chapter Ten
New York City, eight years later
It had occurred to Gracie more than once over the last week that she just might be crazy to even think about returning to Idle Point for her father's wedding. She didn't usually attend Ben's weddings—he'd had so many of them, after all, and not one of them had lasted—but it wasn't every day your father married the girl who used to sit behind you in English class back in high school.
Maybe if he hadn't called her on the day the hospital put her on suspension she might have begged off and sent the happy couple a potted plant and her best wishes, but, as luck would have it, he'd caught her as she walked in the door to her apartment with her arms piled high with files and Rolodex cards and an old cat named Pyewacket who didn't seem all that pleased to be there.
"Graciela," Ben had said in his flat Maine accent, "this is your father."
"Hello, Dad," she'd said, ignoring the little tug of emotion the sound of her given name aroused. Nobody but Ben called her Graciela. You wouldn't think such a simple thing could still hold such power over her heart but it did. He was her father, not Simon Chase, no matter that her DNA might say otherwise.
They had come a very long way since the terrible day of Gramma Del's funeral. He never knew that Simon had come calling. The note she had left him said nothing more than, "Went back to school a week early. Gracie." She had been shocked to learn months later that Simon had died that very afternoon not far from her house. Shocked but not saddened. All she felt was a deep regret that she would never be able to ask the many questions that had plagued her ever since.
A few hours earlier and her life and Noah's would have been entirely different. Then again, that was part of the fantasy. If what Simon had told her was true—and she had no reason to believe otherwise—her future with Noah had been doomed from the start.
She only thought about that every other day.
Her newfound relationship with her father had started slowly with Hallmark greetings and an occasional picture postcard of the Idle Point lighthouse or the Lobster Shack with the blue and white buoys hanging from the weathered shingles. From there it progressed to phone calls on Sundays when the rates were low. To her amazement, Gracie had found herself looking forward to those calls. He was her only family and it mattered to her. Three years ago he drove down to Manhattan to see where she was working and she took him to all of the tourist spots, including the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and Central Park and her eyes actually filled with tears when it was time to say goodbye.
She told herself that she was being a sucker and that if she'd learned anything in life it was the fact that you couldn't trust anyone but yourself, but there was still no denying that Ben Taylor was a different man these days. He had been faithfully attending AA meetings for over seven years and Gracie had endured a painful telephone conversation where he apologized for his transgressions and vowed to make amends. I know the whole story, she wanted to tell him. I know about my mother and Simon Chase. I know what she did to you... what they both did to you. I know I'm not really your biological daughter... They both knew that nothing he could do would ever be enough to erase the years of neglect. If only she knew how to tell him that she understood more than he could imagine.
Funny the way things sometimes worked out. Simon Chase had destroyed her future with Noah on that long-ago afternoon, but his revelation had made it possible for her to understand Ben in a way she had never before been able to do. Simon had given her the gift of compassion. So much about her life made sense now to Gracie. The way Ben had kept her an arm's-length away from him. His reluctance to talk about her mother. The deep hatred between him and Simon. The cloud of bitterness and despair that seemed to surround him.
She wondered sometimes if he knew the truth or only suspected. It wasn't something she could bring herself to ask him. Her mother and Simon Chase were long dead. Gramma Del was gone. Her father—and that was who he was to her; Simon's words would never change that—was finally making some sense of his imperfect life. What could be gained by derailing him now? Let the past stay where it was, buried beneath old newspapers and discarded photographs where it belonged.
Over the years she had grown very good at burying the past.
That night he told her the trees were nearing peak. She told him it was cold and rainy, but not that she had just been suspended from the hospital. She kept her life just out of his reach. Some habits were difficult to break. He asked for Gramma Del's macaroni-and-cheese recipe. She waited while he found a pencil then recited it to him from memory. Then he hit her with the reason for his call.
"I'm getting married again, Graciela."
