Grace Anne

chapter 23



Guinevere tried to talk to any of the others, but it was entirely too much effort. She wanted to ask them what had happened, when they were going to get their money, and what the f*ck they thought they were doing shutting her out. She had to force her eyes open, but it, too, was a chore.

“It’s time for your medications, Mrs. Waite. Come on now, you know they won’t let you go out into the world without some nice happy juice.”

Guinevere looked up at her with half-closed eyes.

“Come on now. It’s time to get up and get ready.”

“Ready,” was all she could manage. What the hell, ready? All she could think to do was sleep. She certainly didn’t want to go anywhere.

“Yes. Come on. The courts won’t wait all day for you. If you can put your good arm around me, I’ll lift you to the chair.”

“Verrie. Where?” She needed someone there to tell her what the hell was going on. She couldn’t function without at least one of them to help her.

Suddenly she was out of the bed and into a sitting position. There was nothing for her to do but let the person put the handcuffs on her arms and attach her to the chair. She tried to think, tried her very best to bring someone to her, but nothing. Then there was the small burn of something on her arm.

“There you go. Nice and calm now. As soon as I get you wrapped up in the blankie, I’ll get you going. There’s a good girl.”

“Verrie,” she tried again. “Where…where am I? Where are the…where are the others?”

“You can’t see anyone just yet. Not until the trial is over at any rate. Then if I don’t miss my guess, and I’ve never been wrong about one of these, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in the State House for the Criminally Insane.”

Guinevere looked at the man standing in the door way.

“After that, well, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Who?” Guinevere asked. She felt the stirring of one of the others, but they didn’t speak to her. She had a small memory from one of the others, but there wasn’t enough of a connection to help her figure out any more than he was a man who Verrie wanted to f*ck.

“I told you before, Miss Waite, when we’re here there is no need for you to pretend. And if you do it again I will have someone else come and talk to you.” He sat on the bed as he pulled out files and spoke to her. “The trial is set for two hours from now. Once we get into the courtroom they’ll take you to your seat. Now, as I’ve said before, you can’t cause any sort of ruckus or the judge won’t let you speak on your behalf.”

She sat up a little straighter in her wheelchair and looked down at her body. She had on a pair of jogging pants that were bright orange and her shirt, one that had something printed on the front that she simply couldn’t make out, was just as orange. Her socks, also an orange that was more suited to pumpkins than clothing, were barely on her feet. They sort of reminded her of her husb—

“Jail? I’m in jail? No. That can’t be right. There’s been a mistake.” She felt another stir of one of the others, but again, not enough to tell which one. “There’s something wrong.”

The man sitting across from her glared for several minutes. Guinevere might have been uncomfortable by his stare if she wasn’t still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was in jail.

“Miss Waite, for the tenth time, you are not in jail. This is merely a holding place for you until the judge makes the decision as to what sort of facility you will go to. Then when the time is right, you’ll be taken before the court to determine if you are able to stand trial and if you are sane enough to be tried on the crimes against you.”

“What crimes?” she asked him. “I didn’t do anything wrong. It was all that money-grubbing whore’s fault. She’s the one who killed my Roscoe.”

“Yes, that’s it. Keep up that sort of talk and you’ll be spending the next fifty years of your life in a place just like this one, only the state tends to be little less friendly when they’re footing the bill.”

The laughter in her mind made her skin crawl. She hadn’t been prepared for it to sound so chilling. And when Guinnie spoke, Guinevere felt her blood run just a little colder.

“You should have listened to me. Had you or any of the others just given me my due then I wouldn’t have had to resort to such extreme measures. Especially in light of what has happened to you.”

Guinevere waited for Guinnie to continue. When she didn’t, she asked her what she meant. What had she done?

“Done? Why, I did what you should have done many, many years ago. I ended this. I wish his aim would have been just a little better, but… Well, how do you like our new home? Not fancy, but we’re safe.”

“What have you done? Tell Verrie I need to speak to her this minute. I want to speak to Verrie or Ginny right this f*cking minute.” Guinevere looked at the man as he stood. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until that moment. The laughter made her think that Guinnie knew much more than she was letting on.

“Miss Waite, this is not the least bit funny. If it weren’t for the fact that I know you can’t move then I would leave here and never return.” He moved his chair back from her a few feet before he began to speak again. “Now, the trial is set for today. Then when the findings find you—”

“You should know that his aim killed Ginny. She was in the front when he fired. Too bad that he only managed to put the bullet into your frontal lobe and not all the way through your sick mind.” Guinevere ignored the man for the child in her mind. “And poor Verrie. She went off the deep end…well, deeper end just after they tied us down after surgery. I swear, there are times when I can still hear her scream.”

Guinevere tried to shake her head to clear it. When she did speak again it was only in her mind and not so the lawyer, Peter March, she remembered his name, could hear her. It upset him for some reason.

“Who’s aim? You are to tell me what happened and right now, Guinnie. I demand that you share what you know.” Guinevere knew she was in no place to demand anything and, apparently, so did Guinnie.

