out for a dinner."

Joel opened the card and saw a stick figure skier on each of the inside panels. The one on the left wore a dress, the other a wide-brimmed hat. Both skied toward the center of the card and a handwritten message:

"My darling cowboy, I'm glad we're finally sliding in the same direction. Merry Christmas! Love, Grace."

"As you can see, I'm not much of an artist," Grace said, laughing. "But as Ginny likes to say, it's the thought that counts."

"It's beautiful, Grace."

Grace looked at her cowboy and saw a blank expression and downcast eyes. She tilted her head, leaned forward, and raised her brows, as if to trying to will a more upbeat reaction. Apparently unsatisfied, she grabbed his hands and again pulled them forward.

"Joel, I got you more than a card. This is only a preview."

He scolded himself again, this time for dragging a black cloud over their table. The least he could do is put on a happy face and play the part of a grateful boyfriend – or even an interested boyfriend. Was that asking too much? He looked her in the eyes and smiled.

She brightened and proceeded with a thorough explanation.

"When you return from Montana, we're going skiing, just the two of us. I've reserved a cabin on Mount Hood for the last weekend in January. There is a new resort there called Timberline. I've saved enough money for lift tickets, gas, meals, everything. I want to learn to ski and want you to teach me. Tom said you know how."

Joel did not respond right away. He paused for a moment to consider the gift and the giver. He had enough cash in his wallet alone to take her to Timberline for a month. But she did not even consider asking for help. She wanted to do this for him. Her generosity and thoughtfulness knew no bounds. He looked at her closely and took stock. He wanted to remember this night and remember that face. He wanted to remember that no matter what life brought him from this day on, he had once had it all.

"I do. I've skied since I was five," he said. "I would love to teach you."

He meant it too. He meant every word. He could not imagine anything more enjoyable than teaching the girl who loved snow to love snow as never before. But he knew words now were mere exercises. He was biding time – and time was running out.

"I thought you would. We'll have so much fun. I know we will."

"We will," Joel said, with manufactured cheer. "Thank you for the present, Grace. It's perfect. You’re perfect. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Grace let go of his hands, slipped on her coat, and grabbed her purse. She lifted her empty glass, clinked it to his, and flashed him her signature smile.

"To us, Mr. Smith," she said. "Now, take me home."

* * * * *

At nine fifteen, Joel parked Thomas Carter's Plymouth in front of the rambler on Klickitat Avenue, set the emergency brake, and stared out the windshield. He said nothing for more than a minute as a light drizzle outside and the breaths of two people inside quickly clouded the glass.

"What are you thinking about?" Grace asked.

"I'm thinking about the good times I've had here. I'm thinking about Tom and Ginny and Katie and the Carters and even Linda. But mostly I'm thinking about you."

Grace kissed his cheek and put her head on his shoulder.

"Don't ever leave me, Joel," she said. "I couldn't bear it. I love you."

Joel heard the words but did not react. He occupied another place – a place where reason trumped the heart and duty dispatched the soul.

He held Grace in his arms for thirty mostly silent minutes and thought about the past six months, the people and places that truly mattered, and the big questions that continued to defy answers. He thought about actions and consequences, the human capacity for change, and the raw, irrepressible power of fate.

When he reached the conclusion that all this was too much for one mere mortal, he released his grasp and withdrew his arms. The time had come to let go.

He opened his door and walked around the back of the car to open hers. Grabbing her extended hand, he gently pulled her out of the vehicle and escorted her up the walk to the top of the cement stairs and a lighted doorway. A light rain continued to fall.

When they reached the door, Joel turned to face Grace, offered a weak smile, and gave her a tender, affectionate hug. But he felt neither tenderness nor affection. He did not feel a thing. He had emotionally sedated himself in advance of the parting and simply went through the motions. Emotion was a luxury he could not afford.

"Good night, Grace."

"Aren't you coming in?"

"No. I should go."

Joel looked at her face and saw wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He could see that this was not the answer she had anticipated. She clearly had another nightcap in mind.

"It will be all right. There's no one here. Ginny and Katie went to the late show tonight. They won't be back for at least another hour. Please come in."

"I have to go."

Grace grabbed his hand as he started to leave and stopped him in his tracks. She gently pulled him back to the top step and stared at him with eyes that projected surprise, bewilderment, and hurt.

"Joel, I'm asking you to stay. I may not see you for weeks. Be with me. Please."

The ardent plea snapped Joel out of his self-induced stupor. The emotions he had so carefully tucked away came surging back. He gazed at Grace, beautiful Grace, and fought back tears as the final, inevitable waves of guilt, regret, and doubt crested and crashed. He could not believe it had come to this, but it had. Overcoming one last temptation to change his mind, he grabbed her hands, kissed her softly, and stepped back.

"I love you, Grace. I will always love you. Never forget that."

He let go of her hands.

"Goodbye."

CHAPTER 63

Grace needed a pen but could not find one. She could not find one in Uncle George's Ford or in the kitchen of her house on Klickitat Avenue. Dressed in her Sunday finest, she had just returned from Aunt Edith's. The two had attended the early service at Edith's church in Montlake and eaten breakfast at a nearby diner before Grace had decided she needed to return home to work on an assignment for school.

But that assignment had required a pen, and she could not find one. She could not find her roommates either, even at eleven thirty. Katie's bed was rumpled but unoccupied; Ginny's was immaculate and unused. She had spent the night elsewhere.

Still needing a pen, Grace walked to Ginny's roll-top writing desk and opened the center drawer. She found the pen she sought and some paper she needed and something she had not expected to see: an envelope with her name on it. Thick and stiff, the item bore no addresses or other markings – just the word "Grace" in a man's handwriting.

Grace pulled the envelope from the desk, walked to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of juice, and sat down at a small table. She held the item up to the light and debated whether to open it for more than five minutes before finally succumbing to curiosity.

Breaking a light seal, she opened the off-white wrapper and pulled out a Christmas card, a handwritten letter, and a small brown envelope that protected something round and hard. On the cover of the card she saw a candle in a wreath. In the pages of the letter she found the musings of a man, a man she sorely missed and had thought about all weekend. She put down her juice and began to read.

"Dearest Grace:

I can't imagine anything more difficult than writing this letter. Saying goodbye is never easy. Admitting to lies is even harder. But today I have to do both."

Grace settled into the vinyl-covered seat of the chrome diner chair and reread the first paragraph. Whatever this was, it was not a pleasant holiday greeting.

"For six months I have passed myself off as someone I am not. I have changed lives and altered events and made messes I cannot possibly clean up. I did so knowingly and willingly and with little regard for anyone but myself."

Katie Kobayashi entered the residence a moment later with a quart of milk, a block of cheese, and a carton of eggs. She said "good morning" and put the groceries in the refrigerator before approaching her housemate. She slowed to a stop when she glanced at Grace and an opened envelope bearing her name.