chapter Nine
Three days after Gramma Del's funeral Gracie and Noah drove down to Portland to apply for their marriage license. They brought their birth certificates and drivers' licenses with them then waited patiently on line while other happy couples went through the process ahead of them. When it was their turn they filled out the forms, paid the fee, then waited for the clerk to hand over their future.
"There's a forty-eight hour waiting period." The clerk took a second look at their application then put it aside. "Best of luck, folks."
"You can still change your mind," Noah said as they stepped out into the sunshine. "That's only a license, not a marriage certificate."
"I'll never change my mind about you," Gracie said, then kissed him right there on the top step to prove it.
Three office workers on break burst into applause. Noah grabbed Gracie's hand and they dashed down the steps in search of a lobster shack where they could have a cheap lunch. They needed every cent they could find to fund their plane fare to Paris.
The funny thing was that she believed in him. No matter how many times he screwed up, she went on believing. Even he couldn't manage that. Gracie would have to believe hard enough for both of them.
They ordered lunch at a lobster shack near the docks. "Almost as good as they make back home," Gracie said which made Noah laugh. She thought everything was better at Idle Point. Their haddock and chips were served on paper plates which they carried over to a wooden picnic table. Businessmen in suits wolfed down lobster rolls, leaning forward so they wouldn't spill mayonnaise on their fancy clothing. A trio of young women in shorts and halter tops eyed the men as they waited for their sandwiches. They were probably the same age as Noah and Gracie but they looked so much younger. Neither one of them had ever been young quite like that.
They ate quietly, both overcome by the significance of the piece of paper tucked away in Gracie's huge leather tote bag.
Gracie had walked through the last few days suspended somewhere between terror and elation. In the blink of an eye, her dreams of a happy family had vanished and she was forced to see her life for what it really was. Gramma was gone. Ben didn't give a damn if his daughter lived or died. He loved a bottle of booze more than he loved his own flesh and blood. Idle Point no longer seemed like home. School couldn't fill the empty jagged hole inside her heart.
Only Noah could do that.
She had loved him for so long. She couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been part of her life. He knew all of her secrets. He understood her dreams. He believed in her the way nobody but Gramma Del ever had. They wouldn't end up being one of those couples whose dreams withered and died in the face of day-to-day reality. They wouldn't let that happen. There was room enough in this world for both of their dreams. They were young and they had time to make them all come true. How could you go wrong if you followed your heart?
#
"You're not paying attention, Chase." Joe from Production said with a note of exasperation in his voice. "You type in the slug lines the way I showed you; the codes fill in automatically."
It was only the tenth time Joe had told Noah how to key in his story.
"Sorry," Noah said. "I've got it now."
"What the hell's with you anyway? Your body's here but your brain is sure as hell someplace else."
"One of those days," Noah mumbled, pretending great interest in the words on his screen. He was finding it tough to care about the 32 Annual Labor Day Weekend Festival hosted by the Kiwanis Club when in less than six hours he and Gracie would be getting married.
They had it planned down to the minute. Some of Gracie's old high school friends were throwing a beach party to celebrate the start of her first year in veterinary school. Gracie managed somehow to be a popular loner, a trick Noah had never quite understood. While their friends built the barbecue pit and carted the cases of beer down to the beach, he and Gracie would be on their way to get married.
Gracie would meet him out at the edge of town at five o'clock in the motel parking lot out past the lighthouse. Together they would drive north to a little Unitarian Church where a minister named Bo, brother of Noah's B.U. roommate, would perform the ceremony as a favor.
She was giving up so much to be with him that it scared the hell out of Noah. She had made his dreams come true. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to return that favor every day for the rest of her life.
#
Gracie finished packing her bags around three o'clock. She had stuffed her favorite books into the corners of her backpack and along the bottom of her suitcase, layered with photos of Gramma Del and her mother Mona. She wanted to take nothing of Ben with her to her new life. The memories were more than enough.
He was gone again, most likely off on another drunk. She hadn't seen him since that moment when he'd slapped her at the cemetery and the last shred of compassion she felt for him disappeared. There was something to be said for closure. She believed now that there was no hope for them to ever be more than strangers to each other. He would never, could never, be the father she'd longed for all her life.