"Congratulations," she said, sifting through the stack of mail on her hall table while Pyewacket sniffed the closet door with great suspicion. It wasn't like she hadn't heard those words a few times before but she was still a little surprised. He had, after all, been single for over nine years. "Anyone I know?"
"Darnell and Rachel's daughter Laquita."
A copy of Cat Fancy slid to the floor at her feet. "Laquita Adams?" she asked, aware that her voice had climbed an octave-and-a-half.
"Ay-up," he said, never more the New Englander than when put on the spot.
She moved the phone away from her ear and stared at it the way they did on bad sitcoms. Please tell me there are two Laquita Adamses in Idle Point. "Not the same Laquita I went to school with." The quiet little girl who lived down by the river. The quiet big girl who knew every motel between Idle Point and Boston.
"The same," he said to the sound of profound silence from Gracie. "Two weeks from yesterday at the old church near the harbor."
Gracie's silence deepened. She wanted to say something but the thought of her father marrying Laquita had struck her dumb with shock.
Her father cleared his throat, a noise like rocks scraping over concrete. "I'd like you to be there."
She leaned against the wall. She must be oxygen-deprived. The room seemed to spin around her axis. "Would you say that again, please, Dad?"
"The wedding," he said and she knew the effort each word required. "Will you stand up for me?" He knew she had a big important job down there in New York City and more responsibilities on her shoulders than half the men in Idle Point but he and Laquita would be glad to put her up for a few days, even longer if that was what she wanted, it would mean a lot to both of them if she could be there, and the next thing Gracie knew she heard herself saying yes to everything he suggested. The wedding, the visit, everything.
She regretted it the second she hung up the phone. She hadn't been back to Idle Point since the day she walked out on Noah and their dreams of happily-ever-after. Going back would only remind her of everything she had lost, all the things that could never be.
"I must be crazy," she told Pyewacket as she pulled Sam the Cat's old bed down from the hall closet and rummaged around for suitable food and water dishes. She had missed having a cat around the house. You could tell a cat things and be fairly sure they would never end up on the front page of the National Enquirer. "I don't want to go back home. I'll meet them one day in Boston and wish them well." The whole thing was too strange to even contemplate. She knew that Laquita attended A.A. meetings with her father and that they had some kind of mutual support team going between them but she had never in a million years imagined anything like this. What do you say to a new stepmother who used to swipe your crayons in kindergarten?
Still, Ben had sounded solid and happy and knowing what she now knew about his life, she couldn't help praying this all worked out for him. He was pushing seventy. There wasn't much time left for the happy home he'd been searching for since Gracie's mother died. Gracie only wished he could have found that home when she was young enough for it to matter.
Funny how the little things hurt so much. The Christmases and New Year's Eves when she worked so her colleagues could be home with their families. The Thanksgiving dinners spent with friends who took pity on her. The birthdays that came and went without anyone knowing that the years were stacking up faster and faster and she wasn't any closer to having a family of her own than she had been the day she left Noah behind.
She fed Pyewacket, made a makeshift litter box, then settled down for the night. Tomorrow morning was time enough to call her father and beg off on the wedding invitation.
She woke up the next morning and the sun was shining and Pye was purring against her chest and she put off the phone call for another day. She kept putting it off and putting it off and that was how Gracie came to be showing her former co-worker Tina around the apartment one week later as she prepared to head back to Idle Point.
"The faucet in the bathroom is fluky," Gracie said as she walked down the hallway toward the living room. "Make sure you tap it twice after you turn it off or you'll end up flooding the apartment downstairs."
Tina, a big-haired blonde with an outsized personality, nodded. "Gotcha. Turn off, tap twice. Roger that."
She glanced over her shoulder at her former assistant. "I told you that before, didn't I?"
"Three times," Tina said, snapping shut her notebook. "Not that I'm counting or anything."
"I mentioned the radio in the bedroom, didn't I? You have to –"
"Set it thirty-two minutes earlier than you want the alarm to go off." Tina hugged the dark green leather notebook to her ample chest and grinned. "I think that's covered on page seventy-six of Taylor's Apartment Sitting Manual." She paused. "First edition."
