Need You Now

Chapter Ten




Darlene eased the bedroom door open and tiptoed in. Brad’s eyes were closed and he was sprawled out on the bed, atop the covers, with the TV still going and the light on. She slipped out of her shoes and gently set her purse on the dresser. Holding her breath, she hiked her dress up and moved quietly toward the bathroom.

“Did you forget how to use a phone?”

She spun around. Brad was sitting up, his dark hair tousled as he rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she said as she kept going toward the bathroom. “I had the sound turned off, then I forgot to turn it back on after the gala was over. And there were problems with Layla, but I’ll explain in the morning.”

After she changed into her nightgown and washed her face, she pulled the pins from her hair and brushed it out. She walked back into the bedroom, hoping Brad would be asleep. She was too tired to go into everything now.

“Dar, it’s after one in the morning. I left you two messages.” He fluffed his pillows, leaned against them, and pulled the covers to his chest. “You’d be seriously grounded if you were one of the kids.”

She hurried to his side. “I know. And I didn’t mean to be this late. I have so much to tell you, but can I tell you in the morning? Church is going to come early.” She nestled up against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

Brad rubbed his hand over his jaw, sighed, then reached over to his nightstand. “I found these in Grace’s drawer in her room.” He showed her the two razor blades and straws.

Darlene sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears. She stared at the items for several moments. “No way Grace is doing drugs if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I would have never thought so.”

Darlene shook her head. “Nope. Not Grace.”

“Maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?” Darlene twisted to face him. “What, Brad?”

“Skylar. Maybe she’s getting Grace into something that . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Darlene. I mean, Skylar is kind of different.”

“She dresses differently, but I don’t think Skylar is a druggie. You can’t judge her by the way she dresses. And remember how sweet she was to give Grace that angel ring for her birthday?”

“Well then. Explain this.” He pushed the blades and straws toward her. “We’ve known plenty of parents who’ve dealt with their kids’ drug problems. And I think Chad played around with them for a while.”

Darlene didn’t like to think about Chad doing drugs, and he’d never admitted it, but both she and Brad had suspected it when they were in Houston. “Chad is with Cindy now, and she’s a good girl. He’s not into any of that.”

“I know. I’m just saying that he might have been at one time.”

“Maybe. But not Grace. She would never do that. I know my daughter, Brad.”

“Well, you haven’t been around much the past couple of weeks. Maybe it’s something new.”

Darlene’s mouth fell open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying that you haven’t been home much. Maybe Grace is starting to spend time with the wrong crowd.”

Darlene eased away from him, turned out her light, and rolled onto her side. “I will talk to her tomorrow, but I know that’s not it.” She was quiet for a few moments. “And it hurts my feelings that you would blame it on me.”

“Baby, no.” He turned out his light and snuggled close to her. “I’m not blaming anything on you. I’m just worried about Grace.”

“I will talk to her,” she said again. There was another explanation, and she’d find out tomorrow afternoon, after church and brunch.

They said good night, and Darlene rushed through her prayers, fearful she’d fall asleep before she finished, and she wanted to be sure to get in some extra prayers for Layla.

And Grace. Just in case.



Layla woke up Sunday morning with a rotten hangover, still dressed in her formal gown—and with her past life laid out all around her. She’d done this a hundred times before, dumping all the pictures out and crying until she couldn’t cry anymore. Pictures of Marissa, Tom, and the three of them together. Reminders of her past that she only faced when she’d had enough wine to temper the pain. Her retreat into a world of beautiful memories would always leave her feeling even more shattered and lost than before. And yet Darlene had wanted to talk to her about God?

She picked up a picture of Marissa, the one of her in her pink and white dress, her hair in a ponytail. They’d just gone to a friend’s wedding shower, and Marissa was glowing. “I can’t wait until I get married,” she’d said on the way home.

Layla swiped at a tear, wondering how there could possibly be any tears left.

She and Tom had managed to stay together for several months after Marissa’s death, but eventually they turned their grief into anger at one another. They’d been a threesome for so long that being with Tom was a constant reminder of what they’d lost, and she knew he felt the same way. He’d left on a Saturday. They’d spoken a few times, but each conversation ended in tears for both of them. Not only had she lost Marissa, she’d lost the only man she’d ever loved. He’d told her that he couldn’t help her until he could heal himself.

If there was a God, He had clearly looked down on her and decided that she’d been given too much. A great career. A wonderful husband. And a beautiful daughter. Maybe God wanted her to pay more attention to the many people around the world who were suffering in worse ways than she was. Or maybe He thought Layla wasn’t a good enough mother, wasn’t home enough, or put too much emphasis on her career. She’d turned it over in her mind a thousand times. And each time, her conclusion was the same. God was punishing her for something. She just wasn’t sure what.