She had thought she would feel enormous sadness saying goodbye to the only home she had ever known but she didn't. She felt nothing at all. Not happiness. Not relief. Not even a bittersweet sense of regret. Without Gramma Del, it was nothing but a house and she couldn't wait to be gone. She tried not to think about school and her scholarship and all of the plans she had made to come back to Idle Point and work with Doctor Jim as his partner. She told herself it would all work out the way it was meant to. All that mattered was being with Noah.
Sam the Cat meowed and twined herself between Gracie's ankles. Sam was going on fifteen years old. Her eyesight was dimming with age. Her old bones ached on cold mornings. Sam the Cat had been Gramma Del's companion the last few years while Gracie was at school, spending long sunny afternoons curled up next to Del on the feather bed by the window. Gracie was horrified to realize she had forgotten all about her old friend.
"Oh, Sammy!" She bent down to pick up the cat and cradled her close. "I've been so caught up in my own life I forgot all about you."
She couldn't leave the poor cat alone in the house with only Ben to depend on for food and water. She couldn't board Sam at the animal hospital without a lot of explanation and a fair amount of guilt. She just plain couldn't leave Sam.
"So how do you feel about Paris?" she asked. "I'm not sure they have Whiskas over there but I guess we can figure it out as we go along." She had never been good at being impulsive or spontaneous. It unnerved her that Sam had slipped somehow through the cracks. That kind of thing never happened to Gracie. She loved detailed master plans that included back-up plans, contingency plans to the back-up plans, and additional plans for any and all emergencies that might crop up along the way.
She checked Gramma Del's pantry and found an even dozen cans of cat food plus two boxes of dry. They used to keep the cat carrier in the tool shed but that was before Ben took the shed over for his tools and other equipment. She rummaged through Gramma's two closets then ran back across to the main house to check the basement. She had barely let herself in the front door when she heard the sound of a car approaching. She knew it wouldn't be Noah. Oh God, please don't let it be her father. She wasn't looking for a confrontation with him. All she wanted was to walk away from the mess he'd made of his own life and build something fine and wonderful and lasting with Noah.
She parted the yellow-and-orange curtains and peered out the kitchen window. A shiny silvery-grey Lincoln Town Car was pulling into the driveway next to her Mustang. The contrast between the cars was laughable. She only knew one person who drove a car like that.
She could actually hear her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, at the base of her throat, deep inside her chest. She tried to pull in a deep breath but she was trembling so hard it was almost impossible. A coincidence, that's all it was. Simon Chase couldn't possibly know about the elopement. She and Noah had gone to great lengths to keep their plans secret. Not even the almighty owner of the Gazette could have ferreted out the truth.
Noah! What if something had happened to Noah, some terrible accident like the one that had killed her mother, and Simon was here to tell her about it. What was wrong with her? She was letting her imagination run wild when all she had to do was open the front door and ask him what he wanted.
"Good afternoon, Graciela." Simon was tall and spare with a thick head of snowy white hair that sparkled in the sunlight. She looked into his brown eyes but couldn't see any of Noah's goodness reflected back.
She tried that deep breath one more time. You're as good as any of them, Graciela, and don't you forget that.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Chase?"
"I was sorry to learn of Cordelia's passing."
"Thank you."
"She was a good woman."
"Yes," Gracie said, "she was."
"Did you get our flowers?"
"We did," she said. "I mailed a thank you this morning." My manners are impeccable, Mr. Chase. My grandmother, your cook, saw to that.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Not if I can help it. "Do you need to use the phone?" I'll bring it out to you.
"I would like to talk with you, Graciela, and I'm afraid the hot sun is too intense for me these days." An allusion, no doubt, to his heart attacks and compromised health.
"Please." She stepped aside. "Come in."
He nodded but his expression never altered. For a man suffering from the heat, he seemed cool and perfectly controlled.
"Please sit down," she said, gesturing toward the couch with the pale blue sheet tossed over it to hide the tears. "Would you care for some iced tea? Pepsi? Lemonade?"
"Water would be fine."
Water. Leave it to him to ask for water, the one thing she hadn't offered. "Be right back."
Seconds later she returned with a glass of iced water. She wasn't about to give him a chance to go poking around in there alone.