"Not funny," Gracie said, although she couldn't hold back a smile. "I'm just trying to make sure I've covered everything."
"Trust me," Tina said. "You've covered everything. I know more about your bathroom drain than I know about my blood pressure, cholesterol, and estrogen levels combined."
"It's an old building with an even older landlord who hates sublets, even short-term ones like this. You need to know the ropes or it's off with our heads."
Tina pretended to bang her own fluffy blond head against the wall. "Please," the young woman begged, "I can't take any more. This is the most beautiful apartment I've ever sublet, quirky faucet and all. I'm going to be so happy here you may never get rid of me."
Gracie opened her mouth to say something but Tina wouldn't let her.
"Just go already. Grab your cat, jump into your car, and hit the road before it gets any later. You're going home for Thanksgiving, girl. You should be happy!"
Gracie peered out the window, angling her head so she could see the sky. "Looks like rain." She poked her head back in. "Maybe I should wait until tomorrow."
"That's what you said yesterday."
"I hate driving in the rain."
"The forecast said sunny and clear through the weekend. You'll make it to Maine in record time."
"You sound like you're trying to get rid of me."
"I am," said Tina. "Greg from Admitting is coming over for dinner and I wasn't planning on setting three places at the table, if you get my drift."
Gracie's eyes widened. "Greg with the gorgeous –"
"One and the same. If that's not the way to celebrate my first night without roommates, I don't know what is." Tina cast a longing look in the general direction of the bedroom.
Tina and Greg, naked in her bed. Gracie's old four-poster wouldn't know itself. So far her only male visitors had been Ben and Jerry of ice cream fame and now Pyewacket.
"That does it," she said. "I'll find the cat and get out of your hair."
"Now that's music to my ears," Tina said. "I want to take a long bubble bath, give myself a pedicure. Maybe even a facial if you ever leave."
"Pye!" Gracie clicked her tongue against her teeth. She waited a moment then called out again.
"This isn't that big an apartment," Tina observed, "and Pyebucket –"
"Pyewacket."
"—Whatever isn't exactly the Kate Moss of felines."
"Pye isn't fat," Gracie snapped. "He's big-boned."
"Yeah," said Tina, "and I'm a natural blonde."
Tina trailed her from room to room, treating her to a running commentary on the dangers of Fancy Feast and Nine Lives and the wonders of the real, the natural, the tasteless.
"No wonder all of your cats ran away," Gracie said as she spied Pye's fluffy tail poking out from under the living room sofa. "They were starving."
"You should know better," Tina said reproachfully. "You're the vet. I'm just a lowly clerk."
"Unemployed vet," Gracie reminded her. "As of eight days, eleven hours, and thirty-three minutes ago."
Tina made a face. "Not to worry. It's just a suspension. Three months from now it'll be all forgotten."
"Don't bet your bonus check on it, Tina. I'm in big trouble and it doesn't look like it's going away any time soon."
"They said it was a three-month suspension and that's all it will be." Tina did a good job of sounding sure of herself but neither woman was fooled.
"They said it was a three-month suspension and then they'd review the case. Big difference."
"Since when did you become a cynic," Tina shot back. "How can they fire you for saving an animal's life? That's what you were trained to do. That's like bringing a brain surgeon up on charges because the patient lived."
Gracie got down on her hands and knees and peered under the sofa. "You know the deal, Tina. If the owner wants a sick or old animal euthanized, that's what we do. We can counsel, but we can't take matters into our own hands."
"It's so unfair."
"Tell me about it." When Pyewacket's owners brought him in to be put down, Gracie had tried to convince them that the elderly cat was still healthy and could be expected to live a few more happy, contented years. She had believed she was delivering good news and was shocked when, instead of praising her for delivering the stay of execution on their beloved cat, the Albrights had turned on Gracie as if she had singlehandedly brought down western civilization.
