Saving Gracie Part 9

By the end of the day the auditory-impaired kids had given all the hearing Bluebirds sign names, an icebreaker exercise Grace had suggested. Luckily, the project worked. Jill's "thumbs up" puffed Grace's chest out a bit.

So far, so good. Everyone interacted well, except for one auditory-impaired little girl. For most of the afternoon the child sat alone, small clenched fists crossed under her arms, lower lip protruding in an angry pout. Grace noted dirt smudges on the child's face and chewed fingernails tainted with chipped purple polish. Her sandy brown hair was twisted into a messy ponytail and a checkered, overly cheery bow struggled to hold the wadded hair in place.

Grace checked the enrollment list posted on the wall and easily spotted the girl's name.

* Asterisk - hearing-impaired * Red Star anger issues The red star triggered the memory of her conversation with Jill at orientation about the child with the not-so-great home life. The young girl refused to even sign her name, Cherry.

"Let's see what happens tomorrow," Jill advised.

Relief. "Good, because I have no idea what to do with her." The familiar feeling of helplessness began smothering Grace's relief, knowing the problem wasn't leaving just because she'd put it off. What would her mother do?

"What's for supper?" Hannah leaned against the car at the end of the day.

"s.h.i.+t! I mean shoot." Grace grimaced. Hannah giggled.

"Sorry," Grace signed, unlocking the car. She'd completely brain-farted on dinner and cursed in front of her teenage daughter. No mom Brownie points today.

"Doesn't matter." Hannah grinned. "I know the word."

"When did you learn to lip read so well?"

Hannah shrugged. "Long time ago. It's easy for me." Hannah's light-sandy hair, darkened and wet from the afternoon swim, highlighted the sprinkle of freckles across her nose. The smell of chlorine drifted through the car.

"Okay." Grace navigated the car out of the parking lot, making a mental note regarding Hannah's lip-reading proficiency. "To the store," she signed.

After their power-walking speedy grocery trip Hannah dumped contents of the plastic bags on the kitchen counter. "I'll help with dinner. Need to change first."

"Shampoo." Grace pointed to her head. "Don't want green hair like last summer."

Hannah arched an eyebrow, a bemused smile playing across her lips. "That's why you're mom." She bounded up the stairs.

Grace frowned, head tilted to the side. That was her response whenever she had to hear a mom "listen to me" litany.

"Was that a mother-knows-best suggestion?" She paused and then pulled out her mother's black skillet. "Should I be doing that?"

"Oh the horror...ending up like Mom. Every girl's worst nightmare." #2 was back in the building. "Of course you should, you nincomp.o.o.p. You're the mother lode now, remember?"

"I don't know. I might suck." Grace slipped back into the well-worn helpless role she kept handy.

"Want some cheese with that whine?" #2 sneered. "Get over it. We lived by her rules our whole life." Irritation slid over her words. "Time to make some of our own, don't you think?"

"Don't. Even. Go. There." She was not up to hearing the don't-you-think line. "And what were you doing all that time besides getting me in trouble?" Grace seriously needed work on smart-a.s.s comebacks.

"Biting my tongue, mostly," #2 said. "h.e.l.l, don't go blaming your troubles on me. I even felt sorry for you...sometimes, when I forced myself."

"Who are you talking to?" Adam walked through the back door. Grace jumped.

"Myself," Grace answered quickly, hacking at chunks of ground meat in the skillet.

"You do that often?" Adam rubbed her shoulders.

She gave her husband a smile. More than you know, she thought.

Grace and Adam cleaned the after-dinner mess in the kitchen.

"We haven't gotten a letter from Josh yet." She haunted the mailman like a stalker.

"So...does he have to write home?" Adam sc.r.a.ped food from the dishes at the sink.

"It's the chicken-letter rule. You write home once a week, you get fried chicken on Sundays." Josh used to refer to fried chicken as his best friend.

"It's been four days."

"I know." Grace felt anxiety bubble in her stomach. She felt sorry for the mailman in June. He seemed to take her disappointments personally for not producing Missouri-postmarked mail. Either that or her stalking scared the s.h.i.+t out of him.

"You haven't said much about today." Adam closed the dishwasher.

"Well, think I'll sleep tonight." Grace yawned. "It was a long day. Ugh, that reminds me." She popped her neck. "I need to read up on one of the Bluebirds."

Grace left Adam to finish the kitchen. She took a quick bath, climbed into bed and pulled the orientation folder in front of her. Propping herself up on her usual mound of pillows, she flipped through the papers until she found the red star page.

Name: Harding, Cherry s.e.x: female Age: 7 DOB: 3-23-03.

Notation: -Mother states deafness from early childhood illness -No medical record confirms diagnosis -Harris County Constable called to residence 2x/6 mos.

-CPS notified -Severe anger disturbances during school hours -Falls asleep in school; suspect sedation at night -Disheveled appearance implies child likely sleeps in clothes -Three younger half-siblings -Referral - Texas School for the Deaf considered -IQ not yet established.

*** Report unusual bruises or marks to school officials and/or CPS ASAP

CHAPTER 13.

GRACE.

First week down. TGIF. Grace contemplated the rest of her night. Bath. Dinner out. Sleep. Lots of sleep.

