Chapter Sixty
Grace
I’m on my second cup of tea, but the lavender and chamomile haven’t been able to soothe my nerves.
Connor’s in the living room, chatting with Zephyr about the power grid and solar panels. While I sit at my drafting table, trying yet again to draw the images swirling around in my messed-up head.
For a moment, I think I’ve got it. An arm. Held high in the air. Another lower. Holding onto something? But then the arms turn into horns. The curve of the man’s back bends the wrong way.
I press even harder with the pencil, as if pressure can force the image to make sense. But soon, it’s nothing but a smear of charcoal and graphite.
“Shit,” I mutter. Next to me, Belle lifts her head with a deep, inquisitive sound. “I’m okay, sweetie. Just…frustrated.”
I set the pencil back in the bag and scrub my hands over my face. It’s not the sketch that’s troubling me. Or…not only the sketch. It’s the thought that I should be doing more.
AJ’s working himself into exhaustion. Connor’s giving up time with his family to babysit me. Parker might lose her entire career.
And I’m hiding here, trying to trap ghosts of my memories on page after page of my sketchbook.
Karen will be here in an hour. After that, Jasper promised to stop by so he and Connor could take me to the art supply store. I’ve burned through five pencils and an entire sketchbook since I’ve been home. If I don’t go shopping soon, I’ll be drawing on napkins with ball point pens.
My phone mocks me from the edge of the drafting table. AJ thinks one of my friends might be able to tell me if there was someone following me three years ago. Or anyone who made me uncomfortable.
I laid awake for several hours last night, wondering what I might say if any of them answered. But I couldn’t come up with anything beyond, “Hi. It’s Grace.”
Before I lose my nerve completely, I send a message to the group chat.
Grace: I’m thinking about calling Isha, one of my old friends from my running club. But what if it’s weird?
Parker: It will be. But that doesn’t mean it won’t be good, too. Girls’ night was a little weird for you at first, right?
I love how blunt and honest she is.
Grace: Maybe a little.
Emi: Just be you, hon. People who really care about you will meet you where you are.
Isabel: And if she doesn’t, we’ll be here when you’re done.
My throat is tight and raw. For more than two weeks now, I’ve hidden in this house, supported by AJ’s complete devotion, Parker’s gentle encouragement, and Karen’s never-ending obsession with clothespins.
They’d all let me lean on them when I couldn’t stand on my own. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I can do this.
I find Isha’s name in my contacts—AJ must have dug it up since this isn’t my old number—and hit call before I can talk myself out of it.
“Hello?” Her voice is gentle, but unfamiliar.
“Isha? It’s…uh…Grace,” I say softly.
She sucks in a sharp inhale. “Oh, God. Grace. I saw the press conference. I’ve thought about calling every day, but you just looked so…scared, and I didn’t know what to say or if you’d want visitors or if you remembered me at all…”
Her words sting, even though I understand. “I…wasn’t ready for a while. And I don’t remember much of anything. AJ had to tell me your name and how I knew you. But…I’m trying.”
Silence fills the air between us. It’s not empty. Not even awkward. Just…there. Like we both want to talk, but don’t know what to say.
Isha’s the one to finally break it. “You sound…different. Not bad. Just…different.”
“I am. I think. I don’t know how, though. I barely remember running—except for that last day. And…I…can’t anymore. My knees…something happened to them. Shit. This was probably a mistake—”
“No,” Isha says quickly. “Wait. Running wasn’t why we were friends.
It’s just how we met. I tore my ACL a couple of months after I joined.
You brought me cinnamon rolls for weeks.
I gained five pounds from those damn rolls, but they were so worth it.
” She laughs, and the sound is so warm, so rich and relieved, I relax a little.
“AJ keeps talking about them too. I don’t suppose I ever shared the recipe?”
“No. You said it was your secret weapon for all potlucks and holidays.”
“Well, that sounds like me. I think.”
“Grace, we can…start over. Heck, we’ll start a new club.
Former runners who can’t anymore. We’ll talk about physical therapy and what we’re supposed to do with the industrial-sized box of running fuel that’s still in the back of our pantries and oh my God how nice is it to be able to sleep in on the weekends rather than get up at the ass-crack of dawn to run twenty miles. ”
I stifle a snort. “Well, I don’t remember all those early mornings, but I did find the box of running fuel today. I counted. Fifty-three packets of the stuff. It doesn’t really taste like chocolate chip cookie dough, does it?”
“God, no. Not unless that cookie dough was made by a demented mosquito.”
Maybe reconnecting won’t be this terrible, awkward thing I’ve been dreading. At least not with Isha. We could still run out of things to talk about in five minutes, but she isn’t treating me like I’m broken.
I stare at the strange, messy sketch I can’t seem to finish. The question slips out before I can stop it. “Isha? Do you remember if I ever mentioned anyone…watching me? When we got together, was there anyone…creepy hanging around?”
She’s quiet for several seconds. Shit. This was too much, too soon. She probably thinks it’s the only reason I called. She wouldn’t be wrong. If AJ hadn’t asked, I would have put this off for weeks.
But eventually, her voice softens. “Once. We were at the Taco Shack, eating on their outdoor patio, and this old truck kept driving around the parking lot. It would slow down whenever it got close to us. That was…early March, I think. A month before you disappeared. The windows were tinted, so we couldn’t see anyone inside.
The fifth or sixth time it passed us, I flipped the driver off, and they left. ”
My stomach twists itself into a knot. Proof? No. But it’s something. “Oh. Th-thank you. I…I still don’t know who took me. Or why, and I just…shit. This isn’t what I wanted to talk about…why I wanted to call, but—”
“Grace…it’s okay,” she says, her gentle tone holding back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”
The words break me, and I have to mute the call to let out a single, rough sob. Belle jumps up, nudges my arm, and waits for me to tangle my fingers in her wiry fur.
After a shaky breath, I tap the unmute button. “I should go. M-my physical therapist should be here soon. But this is my new number. Maybe…we can talk again in a few days?”
“I’d like that,” Isha says softly. “A lot.”
We say our goodbyes, and I set the phone down before wrapping my arms around Belle and sobbing into her neck. For what I’ve lost, but also what I’ve found. A little more of me.