The powers that be at the East Side Animal Hospital—a convenient walk from Bloomingdale's—sided with the Albrights. "They have the right to make this decision," the administrator told Gracie. "You know what's expected of you, Taylor."
The Albrights made their dry-eyed goodbyes to Pyewacket and left Gracie to put him down. She told herself it was part of the job description, that she couldn't force others to live according to her expectations. She whispered to the cat, stroked him behind the ears, then prepared the injection. Pyewacket looked up at her and maybe she was crazy but she thought about her dear old companion Sam the Cat, about how she would have done anything to buy more time with him, and she knew there was no way she could do it. She disposed of the syringe, gathered up the aged cat, then walked out the door with him and straight into a three-month suspension.
The funny thing was, she didn't miss the place. That was the part that didn't make sense. She had a great position at the most prestigious private animal hospital on the East Coast. She earned a fabulous salary, worked bearable hours, and now that she was gone, she realized didn't miss it one single bit. Walking out that door with Pyewacket in her arms, she'd felt the way she used to feel way back in Idle Point when she worked for Doctor Jim.
Back then it had been about the dogs and cats and birds and livestock who were brought to them for treatment. Doctor Jim had taught her to think first of the animal in her care and let everything else fall into place behind that. The poor man would never have made it through the "Growing A Business" module she had taken just before graduation or her introduction to big city methodologies when she joined the East Side Animal Hospital. She wondered what he would think of the woman she had become.
There would be time enough to find out if she ever managed to corral Pyewacket and start for Idle Point. Pye gave her a run for her money but in the end Gracie won the battle and managed to place him in his carrier over his piteous yowls for mercy. "C'mon, Pyewacket, after all I've done for you..."
Tina clapped her hands over her triple-pierced ears. "You won't have any hearing left by the time you get out of the city."
Gracie latched the carrier door and double-locked it, then gathered up the rest of her things while Pye supplied the soundtrack for goodbyes.
The two women looked at each other then Tina dissolved in tears. "It won't be the same without you at the hospital," she said, as they hugged goodbye. "You were the only real human being in that place."
Gracie laughed despite herself. "I'm a vet, Tina. How big a compliment is that?"
"You know what I mean," Tina said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh hell." She gave Gracie a big hug. "I'm gonna miss you."
"I'd be happy to stay and have dinner with you and Greg."
Tina gave her a look. "I'm not gonna miss you that much."
Gracie picked up the cat carrier, her gigantic leather tote bag, and her car keys. She repeated the apartment instructions to Tina for the third time. Then, when she couldn't delay another second without risking bodily harm, she said goodbye.
"Safe trip," Tina said from the doorway. "I'll see you in two weeks."
"Maybe sooner," Gracie said. "Depends on how things go with my dad."
But Tina wasn't listening. She had already closed the door. Gracie heard the snap of locks shifting into place as Tina began to get ready for her night with Greg from Admitting.
"Okay, Pye," she said as she started for the elevator. "Looks like there's no turning back now."
Pyewacket wisely remained silent.
"We're going to miss you, Doctor Taylor." Jim, the weekend doorman, helped her load Pye and the rest of her bags into her Jeep. "Won't be the same around here without you."
"I'll only be gone a few weeks," Gracie said. "You won't even know I'm away."
"Nothing like going back home." Jim held the door while Gracie climbed behind the wheel. "I'm from Rockport myself. You eat some lobstah for me, okay?"
Gracie promised that she would and, moments later, she was headed north for home.
#
Idle Point
The white-haired woman in the iron-grey suit fixed him with a stern look meant to scare him into submission then said, "I'm sorry, Noah, but she's a biter."
Noah, who had been thinking about how Mrs. Cavanaugh looked just as old today as she had more than twenty-five years ago when she taught his kindergarten class, leaned forward in his seat. "Would you mind saying that again?"
"I said, your daughter is a biter. We had two complaints about her this week. I'm afraid Sophie has become quite a disruption to the class."
"Sophie's a kicker, Mrs. C., not a biter." He knew that for a fact. He had a bruise on his left shin from the plane trip that was only now beginning to fade.