Once home Grace moaned as she submerged herself in the large garden tub with a blanket of sweet gardenia-smelling bubbles carpeting the water's surface. She rested her head against a spa pillow and closed her eyes, her nose barely visible above the water line. An hour later she jerked awake. She flailed, arms flying outward, sending a wave of luke-warm water over the tub's edge.

Adam hovered above her, making spider-dance finger movements on her scalp.

"Easy, easy." Adam stepped back, dusting bubbles spatters off his jacket.

"Oh. It's you." Grace stifled a yawn with a foamy hand.

"Don't sound so thrilled," Adam teased. "I a.s.sume we're eating out?"

"Only if you insist on food." Grace stood and grabbed a thick towel to brush bubbles off her wrinkled skin.

"Mexican or Italian?" Adam changed into khaki shorts and a polo s.h.i.+rt.

"Either." Grace walked into the large closet, wrapped in the over-sized towel. "You decide."

"Where's Hannah?

"Here, but staying at Jennifer's tonight. We're flying solo."

"Good. I need to run something by you."

Grace stopped dressing and stuck her head out of the closet. Adam combed his hair in the mirror, his usual smooth brow now lined with something she couldn't read. He dropped his eyes when he saw her. He half-smiled and walked out of the large dressing area. Grace's mind bounded to alert status. "About what?" she yelled.

"We'll talk later," Adam's voice replied, barely audible.

Grace felt her stomach drop. "I don't like that."

"I don't like that," #2 mimicked. "What are you? Three?"

Grace clenched her teeth, running fingers through her snarled hair. b.i.t.c.h. "Cut me some slack." Grace pulled a silver sleeveless cowl-neck blouse over her head and moved to her makeup area. "I'm doing a lot better, in case you haven't noticed."

"An unpaid job bossing kids around. Yeah. Loads better," #2 smirked.

"Now wait just a d.a.m.n min-"

A knock on the door silenced both #1 and #2. Hannah's head popped through the dressing room's double doors as Grace reapplied her steam-streaked makeup.

"Leaving," Hannah signed.

Grace motioned for her to enter. "Come in, let me see," she signed.

Hannah slipped through the double doors and did a runway walk and turn, fas.h.i.+onably tossing her flowered LL Bean backpack over her shoulder.

Grace smiled and gave a "thumbs up" to her daughter's V-neck sparkle Aero tee and oversized silver-hoop earrings. Her nails were painted glittery purple.

Hannah gave her the "I Love You" sign and blew a quick kiss.

Grace signed the same, watching her daughter leave. She sighed. "Such a sweetheart. Was I that sweet?" forgetting #2 had tuned in.

"Nope."

"Shut. Up!" Her Hannah-smile vanished as she tightened her lips, trying to apply lip-gloss.

"Oh, shudder."

Ten minutes later Adam and Grace were out the door. Adam chose Mexican.

After being seated at the restaurant they ordered their usual small pitcher of frozen margaritas and a bowl of queso to start, then a platter of fajitas for two. The waiter reappeared shortly with two frosted mugs rimmed with salt, filling each with the icy green slush. They sat in silence, Grace slurping her Margarita.

"Feeling okay?" Adam still wore the half-smile, half-frown distant look.

She refilled her mug. "I'm fine. Just tired."

Adam cleared his throat. "What I said earlier-" Adam started, but stopped when the waiter sat the sizzling entree in front of them. "I think I might-"

"Guacamole, por favor," Grace said, sucking down more of her frozen drink. She rolled the fajita meat in a fresh corn tortilla and reached again for her mug, finding it empty.

"I need to go to Chicago," Adam blurted.

Grace poured the remaining dribbles of margarita from the pitcher and then grabbed the waiter by the arm, uttering the other Spanish phrase she knew.

"Dos mas." She pointed to their empty gla.s.ses.

"Dos mas?" The waiter glanced at Adam.

Adam shook his head, held up his index finger and waited for the waiter to exit. "The company wants to open an office in Beijing." Pause. "We're supposed to meet with the big-wigs in Chicago next week."

Grace closed her eyes, her body swaying in time to the guitar and trumpet trills from the nearby mariachi band. Visions of her bed and mounds of pillows floated above her like a bubble. She felt her head lolling.

"Grace." Adam touched her arm. "Did you hear me?"

She plucked the bits of conversation from her tequila-fuzzed brain. "Someone's opening an offith in Chicago." Grace yanked at the neckline of her blouse. "Man, ith's hot in here." She opened her eyes. The room spun like a bad carnival ride. Whoa. She'd only had two margaritas. Or wath it three? No, two wath her limit.

"Are you drunk?" Adam stared at her.

Grace belched loud enough to catch the attention of people sitting nearby. "Of courth not."

Adam nodded to their neighbors and offered a "so-sorry"smile.

"I belched," Grace giggled. "Out loud." She hiccupped. "Doethn't that remind you of Joth?"

Adam flagged the waiter for the check. Thirty minutes later Grace was carefully escorted to her bedroom.

"I wanth to lie down for a thew minutes," Grace slurred. "I'm justh a little thleepy." She crawled up on the soft bed and nose-dived onto the covers.

"Honey, why don't you get into your pj's?" Adam said.

Grace flopped onto her back and tried to focus on one of his three spinning faces. "Thath's a good idea," she blew out. "Then I won't hath to change later when I...." Grace's voice drifted off.

Adam pulled her to her feet. "Need help?"