Page 86 of Graciously His

“Nate, if you have a problem with me helping Mihi—”

“Tell her I say hello.” I jerk my chin at the driveway. “Now get going.”

Her mouth firms into a line, but she obeys. Whenever she deigns to come home, I’ll be ready.

I spend my time alone combing Grace’s social media feeds for messages from her mother. Sure enough, the one-sided thread has lengthened over the last few days. Constance Fucking Reid’s poisonous words are clearly directed at me despite the fact that, from her end, none of the messages should even appear as ‘read’. I skim the latest ones:

It’s only a matter of time, little boy. The police haven’t got enough proof to call me back in. They’ve had to let it all go, just like I knew they would. It was smart, giving them just enough to keep both of us from going to jail. Your move, young man, unless you’re waiting for mine.

Speaking of going to jail, the timing of my son-in-law’s death is curious, especially when one factors in just how quickly you snatched Grace away to the North Island… and all those documents you had ready to go at no notice.

I screenshot the final message, registering the threat, before I delete the lot of them. The bitch is fishing for proof of culpability on my end. She won’t find it. I suppress the urge to call Watson for confirmation that we’re in the legal clear, but there’s no point. The paper trail is as clean as my paranoid lawyer could make it. Calling him would be an annoyance to both of us. And I have better things to do. Such as checking through Grace’s laptop while she’s gone, making fresh copies of her bullet journal, and circling ever closer to the solution of this riddle.

Chapter 35

Grace

Iapproach Mihi’s house, trying not to dwell on Nate’s plans to leave me alone again tomorrow. I’ll have to convince him to take me along; there’s no way I can stand a repeat of last week. Besides, feeling well has given me the urge to get back into the world beyond Horseshoe Manor. I want to feel the city air, enjoy a bit of noise, and see how my body reacts to more stimulation than I’m used to. I want to prove that I can handle it—to myself as well as to Nate.

Mihi meets me at her front door with some sad news about the herd in the eastern paddock: a couple of the ewes died while lambing. I’m shocked, but she isn’t.

“Death is part of farming,” Mihi says as we prepare a few bottles of milk for the motherless lambs. “The main thing is securing the next generation, cause there aren’t any foster mothers to take on these little ones.”

As we head outside, I think back on the history of the property Mihi shared when we first met, remembering the neglect these poor animals faced before she took over.

“How long has it been since Nate bought the land off your father?” I ask, fumbling with the latch on the paddock.

“Almost five years. And every year marks fewer dead ewes.”

We move to the shed where the babies huddle beneath a heat lamp, the surrounding straw scrupulously clean. We each take a lamb and sit down.

“How are things at the big house?” Mihi asks, petting her lamb as it gulps milk. “Hadley being good to you after that not-allowed-to-go-into-town bullshit last week?”

I shrug. “He’s being his usual self, I guess. I had a good appointment with Eileen today, though.”

At Mihi’s prompting, I spill the news about my newly-issued bill of good health. We’re shifting to the second pair of lambs when her eyes turn shrewd, her expression hardening.

“How are you going to handle this new state of affairs, Grace?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything new about it.”

I lean down and kiss my lamb’s downy cheek, pulling back when it butts forward for more milk.

“Kisses at the wrong time cause a broken nose, girl.” Mihi reaches out to correct the angle of my bottle. “And I disagree with what you said just now. Everything’s new when someone who’s been sick all her life suddenly isn’t.”

Mihi’s words should be reassuring, but somehow I find myself shrinking. “I’m still having some off-days here and there, and—and…”

I can’t find a way to voice my doubts, but Mihi nods. “It’s okay if the recovery doesn’t feel real yet. It can’t be real until you’ve lived it long enough to feel it. Hell, your body is probably still making up for everything it’s been deprived of—literally.”

I know she means nutrition, but the image that comes to mind is Nate, his eyes on mine as he touches me, offering me the endless physical love I never even glimpsed during my marriage to Nick.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Grace.

“Right,” I say. “I guess it’ll feel real when I’m healthy for longer than a few days at a go.”

“Yep. And someday soon you’ll realise your last bad day was ages ago.”

I glance sideways, seeing the distant expression in her eyes. “Was it like that for you, when you were recovering?”