Mrs. Cavanaugh's expression darkened even more. "I was planning to address the kicking when we finished this part of the discussion. The biting issue is more urgent."
"She's having some trouble adjusting," he said, admiring his mastery of understatement. "The cultural difference and all. Give her another few weeks and—"
"We can't tolerate a biter," Mrs. Cavanaugh cut him off neatly. "The other children have the right to attend class without fear for their personal safety."
"Aren't you exaggerating a little?" he asked, feeling his temper starting to rise. "She's only five years old." Hell, she didn't even have all of her teeth. At least, not that he knew of.
"The patterns of childhood are the patterns of adulthood," Mrs. Cavanaugh intoned.
"What should I do?" he asked, at the end of his rope. "Lock her in the basement until she's twenty-one? The kid's been through a lot the past six months. She just needs some time to fit in." He knew exactly how she felt. Since returning to Idle Point to oversee the sale of the Gazette, he had felt like the proverbial fish out of water.
"I'm not trying to be harsh, Noah, but I am concerned both for the other students and for Sophie. The sooner we nip this problem in the bud, as it were, the sooner Sophie will be integrated into the student community."
"So is she suspended or isn't she?" Might as well cut through the bull and get to the heart of the matter.
"Yes," Mrs. Cavanaugh said after a long pause, "but only for two days. Please understand that if she so much as bares her teeth at a schoolmate again , I'll be forced to take even more decisive action."
Like what, he wondered. Lethal injection? Electric chair? Just how did you handle a little girl who had lost her mother, her home, and her country with one bang of a judge's gavel.
"Fine," he said, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet. "I appreciate your time."
Mrs. Cavanaugh creaked to a standing position. "I'm sorry to hear your mother is doing poorly," she said, offering him a gnarled hand to shake. "I thought she was recovering quite well. Please give her my regards."
Noah shook her hand then left the room.
Sophie was sitting in the hallway just outside the door where he had left her. She was small-boned and petite like her mother with a heart-shaped face and a tiny pointed chin but that was where the resemblance ended. Catherine was dark and languid and indolent. She moved with the flowing grace of a cougar stalking its prey. Sophie's hair was golden, the way his had been as a little boy, and she darted rather than walked. Her movements were sharp-edged and decisive, like a predatory bird. You could hear her coming two rooms away. She fought sleep and only gave in when exhaustion overcame sheer stubbornness. He was the same way. Sleep had always seemed to be a waste of time. The only time he had ever loved sleep was when he held Gracie in his arms and—
His brain clicked off. He knew how to stop those dangerous thoughts dead in their tracks. He had had years of practice after all.
"Can we go now, Papa?" His little girl looked up at him with big blue eyes that would one day be a lethal weapon. His Sophie, a biter? Impossible.
"Sure," he said. "We can go now."
She held out her tiny little hand to him and his heart did a somersault inside his chest. It was all so new to him, so long denied, that he still had trouble recognizing it for what it was. Love, he thought. That was how love felt, the way he remembered it.
That was the way it had been with Gracie.
It was impossible to be in Idle Point and not think of her. She was around the bend at Doctor Jim's, looking fresh and competent the way she had that first afternoon. She was sitting at the end of the docks with her beautiful narrow feet dangling in the cool waters. She was standing in the shadows of the lighthouse, near the school, in the kitchen of his mother's house, every damn place he looked.
He had known it would be that way. That was one of the reasons he had stayed away from Idle Point. How could you forget when reminders of what you had shared, the dreams you'd dreamed, waited around every corner.
At least the black anger was gone. That coiled rage had been with him for too long, laying waste to everything that stepped into his path. He couldn't remember exactly when the rage had turned to bitterness, when bitterness turned to a combination of sorrow and acceptance, but he thanked God that it had happened before Sophie came into his life.