“Demand? I don’t think so. Since your…accident, things have been going very nicely. But as I choose to tell you what happened, I will. Michael, my Gracie’s soon-to-be husband, shot you in the head. I had hoped that I could have controlled Ginny just a bit longer, but she took over at the last second and jerked from the bullet. As it is now, you’ve had some extensive brain surgery. Just enough to get rid of Verrie and, of course, Ginny. Now, my dear, it’s just the two of us. And I’m not going to leave you until you do what is necessary.”

“Necessary? I don’t…” Guinevere stiffened. “You can’t mean for me to kill myself? Why what would my children… No, I won’t do it. Not now, not ever. And if you think you can drive me to it then—”

“Oh, I don’t think I can, Guinevere dear, I will do just that. And starting today. You’re either going to give me the peace that I want or I never give you any again.”

Guinevere was suddenly afraid. “I’ll just escape. I’ll just walk out one day and—”

The chilling laughter again and then Guinnie spoke. “Walk? I’m sorry. Did I forget to mention that you are also paralyzed?” She laughed again. “Michael is now my favorite person. And before you think you can talk any of your children into taking care of you I’ve already spoken to Grace. She is going to make sure that none of them ever come to see you again.”

Guinevere looked at Peter again. He was staring at her. She had no idea what he’d been saying and, for the life of her, she couldn’t drudge up enough concern to wonder if what he’d been saying was of any importance. She simply stared.

By the time that he left her she had not only discovered that she couldn’t move her feet, but she couldn’t even twitch her fingers. She tried to will her body to move, to do anything, but all she could do was hear Guinnie.

“Now, let us begin. I read somewhere that reading is good for the mind. And there was a time when I read a book to Grace. She loved the story so much that I read it to her nightly. Today and everyday for the rest of our lives, I’m going to read the same story to you.”

Guinevere was almost afraid to ask. “What story do you think you’re going to read to me?”