"Here you go."
"Thank you." He took one sip then placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. "Please sit, Graciela."
"I'd rather stand."
"I would feel more comfortable if you sat down while we talk."
That's exactly why I want to stand. She hesitated then sat on the arm of the chair across from him. Sam the Cat strolled into the room. Sam was very friendly by nature but she gave Simon Chase a wide berth. Smart cat, Gracie thought. There was nothing warm or comfortable about Noah's father. He was the stranger in her house yet he somehow made her feel as if she was the one who didn't belong.
She folded her hands on her lap so he wouldn't notice that she was trembling. "What is it you want to talk about?" It was almost three-thirty. She had a million things to do before she met Noah at the outskirts of town.
"You haven't had an easy life, have you, Graciela."
She frowned at him. "Is that a question?"
"Perhaps," he said, "but I would say it is a fact. Life hasn't been particularly kind to you."
"I have no complaints." Her throat felt tight. She had to force the words past her lips.
"No, you never did complain, did you. That's an admirable trait."
"My grandmother taught me how to stay focused."
He nodded. "Cordelia was a remarkable woman."
Gracie shifted position. "Is this going somewhere, Mr. Chase, because if not maybe we could—"
"I know about the wedding."
Simon's words hit her harder than her father's slap. Her world telescoped down to sound of those words. Everything else faded to black. It occurred to her that he might be bluffing, that he had a suspicion but nothing concrete, and he was simply trying to trick her into betraying her own secret.
She said nothing. Let him spell it out for her.
"I have friends in Portland," he said. "One of them called me this morning. Do you know which department she works in?"
Gracie still said nothing.
He leaned forward and reached into the breast pocket of his navy blazer. She watched as he withdrew a sheet of paper and unfolded it.
"I have a copy of a marriage license," he said, "for Graciela Marie Taylor and Noah Marlow Chase, three day waiting period, valid for ninety days in the state of Maine."
"I love Noah," she said quietly. What else was there to say to a man she barely knew who was about to become her father-in-law.
His expression seemed equal parts sorrow and dislike. She wasn't sure which part worried her more.
"This is, of course, a terrible mistake."
"We don't think so."
"You're both very young." He gestured with large elegant hands, tanned from the sun and spotted by age. "Much too young to marry."
"We disagree."
"Of course you would," he said, favoring her with a smile. "That is why I'm here, Graciela, to explain it to you."
She stood up. "I think you should go now."
He stayed seated. "I have more to say."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chase, but I don't want to hear it. If you have something to say, you should say it to Noah and me together."
"You're an intelligent young woman," he said. "You seem to have your life planned out."
"I'm ambitious, if that's what you mean."
"My son isn't."
"I know that."
"If you two run off and get married, I'll cut him off without a cent."
She forced a laugh. "Look around you, Mr. Chase. Being poor is hardly something new for me."
"It would be something new for Noah."
"I think you underestimate him, Mr. Chase."
"You don't sound confident."
"You should go now. I don't want to have this conversation."
"Neither do I, Graciela, but it's necessary."
She watched as he again reached into the inside pocket of his blazer. This time he withdrew an envelope.
"Here," he said. "This is for you." Her name was written across the front in thick black ink.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. "No, thank you."
"Ten thousand dollars," he said. "In cash."
"A wedding gift?"
"You have a sense of humor. A thank-you for calling off the wedding."
"You're trying to buy me off."
"Yes," he said, "I am. Take the money and go back to school. I'll take care of the rest."
"And what about Noah," she asked. "Doesn't he have a say in this?"
"Not in this. This, Graciela, is between you and me."
She took a step back. She hadn't meant to; that step betrayed too much. She had the sense of being at the edge of a cliff and the only way was down.
"I really think you should leave now."
"I haven't finished what I came here to say."
"Yes, you have, Mr. Chase. I shouldn't have let you say as much as you did."
He was sweating. My God, the cool, calm Yankee patriarch had broken into a sweat around his hairline. Somehow that scared Gracie more than anything he had said so far.
"There are things you don't know about the past."
"I know everything I need to know."
"You don't know about your mother."
Her breath caught. "Noah told me you dated my mother in high school."
