Grace looked better than Sidney had ever seen her. Her prematurely graying hair was fashionably styled, a stark change from the matted-down prison do that Sidney had known from her visits to St. Lucia. Allowed to pamper herself with products other than prison-issued bar soap and foam shampoo, including assistance from a layer of foundation and blush that hid the pallor of her skin, the transformation was remarkable.
“Wow. You look . . . Is it cliché to saybeautiful?”
Grace smiled. “I don’t care if it’s cliché, it’s the first time someone’s called me that in years. I actually feel like apersonagain. Come in.”
Sidney walked into the apartment. The long windows were filled with the lights of New York City.
“No Derrick?” Grace asked.
“No. We’ll get more footage later. Maybe next week. I need to talk with you about something that’s come up.”
“Sure. Whatever you need. Ellie’s not home from work yet. She was called in for a delivery.”
“Who is it?” came a voice from the other room.
Sidney recognized the slightly slurred speech of Marshall Sebold.
“It’s Sidney,” Grace said. “He’s been more”—Grace wobbled her head back and forth as she chose a word—“outgoing since I’ve been home. My parents tell me, anyway. They said he had coiled into himself the last few years, but now he’s talking more. It’s a good thing, but with guests he can be a little over whelming.”
“Marshall and I have met before,” Sidney said. “Evenbefore the other night. I spoke with him when I interviewed your parents originally. We actually played a game of chess.”
Grace smiled. “Of course, you did. He can sucker anyone into a game. He’s such a con man.”
They walked into the large living room, decorated with contemporary furniture and modern art. Everything was at sharp-right angles.Ellie Reiser,Sidney thought again,is doing well for herself.
“Marshall,” Grace said. “You remember Sidney, don’t you?”
Marshall sank into his wheelchair and looked down at his lap, his curled wrists and atrophied fingers slinking between his knees.
Sidney smiled. “Hi, Marshall.”
“Do you want to play chess?” Marshall asked, his voice muffled as he spoke into his chest.
“Sidney didn’t come to play chess, Marshall.”
“Just one game. Like before,” Marshall said.
Grace looked at Sidney and smiled. “Sorry. He’s a little stir-crazy locked away up here with me. As soon as we’re done shooting whatever remaining scenes you need, Marshall and I are thinking of heading up to Ellie’s lake house for a change of scenery. It’ll be good for both of us.”
“Probably a good idea.”
“Will you play?” Marshall asked again.
Sidney shrugged. “I’ll have a game, Marshall. You’ll remember that I’m not very good.”
“You’re a saint,” Grace said. She looked at Marshall. “One game. A fast one.”
Marshall took his hands from his lap and placed them on the wheels of his chair to roll himself into the den, where his chess set waited. As he passed Grace, she stuck her foot out and stopped the wheelchair’s progress.
“But only if you walk,” she said.
Marshall looked up from his chair, took his hands fromthe wheels, and placed them back into his lap, his chin falling again to his chest.
“Nope,” Grace said. “That works on Mom, not on me. You either walk to the den and sit on the couch, or Sidney doesn’t play with you.”
Sidney stood quietly as she watched the interaction between the siblings, catching both an aura of friendship and the maternal nature of an older sister who likely had been the only person, besides his parents, that Marshall could rely upon.
“Do you want to play or not?” Grace asked.