“Green Eggs and Ham, of course.” Guinevere could hear her laughter again. “‘I am Sam. I am Sam. Sam I am. That Sam I am. That Sam I am. I do not like that Sam I am…’”

~~~

Grace had been home a week when she got the call from the hospital. Her mother had committed suicide. It hadn’t been something she was surprised about, but the timing. She would have thought that Guinnie would have taken a lot longer to drive her mother to it. She hung up the phone and sat in the chair in the kitchen, feeling nothing. She told Cain when he came in to get a glass of tea.

“You said she would do it. I just…I’m not even sure I care. How about you?”

She shook her head at his question.

“I’ll call the rest of them later. Oh, there’s a letter for you from some lawyer. I laid it on the table. I didn’t know you were in here.”

Grace went to the dining room table and picked up the light gray envelope. It had the return address of New York. She almost threw it away, but opened it instead. It was from Matthew Gray, a name she barely remembered.

It said she was to come to his office in the morning. There would be a plane for her and a ride to and from the airport. She felt the tears roll down her face as she read the reasons why. She was to finalize the sale of the Washington building and other matters.

Michael’s lawyer had finally contacted her. She’d been expecting it for over a week now. After he’d left her the day after she’d talked to the FBI. She hadn’t been able to give him back his ring and wondered if and when he’d realize that he’d didn’t have it. Now, it seemed, he was going to get it all.

She’d told him she couldn’t marry him. He didn’t say much at first, but the more she told him, the angrier he got until later, she’d told him why.

“I could be just like her. The doctor and even Cain said it could happen. Plus, the papers are already making it sound as if you’re marrying some lunatic and I know your business deals have slowed.” She tossed him the paper open to the financial page. “Your stock has dropped over eighteen points since this all hit the paper.”

He didn’t even bother looking at it as he threw it in the trash can. “So? You think I care what one paper says about you and me? I don’t. I love you.” He started to come toward her and she raised her hand to stop him. “You’re really going to tell me that all this matters to you?”

“It should matter to you as well. You have a reputation to uphold.” She turned her back to him as she continued. “You should go. I can’t…I won’t marry you. You should simply move on with your life.”

The door closing to the room felt like a shot to her heart. He had to leave. The papers were crucifying him daily and she knew that it would only get worse as the trial started. She sat down hard on the chair and looked out over the parking lot. It was dark by the time she realized how much pain she was in and that she’d not given him back his ring.

She made arrangements to be at the Cunningham building the next afternoon. She didn’t want to go. It was hard enough knowing that she’d have to face him and just wanted it to be over with. Grace tried on five different outfits, none of which fit her well. She’d been losing weight and it was beginning to show. She finally had to borrow one from Lilliane and smiled when she realized it was one of hers.

That was another thing that had suffered. Her designs had simply stopped. She’d not made a single thing, even to think up a design, since this whole thing had happened. Her staff had been working on putting together the orders that were being generated by the new catalogue and she wondered if, after this one, there’d be a Gracie Anne catalogue.

“Good morning, Miss Waite. If you’ll please follow me I’ll take you to see Mr. Gray.”

Grace followed the pretty little secretary, wondering where Mr. Gray’s wife had gone.

“Would you like anything while you’re waiting?”

“No, thank you,” she told the woman as she left the room. Grace tried to sit and, when that didn’t work, she paced. By the time Matt came into the room she was a ball of nervous energy.

“Hello, Grace. You look like shit, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She nearly started to cry, but clenched her fist and said nothing.

“Michael doesn’t look any better, in case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks. What is it you need from me, Mr. Gray? I thought all the papers were signed when the deal was closed.” She sat down again when he did. “I tried to tell you several days ago that I don’t want anything from Mr. Cunningham and now—”

“I’m not representing Michael. I called you in here because of another client. Michael doesn’t even know you’re here.” She looked at the door when it opened and she stood. “Trace, have a seat.”

She looked at Matt then back at Trace. “I don’t know what’s going on. Why am I here if this has nothing to do with the Washington building?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Uncle Matt said I could get you here like this so I paid him to be my lawyer.” He looked at her with sad eyes. “You didn’t say goodbye. Are you mad at me because I didn’t protect you?”

Grace felt all the wind rush out of her body. She’d never thought of how this would affect him. She glanced over at Matt then back at Trace before she began. “No. If you had come with me then you would have gotten hurt. The reasons they took me had nothing at all to do with you and I wanted you to be safe.”

“Dad says that you hate him. That nobody could love somebody like you said you did and just let them walk away.” Trace looked at the door before he continued in a lower voice. “He’s been mean since you left. I don’t want to be with him anymore.”

Grace stood. “Did he hurt you, Trace?” He nodded and she turned to Matt. “Where is he?”

Matt stood too. “You don’t need to see him. This is between you and Trace and—”

“He’s in his office,” Trace said quickly. “He’s talking to…well, he’s probably yelling at my grandma again. He yells at everyone and he’s…he’s sending me to school next week.”

That pissed her off. She was out the door and striding to his office before she knew it. Not even bothering to knock, she walked into his office and threw back the door. He stood up just as she came around the side of his desk.

“What the f*ck do you think you’re doing sending him away? I’ll have you know what’s going on between us has nothing to do with him. You send him to a military school and I’ll…I’ll come here and punch you right in the balls.” He simply stared at her so she went on. “And if I hear that you’ve been mistreating your mother I’ll send my sister after you. She has it out for you already. The nerve of you telling her boss that you beat her on the—”

His mouth covered hers. His warmth and strength filled her. And as his arms encircled her she leaned into him. A soft moan escaped her mouth as she wound her fingers into his hair. When she felt the wall behind her she pulled back slightly to try and regain control of the conversation.

“No,” Michael breathed against her neck. “Not yet. I haven’t had enough of you yet. Not nearly enough.”

His hands seemed to be everywhere, cupping her breast and tugging at her nipple. He pulled her leg over his hip and lifted her higher. When she was ready to beg him to take her he suddenly stopped and stiffened. Before she could help it a whimper spilled from her mouth.

“Michael, do put the woman down. I do not want to watch you make love to her when we’re in the middle of an important conference call.”

Grace peeked over Michael’s shoulder at his mother.

“Hello, dear. Your timing could have been a little better, but come and sit down while we finish this deal. Are you still there, Arnold?”

Laughter greeted her query. “Yes. And what I wouldn’t give to be where you are right now. Christ, the stodgy Michael Cunningham forgetting business for a woman. She must be one hell of beauty to stop him in his tracks.”

“She is. Quite smart too if she finally shows up here to tell him she loves him and can’t live without him,” Joey said. “Do you, Grace? Do you love my little boy enough to come back here and forgive him? He’s been—”

“Mother, that’s enough. Arnold, if we could finish this up tomo—”

“What do you mean forgive him? Forgive him for what?” Grace looked from Joey to Michael. “Forgive you for what?”

“I shot your mother. It’s the real reason you sent me packing, isn’t it? I never thought of it at the time, but after I got home and read about it in the paper it occurred to me that you were mad at me because I’d shot your mother.” He pulled back from her, but didn’t turn around. She glanced down and saw that he was hard, straining against the fly of his pants. She looked back up at his face when he groaned. It took her several seconds to realize what he’d said.

“I don’t hate you for shooting my mother. Hell, I wish I could have done it myself. Where did you get a stupid idea like that?” She looked at the door as it opened to reveal Trace and Matt. “You did this.”

Michael turned then to look at the two of them. Matt flushed and Trace looked at anything but his dad. When Michael finally spoke she wanted to brain him all over again.

“You’re grounded, young man. And you.” He pointed at Matt. “You’re fired. What the f*ck were you two thinking anyway?”

“Maybe we were hoping she’d come up here and light into you so that you could have some make-up sex and realize that you love her.” Trace’s face bloomed to a shade of red that Grace knew was burning. “I love her too, you know.”