"I loved her." His voice sounded different, softer and laced with pain. For a moment he almost sounded human to Gracie.
"D-did she love you?"
He smiled but the smile wasn't meant for Gracie. It was meant for someone long gone, never forgotten. It was meant for the love of his life. He didn't have to say a word for Gracie to know that and more and she turned away.
"She loved me," he said, his words finding her as she walked toward the kitchen. "She loved me the way a man dreams of being loved: heart, soul, and mind." His footsteps followed her. "Is that the way you love my son? Would you follow him anywhere, do anything, be all that he needed you to be?"
"Yes," she whispered, keeping her back turned to him.
"I see Mona in you," he said. "Your walk, the way you carry yourself."
"I look nothing like her."
"I didn't say you did. Your mother was beautiful—"
"Thanks," she snapped. "How kind of you to remind me."
"You have your own charm, Graciela. More subtle, perhaps, but it's there."
The need to slap back at him was undeniable. "She left you, didn't she. She fell in love with my father and dumped you." She felt dizzy, disoriented, as if bits and pieces of her essential self were being torn from her.
"That's not how it happened."
"Yes, it is. That's exactly how it happened." She spun around. She wanted him to see her face, to be reminded in some small way of the woman who had walked out on him. "She didn't love you anymore and she left you for my father."
"She didn't leave me, Graciela, I left her."
"That doesn't make sense. You loved her. You said so yourself. Why would you leave her?"
"Because I was young." He braced himself against the kitchen table, fingers splayed against the scarred wood. His left arm trembled slightly. She could see every spot, every vein, every bone clearly. "I wanted more than she could give me... she was like quicksilver, your mother... she was so beautiful and the men—God, how they followed her, sniffing like hounds. I was always looking over my shoulder, watching... wondering. I needed a solid foundation, a woman I could lean on while I rebuilt the Gazette."
"So you married Ruth."
"I married Ruth," he said, "but I never once stopped loving your mother."
The story was taking shape in front of Gracie, cryptic comments from Gramma Del, Ben's despair, Simon's anger that had seemed so hard to understand.
"But my mother didn't love you any more, did she. She loved my father."
"She loved me."
"No!" The water was running in the sink. Why hadn't she turned it off? "That's not true. You're lying. She loved my father and he loved her. They were happy together."
He rode over her words. "We found each other again. Our marriages were both barren. We were both lonely and then suddenly we weren't. The love we'd had as teenagers was still there, still burning..."
"Shut up!" Gracie screamed. She kicked at the chair in front of her, knocking it on its side with a crash.
"... we decided to run off together. We were still young, barely forty. We still had many years ahead of us. We would divorce our spouses. I would sell off the Gazette to one of the conglomerates hammering at my door. Then we would disappear from Idle Point forever." Paris, he said. London. Rome and Florence and Cairo and Tokyo. He would show her the world.
"I don't want to know any more," Gracie cried. All of her pretty stories were being smashed under his heel. "Please stop—"
"We had it all worked out. I would leave Ruth and Noah well-provided for. She would let Ben down as gently as she could and you—"
"No! Please..."
"—would be with us."
She tried to leave the room but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. They were almost the same height. Both tall, both lean, both brown-eyed.
"Do you understand now, Graciela?"
She pushed against his chest but he didn't budge. "I don't care about anything you have to say. It's old news. It doesn't matter anymore."
"We were going to be together, the three of us. That's where she was going the day she died. We were going to be a family."
"She wouldn't do that. She would never have taken me away from my father." Ben hadn't been drinking then. They had been a happy family.
"She wasn't taking you away from your father, Graciela; she was taking you to him." He forced her to meet his eyes. "I am your father."
#
Done, Simon thought, as he left Gracie behind. He had seen her dreams crumble with his own eyes.
He waited for the elation but so far there was none. Where was the sense of payback he had sought for so long. That Mona had died and her daughter lived... unfair... more than unfair... unthinkable... she had ruined everything the girl had... better she had never been born... that's why Mona stayed with that drunk she'd married... for the child... for that plain and forgettable child...
