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?—”
