The officer scribbled down his notes. “We’ll make some inquiries. But if it’s not a fresh wound, it could have happened a while ago.”
Graced reached for Tom’s hand. While she was grateful that B?o had been reunited with his aunt, she still felt a lingering concern over why he’d run away in the first place.
As a mother, she was no stranger to the dramatics of children. Her eldest, Katie, had threatened to run away on several occasions when she was around the same age. Grace recalled one particular episodewhen Katie had stuffed her pillowcase with what she believed to be her necessities: her prized sticker album, a copy ofTeen Beatmagazine (given to her by the babysitter), and some chewing gum, but she’d never gotten farther than the driveway.
“You mentioned B?o and his aunt were staying at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs,” Grace said.
“Yes. At the motherhouse. The Sisters sponsored a group of boat people.”
Grace flinched. She’d seen the photographs on the front page of theNew York Timesabout the thousands of Vietnamese refugees who’d crowded onto tiny vessels trying to escape persecution after the fall of the South Vietnamese government. So many had perished at sea from starvation and capsized boats to even pirate attacks.
“It’s a good thing the Sisters have tried to help, though it’s not easy being new to a place as close-knit as Bellegrove,” Grace said. “It can feel a little like a country club, with the new people not permitted entry.”
Grace was pensive when she got into their old Pontiac wagon, and Tom started the engine. Outside, it began to rain.
“It’s interesting,” she said as she looked out the window, the melancholy returning to her as the pavement became speckled with drops. “When we came to the station, my only concern was about making sure the boy was okay. But now, I can’t help thinking about both himandhis aunt.” She swallowed hard. “We don’t know what happened to his parents, either.”
“Anh seemed like a very compassionate young woman.” Tom’s voice was soothing. “You could see how worried she’d been.”
“Yes. But can you imagine arriving here not knowing the language, the customs.… It’s an entirely different world.” Her head leaned against the glass. “It was hard enough for me coming from Ireland. People used to tell me they couldn’t understand a word I said, with my accent.”
“It was part of your charm, Gracie.”
“You should have seen the way Adele looked at him. You’d think I was walking down the street with a criminal.”
“You know better than to suggest Adele is like everyone else in town.”
“I know.” Grace straightened and shuffled through her handbag for a mint. “It just feels like we left the police station too soon.”
“You worry too much,” Tom said as he reached for an eight-track tape of a Beatles album that Grace loved. The sound of the familiar tunes laced the space between them as they headed home.
When they reached the house on Morris Avenue, Tom pulled slowly into the driveway. He switched the car’s lights off and turned to Grace.
“I didn’t realize how late it is. The girls are going to be hungry.” His hands fell from the steering wheel to his lap. “Should I get us a pizza?”
Grace glanced at her watch. In the twilight, her face looked somber.
“I completely forgot it’s Sunday night. Jack’s supposed to have dinner with us.” A sinking feeling came over her. She had been on her way to get the groceries for a nice supper when she found B?o, and the meal with Jack had completely slipped her mind.
“I’m sure the kids told him what happened,” he reassured her. “He’ll understand. How often do you find a runaway?”
“Yes. But I still feel bad.” Her Irish guilt took over. She knew that Jack, who lived above their family store and kept mostly to himself, always looked forward to a home-cooked meal. “Please tell him I’m sorry when you see him.”
“Of course, but we did the right thing. B?o is back with his aunt. We can give Jack a rain check for another Sunday night.” He reached for her in the passenger seat and ran his finger over her forearm. The softness of her skin never ceased to surprise him. Grace always felt new to him.
But had they really done as much as they could? Grace wasn’t so sure. When she first arrived in Bellegrove, her experience had hardly been smooth. And Tom’s parents—the only Jews in the town—had also been considered outsiders. Treated politely for the most part, but hardly fully embraced.
Her fingers now reached beneath her neckline to touch the tiny amulet of Saint Thérèse resting against her skin. Delilah had given it to her after her sister’s funeral, and she still wore the necklace to this day.
Grace closed her eyes and remembered when Delilah shared how she was guided by the spirit of Saint Thérèse and her belief that small acts of empathy could change the world. The Irish in Grace sensed that B?o had come into her life for a reason. And perhaps now Anh, too. Her late mother-in-law had called itchesed, the moral obligation to always be kind.
CHAPTER 8
THE FOREST GREEN–AND-BRONZE SIGN THAT READ “THEGOLDENHOURS” had been in Bellegrove for as long as anyone could remember. Nestled on the ground floor of a white brick building on the corner of Main Street and Maple Avenue, the store had become a part of the village landscape, just like Butler’s Shoes and Kepler’s Market.
Its windows were filled with tall, graceful grandfather clocks of varying shapes and sizes. The walls displayed mounted clocks with different sized numbers and fonts. Antique tables upheld elegant mantel clocks positioned in the center, some in gilt bronze with florid details and others in ebony or rosewood. There was even the occasional clock made of hand-painted porcelain. Grace’s favorite was a delft blue-tile clock that had sat in the shop for over a year, before Tom brought it home and surprised her with it for Mother’s Day.
The shop had been a large part of her life almost from the moment she began dating Tom. Founded by Tom’s father, Harry, Grace soon realized that the store was the very heart of the Golden family. And while over the years she envied that her husband could retreat to such a peaceful workspace when she was frazzled at home with two young children, Grace had come to see the Golden Hours as a place that restored not just watches and clocks, but also broken men.