He didn't know much about bringing up a child. He was befuddled by the clothes and the tantrums and the great expanse of future unrolling in front of them. The only thing he was sure of was that she needed love in great measure and security. Steadiness. She had had damn little of it in her short life and now it fell to him to prove to her that she had finally come home to stay.
He and Sophie stepped out into an overcast October afternoon. He had always wondered why grey days seemed to bring out the best of the autumn foliage, not that there was much left to speak of. He had always meant to ask somebody about that. He should look it up in the library or surf the Internet. Parents needed to know these things. Next year Sophie would look up at him with those long-lashed blue eyes of hers and ask the same question and he had to know the answer. That was what fathers did. They answered questions and paid the bills and caught spiders.
Sometimes he thought about his own father and tried to figure out where Simon had made his mistakes but his memories were so caught up with adolescent loneliness and hero worship and anger that he didn't know where truth ended and fantasy began. His father loved him. His father was indifferent. His father controlled his every move. His father wouldn't have noticed if he'd vanished off the face of the earth. His father was proud of him. His father thought he was a failure. It was all true and none of it and he didn't know how to piece it together.
"Your father did the best he could," was all his mother would say on the subject. "Never doubt that he loved you, Noah. Never ever doubt that."
But he did. Now that he had a child of his own he understood how love should feel. Sophie's very existence had made him feel like his chest was three sizes too small for the size of his heart. He knew that the thought of sending that tiny scrap of humanity out into the world alone was enough to bring him to his knees. Had he been that small at five years, that vulnerable? How in hell had his father been able to push him out of the nest a year later and send him off to St. Luke's?
He had been drifting before Sophie. She anchored him in time and space. Losing Gracie had been like losing an essential part of himself. Without her by his side, his dreams of Paris meant nothing at all. It was nothing more than a city by a river. He had been waiting for a sign from God, a bolt of lightning, something to wake him up and turn him in the right direction. He had never thought that sign would come in the form of a little girl with the face of an angel.
He had spent the last eight years bumming his way through Europe, trying on different personae for size, pretending he hadn't left his broken heart in the hands of a serious young woman with better things to do than spend her life with him. He finished his degree in London then found himself a job writing ad copy for an international publishing concern. He had learned all about deadlines during his summers at the Gazette and he wrote quickly and well and was rewarded handsomely for that ability.
If he ever had the sense that he could be doing more with his gifts than hawking the next best-selling how-to book, he did his best to push that thought from his mind before it had a chance to cause any trouble. If he ever missed that sense of community he had enjoyed on the staff of the Gazette, he refused to acknowledge the fact. He had discovered that you could have a fine life without ever breaking the surface. Gracie had been wrong about that. Not everyone needed to dive deep.
In the end it was both the Gazette and Sophie that brought him back to Idle Point. His mother Ruth was in failing health and she wanted to sign over the management of the paper to him.
Ruth had come into her own with Simon's death. She had surprised everyone in town when she took over the reins of the Gazette rather than sell it off to one of the conglomerates that had expressed more than a passing interest in the paper. She had quietly watched and learned a lot over the years and her hand on the reins was sure and gentle. She understood that selling to one of the conglomerates would mean putting a lot of loyal employees out on the street and she steadfastly refused to do it, thereby gaining the undying loyalty of her staff and the unending exasperation of her accountants.
Noah knew all of this because the accountants had told him so last month when he returned to Idle Point. He also knew that the Gazette was hemorrhaging money like a severed artery and that if they didn't sell soon, there would be nothing left to sell. He had home come to introduce his mother to her granddaughter, to give Sophie a sense of family that had been missing in her young life. And, if he was being honest with himself, he came home because he had been everywhere else and the emptiness was still deep inside his heart.
He wanted to see his daughter walk the streets he had walked as a kid. He wanted to see his mother's face when Ruth realized that Sophie's eyes were his eyes, were her eyes, were the eyes of who knew how many dead relatives reaching back into yesterday. And, damn it, he wanted The Gazette to stay in his family's hands. A year ago none of this would have mattered to him.
Now it meant everything.