She recalled all the times she’d knelt with Marissa beside her bed to say prayers. Marissa’d had a strong faith. Stronger than Layla’s. Why would God take her away at such a young age, such a beautiful person? If the expansion of The Evans School could help one teenager, bipolar or with other challenges, then Layla would keep donating her time and money.

Layla shivered as she recalled the day she found Marissa in her room next to a bottle of pills from Layla’s medicine cabinet.

She put Marissa’s picture down, got out of her gown, then crawled back into bed. She couldn’t bear to have the pictures out in the open, so she kept everything boxed up but nearby, for when she needed to feel Marissa close to her, to remember, no matter how painful.

Despite her feelings about God, Layla knew exactly whose fault it was that Marissa was gone.

And for that, she hated God. And herself.



Darlene served up the last of the pancakes, her mind on two things. Grace and Layla. She planned to talk to Grace after they were done eating, even though she was sure Grace would have an explanation for what Brad had found in her room. As for Layla . . . she kept glancing out the window, hoping maybe she would show up. By twelve thirty, she’d given up hope.

Earlier that morning, while she and Brad were dressing for church, Darlene had told him all about the evening, about Marissa, and about the way Layla begged her to stay for a while after the gala. Brad was understanding and sympathetic, but he’d asked her again why she didn’t call.

She’d asked herself that same question.

“I thought you said Layla might come over.” Ansley reached for the last piece of bacon.

Darlene glanced out the window again. “I invited her, but I guess she decided not to.” She assumed Layla might not be feeling well this morning.

“I can’t believe a movie star lives next door.” Chad shook his head, grinning.

Darlene put her hands on her hips and looked down at Brad, who had his chin tucked.

“You told? I thought we talked about that.”

Brad’s puppy-dog eyes grew wide. “They saw her on television last night.”

Darlene stifled a grin. Brad’s boyish looks never seemed to diminish, and it was hard to stay angry at him. “I’m sure you were looking for one of her movies.”

Chad stood up, pushed his chair in. “See, I said she was hot. And go figure . . . she’s a movie star.”

“I think it’s neat how she still rides horses.” Grace stood up, then carried her plate to the sink. “And she takes care of that big place all by herself.”

Darlene had been discreetly watching Grace all morning for any signs that something might be up, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. “Ansley, it’s your turn for kitchen cleanup.” After Ansley grunted, Darlene turned to Grace. “Let’s go sit on the porch swing. I want to talk to you about something.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ansley said, shaking her head.

“You just clean the kitchen and don’t worry about it.” Darlene gave a gentle yank on Ansley’s short ponytail, then headed out of the kitchen, Grace following. Once they were settled on the swing, Darlene decided to play good cop, bad cop. She’d always been close to all her children, especially the girls, and she knew Brad was wrong.

“Listen . . .” She pushed with her foot until the two-seater gently began to glide back and forth. “Your dad found some razor blades and straws in your drawer, in your room.”

“Why was Dad going through my stuff?” Grace twisted in the swing to face Darlene, scowling.

“He wasn’t going through your stuff. He was putting your iPod away. But now he’s worried that you’re doing drugs.”

“No way, Mom!” Grace’s eyes watered up, and Darlene reached for her hand, but she jerked away from her. “I can’t believe Dad would think that.”

“Now, honey, just listen. I know you wouldn’t do anything that stupid, but I am wondering why you have razor blades in your room.” The straws seemed logical to Darlene. Grace used to have braces, and she often kept straws in her room to drink through, especially after her braces had been tightened. Even after her braces came off a year ago, her teeth were sensitive to cold temperatures, so she continued to use straws.

“I can’t believe Dad was in my room, in my things.” Grace hung her head and sighed.

“Well, what do you want me to tell him? Are they his razor blades? Where’d you get them?”

“I don’t know, Mom. They’ve probably been left in there from some school project when I needed a straightedge. I have no idea. But I can’t believe Dad would think . . .” She swiped at her eyes.

“I think it just scared him. You’ve got some new friends, and—”

“He thinks Skylar does drugs? Why? Because of how she dresses?” Her voice was sharp and assessing.

Darlene sighed. “Look, I believe you. But I had to ask because Dad was worried.”

“Whatever. Can I go now?” Grace stopped the swing with her foot.

“Don’t be mad.” Darlene nudged Grace’s shoulder with hers. “You and I have never had any secrets, so I just wanted to mention it.”