Hot. Why was it so hot in the car? He fiddled with the air conditioning. Beads of sweat dripped down his temples and down his cheeks. His shirt stuck to his back. He hated the heat... felt better when it was cold out... brisk, he called it... heat made him queasy... dizzy... hard to focus on the road... pull over for a minute...maybe call Ruth... the car phone... it's somewhere... that's what he should do... catch his breath... catch his breath... catch
#
Keep moving, Gracie. Don't stop. Put your bags in the trunk. Leave the house keys on the kitchen table with the letter for Ben. Now you know why he drinks, why he does everything short of putting a gun to his head in order to stop the memories. Of course you can't tell him that. You can't tell anyone anything at all because if you do you'll be forced to believe it and right now that's more than you can take. Isn't it enough that your heart is breaking and there's nothing anyone can do to make it whole again?
Don't think.
If you think, you'll go crazy. If you think, you'll start crying and you'll never stop.
Forget all the sweet stories. Forget the mother you thought you knew. The mother you dreamed about. The father who broke your heart. Don't think about his pain because if you let it seep into your skin you'll never be free of it. Forget everything that made you who you are because it is all a lie.
Write a letter to Noah. You can leave it here on the kitchen table because you know he will come looking for you. You wrestle with each word, but what can you say now that could possibly matter? Let him go. Don't burden him with questions. Tell him it's you, all your fault, tell him that you thought you could do it but you couldn't leave everything behind, school and work and all your dreams of a future to call your own. Tell him that you wish him Paris and sidewalk cafes and garlicky wine-soaked lunches with Hemingway's ghost. Tell him you wish it could have been different but maybe you had been a fool to ever believe it would end any other way.
And then just tell him goodbye.
#
Five o'clock came and went.
Five-fifteen.
Quarter to six.
By six o'clock Noah was convinced something had happened to Gracie and he climbed back behind the wheel of his sports car and started toward her house. Damn it. Why hadn't he pushed the issue and picked her up at home the way he'd wanted to in the first place. What if Ben had come home, drunk and pathetic, and begged her to stay and help him. She didn't need that. She shouldn't have to deal with it. Or maybe that old car of hers had finally fallen apart and she was stuck in the driveway, hoping he would show up.
The roads were clear. It was the lazy end of summer when everyone moved more slowly than usual. Tourists stayed at the beach past sundown. Townies headed over to Hidden Island or one of the other secret spots. He'd never fit in with either group, a stranger in both camps which was a lot like the way he felt at home. More like a visitor than a real member of the family.
But that didn't matter anymore now that he had Gracie. She was his family, his home. She made him want to be more than he thought possible, if only to make her half as proud of him as he was of all she had achieved.
He was about to turn off the main road and head toward the docks and Gracie's house when he recognized his father's Town Car angled onto the grass on the opposite side of the street. Simon's head rested against the driver's window. The engine was still running. A knot formed in the pit of Noah's gut.
Screw it. You should be on your way to your wedding right now. You didn't see anything.
Noah made it to the corner before his conscience kicked in. He made a U-turn and pulled to a stop just behind the Lincoln. He beeped the horn. No response. Okay, maybe his old man was napping. Simon was on a lot of medication these days and those things all had side effects that could drop a horse. He'd make sure Simon was okay, then move on. He owed his father that much.
"Dad." He rapped twice on the window. "Dad, are you okay?"
No response.
He rapped again. "Say something, Dad! Open the door."
Still nothing.
"Shit." He tried the door. It was locked. He ran around to the passenger's side, tried that but it was locked as well. Simon looked dead white. A sheen of sweat glistened on his sunken cheeks. "Oh, Jesus..."
There wasn't a soul in sight. No pay phones. Simon's car phone rested on the passenger seat but what good did that do him with the doors and windows locked tight. Gracie's house was less than three minutes away. He could call the cops from there, make sure they brought out an ambulance. He could do that much for his father. Gracie would understand. She would do the same. He knew that. Shit. Her house seemed so far away. What if his father died? Don't think about that. That wasn't going to happen. It couldn't happen. He'd call the cops, the cops would call out the ambulances, they'd make Simon better. It had happened before. It was happening now. They'd deal with it.
