Page 39 of Graciously His

Chapter 18

Grace

Ihurry down the hallway, away from Nate. The bedroom doesn’t have a lock on the door, but I close it firmly. This space already feels like a refuge, despite being the very spot where he—

Last night. Tonight.

I put his dark promises of negotiation from my mind as I seat myself at the desk. Even though I don’t like to admit it, Nate was right about one thing: I do want a few pieces of my past brought up from Dunedin. So I open the list one more time and select the second-hand treasures I collected furtively throughout the years of my marriage. They’ll be the start of the changes I’ll make to Horseshoe Manor. I use my finger to sign the bottom of the list, then send it back to Nate.

I spend some time catching up on a few texts and social media posts, wondering vaguely if Nate has, in fact, put spyware on my phone. Whatever it might be, it’s invisible. I consider a factory reset as a cautionary measure, but hold off. I could bring that up tonight, instead—maybe as leverage.

And maybe I’ll tell him that having the bullet journal without my pens is like having a computer without a keyboard. I smile at his lapse, enjoying the fact that, though part of me wants to, I won’t document a thing until the pens arrive. If Nate doesn’t agree to give me some privacy, the journal will be unopened, a time capsule with nothing new for him to scrape.

I review the past few days in the journal, continuing the pattern in my mind: yesterday will have to remain orange, but today is a strange one. Less physical pain, though the air hunger… I test my lungs. Heavy. But not painful this afternoon. The pain is within my mind, a shade of yellow that could go orange alongside the images of Nick’s broken body. It occurs to me that I can use my phone to call Constable Tim. Or my mother. Or even Mihi. I smile, thinking of the latter. Before I came back to Nate, Mihi demanded a standing morning walk with Shep on the beach. I’m already looking forward to tomorrow.

My phone buzzes, startling me badly. I look at the screen.

Mother.

She’s calling me.

The phone falls to the desk with a clatter and I’m on my feet before I realise what I’ve done. The chair wobbles, almost tipping. I barely hear the door open. My lungs hurt, aching to fill, and Nate steps neatly around me to grab the phone. His eyes lock on mine after he sees the name on the screen.

“Want me to get this?”

I nod. He sends me a swift, approving smile before he answers the phone.

“Constance,” he says, voice almost bored.

Mother’s voice is a shrill outpouring, but Nate doesn’t flinch. He lets her go on for a full minute.

“Yes,” he drawls, “I’m aware there are movers taking things out of the townhouse today—at Grace’s behest.” He pauses, listening as she replies. “Hang on, I’ll ask her.” He holds the phone outwards, the screen and microphone facing me. “Do you want to talk to your mother, Grace?”

“No!”

I say it before I can stop myself.

Then I realise what I’ve done—what he’s done.

Nate beams as he continues speaking to Mother, but I can’t hear him. Instead, I hear my own rapid breaths. I just confirmed everything. I am here with Nate. I am rejecting her.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, trying to keep my feet. I cannot have a repeat of my panic attack from this morning. Not in front of Nate.

When his voice comes again, it’s accompanied by his arms, enfolding me. “You did so well just now. Do you know that?”

I shake my head, tears falling, breaths heaving.

“I’m proud of you. I’ve blocked her number so you don’t have to see her pop up anymore.”

His voice seems to unbind my lungs, his body a reassuring coil of warmth around mine. I am a filament, glowing bright with pain even as oxygen fills me to the brim. My tears slow as I breathe. He murmurs encouragement and I want to push him away, call Mother back and—

“This is how it feels when someone loves you.” His arms tighten as he senses my resistance. “And you’re going to learn to let me love you, just like this.”

“You,” I take another breath, my lungs finally filling properly, “blocked her?”

“I did. Does that make you feel safer, Grace?”

His ability to read my thoughts should infuriate me all over again. I can only nod.