Grace got up and went into the house. Darlene shouldn’t have said anything, and she should have told Brad he was being silly. She went inside to check on Ansley in the kitchen.



Grace closed her bedroom door and lay on her bed, tears rising to the surface again. The last thing she wanted was for her father to think she was anything less than perfect. How many times had he said, “My sweet Grace, always a good girl, never giving us any trouble.”

She thought about Skylar. Grace’s so-called friends wouldn’t understand her relationship with Skylar, and Skylar seemed to realize that. She would just pass Grace in the halls without so much as a smile—and Grace still sat with the same girls at lunch. Occasionally, Grace would look over at Skylar and catch her staring, but neither of them ever said anything to each other at school. They talked on the phone, and Skylar was Grace’s only friend who came to the house. When Glenda said Cindy told her that Skylar was at the house, Grace told Glenda that it was because she’d gotten stuck with Skylar for her science project.

I’m a terrible person to treat my only real friend like that.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the phone rang. She picked it up without looking at the display, assuming it was Skylar and feeling the guilt.

“Hello.”

There was silence for a few moments, then a familiar voice on the other end of the line. “Hey, Grace. It’s me.”

Grace bolted upright on the bed. “Tristan?” She brought a hand to her chest, hoping to calm her racing heart.

“Yeah. How are you?”

She took a deep breath, tried to sound casual. “I’m great. What about you?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Silence again, and Grace was dying to know why he was calling her. Maybe he wanted to get back together, to invite her to visit him in Houston. He’d finally realized how much he missed her, how much he loved her.

“How’s life in the country?” he asked.

“It’s okay. How’s Houston?”

“Same ol’.”

Why are you calling me? It was so good to hear his voice.

“Hey,” he said after a few more moments. “I need to tell you something.”

Grace’s breath caught in her throat. “What’s that?”

“I—I just didn’t want you to hear from someone else. But . . .”

Her heart started racing. She could tell by his voice that it was bad, and she clamped her eyes shut. “Just tell me, Tristan.”

“I’m going to be a dad, and I didn’t want you to hear it from some of your old friends.”

Grace felt the air leave her lungs. She’d refused to sleep with Tristan, despite his many attempts. She’d only been fifteen. How could he have expected her to do something like that, even if he was a year and a half older? Not to mention that she wanted to be married first. “What?”

“I started dating Jenny Schwartz, and . . . well, she’s pregnant. Her parents don’t want us to get married, but we are anyway.”

Grace was sure she was going to have a heart attack. Tears streamed down her face, but she couldn’t say anything.

“Grace, are you there?”

She knew they were young, but she’d always thought that they’d be together. She’d so often pictured Tristan showing up in Round Top, ready to commit his heart to her. They’d go to the same college, graduate, get married, and start a family. And now . . . he’d fathered a child with Jenny Schwartz. Someone Grace used to call a friend. She held the phone out from her face, stared at it for a moment, then slowly pressed the End button. She gently laid it down on the nightstand.

Somehow, she stood up, then she paced for a moment. An image of the pink collector’s pocketknife that her father had given her last year popped into her mind. “Here, in case you run into a snake or critter when we move to the country,” he’d said jokingly.

Grace searched for the pocketknife in the top drawer of her dresser. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. And the pain had to stop. It just had to. She finally found it.

She sat down on the bed, raised her blue jean shorts up several inches, and made a small cut across the top of her thigh. The blood oozed, and relief washed over her like a cleansing balm to her soul. She stood, then sliced herself again, deeper this time, drawing a line of blood several inches long. Thank you, thank you. Relief. No more thoughts of Tristan. No more regrets. Just relief. She closed her eyes as she stood in the middle of her room, blood dripping down her leg and splashing onto the hardwood floor. She was going to enjoy the moment. One more cut . . . She closed her eyes, breathed deeply.

Less than a minute later, her bedroom door opened, and she locked eyes with Chad. Adrenaline shot through her body like a speeding bullet, her heart beating so hard her chest hurt. Why didn’t I take the time to lock my door?

“Grace! What are you doing? You’re bleeding! What are you doing with that knife?” Chad moved closer to her, his eyes dark and accusing.

Grace froze, her face and ears burning, her body breaking out into a sweat. She’d already lied to her parents about the scars on her arms, telling them she’d had a run-in with a barbwire fence. No lie could fix this.

“Please don’t tell,” she pleaded. “Please, Chad.”

Chad pulled the knife from her hand and wrapped his arms around her as she sobbed.

“Gracie, what have you done? What’s going on?”