But what if Simon died while he was getting help? He had to do something now. He knew CPR. He'd do what he could then get help. There was no time to waste. He glanced around for a rock or heavy branch then opted for a scissor kick that smashed the passenger side window. A second later he was in the car next to his father, unbuttoning the man's shirt, clearing an airway, calling for help. Time slowed down to a crawl as he worked in a vacuum of fear and silence.
"No."
He jumped at the sound of Simon's voice.
"It's okay. I'm here. An ambulance is on its way."
"No!" Louder this time, more frantic. He pushed at Noah with flailing hands.
"They'll help you," Noah said, trying to calm him. "You're going to be okay."
"Graciela..."
"What?" Noah leaned closer so he could hear his father's words. "Say it again."
"Graciela... no... no..."
"Don't talk," Noah said. "Rest." They could argue this ten years from now while the grandchildren were playing outside.
"Gone... finally... gone."
"Listen!" The siren's wail grew closer. "The ambulance will be here any second."
"... her fault... she ruined everything..."
A chill ran up Noah's spine. "Ruined what? Dad, what are you talking about?"
Simon's eyes closed. His breathing stilled.
"Come on, " Noah muttered. "Come on, damn it." Where the hell were the cops? The ambulance should've been there by now. His father was dying right in front of his eyes and there wasn't a damn thing Noah could do to help him.
"Goddamn it, Dad." He pumped his father's chest in a desperate attempt to save him, but it was too late. It had been too late the day Noah was born.
"I'm really sorry, Noah," said Pete Winthrop, son of the old police chief. "The EMT staff said you did everything you could."
Noah felt drained. Beyond tears. Beyond sorrow. The weight of things left unsaid was crushing. He wished Gracie were there with him. He needed her more than he'd ever needed her before. He wanted to see her face, touch her hand, reassure himself that the future they'd dreamed of was still within reach.
"Noah."
Noah started. "Sorry." He forced himself to pay attention. "What did you say?"
"You'll want to tell your mother before she finds out some other way."
"Oh, Jesus." He felt like crying. His mother's world revolved around Simon. What would she do without him? "Yeah, I'll tell her." He had to find Gracie. His mother liked Gracie and he knew Gracie thought highly of her in return. He couldn't do this alone. He wanted to climb behind the wheel of his sports car and break the speed of sound getting the hell out of there. He was good at running away from things he didn't like. That was one of the first things you learn when you're six years old and far away from home and everyone you love.
He had to find Gracie. Gracie would know how to handle this. She would know the right way to tell his mother.
"Noah." Pete Winthrop's voice broke into his thoughts. "You okay to drive?"
He nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Pete stepped closer. "You don't look so good."
He pushed past him, trying to get to his car. He had to get out of there. He had to find Gracie. He'd stop by her house. It was late. Hours past when they were supposed to meet. Gracie was logical. Clear-headed. She would go home and wait for a phone call, wait for him to show up with an explanation. He had to get to her. This would all make sense when he saw her again, when he held her in his arms.
Minutes later he whipped into her driveway. Her car was nowhere in sight but that didn't mean anything. Maybe she called Gabe's Cab Service and got a lift. Maybe she'd left her car back there in the parking lot with a note for him under her windshield wiper. Maybe if he kept moving it would all start to make sense.
His heart beat so fast and hard that it hurt. Jesus, what the hell was going on. He banged on the door. No answer. He tried the door. It was unlocked. He stepped into the front room. "Gracie!" He moved toward the hallway. "Mr. Taylor?" His footsteps sounded like cannon fire. The rooms were clean and neat. There were no signs of life anywhere, not even Sam the Cat. He stepped into the tiny kitchen. The dishes were washed and put away. The floor sparkled. He noticed wet streaks in the white tiles. He glanced at the kitchen table. Sugar bowl in the center. Creamer next to it. Salt and pepper shaker. Two envelopes, one with his name on it.
He opened the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of typing paper. Gracie's handwriting—formal and precise—angled across the page. She was sorry... she loved him but... school... the future... sorry... so very sorry...
He stood there in the middle of the quiet kitchen for a long time and then when the world reassembled itself around him, he walked out of the house, away from Idle Point, away from Maine, away from the world he'd known, away from the life he'd dreamed about, the girl he loved and the lies she had told and it would be a long time before he looked back.