A Man of Honor Page 25

  Tears of joy filled her eyes, and he kissed them away. Kissed her lips, too, and this time, Grace read “I love you” in it.

  So she put everything she had into sending him the same message.

  35

  She hadn’t known what to expect. Certainly not a tall, willowy redhead who reminded her of the gorgeous TV actress from that hit hospital show. Certainly not a loving mother, or a woman who exuded genuine warmth, either.

  But there she sat, looking tired and pale, yet surprisingly serene as she smiled and complimented the curtains and the buttery yellow of the walls. If a stranger had walked into the kitchen just then, they would have thought Randi and Grace had been friends for years, instead of two women who’d only met an hour ago . . . under less than normal circumstances.

  “I’m so glad you agreed to meet with me,” Grace said, refilling her teacup.

  “Yeah. Our boys needed some one-on-one time.”

  True, but not nearly as much as Randi needed to say yes to Grace’s proposal. She’d given it a lot of careful thought and prayer; last thing she wanted was to sound phony and shallow, and leave Randi with the impression that the offer was tantamount to calling her a charity case, even though that’s exactly what she was. Not financially, according to Dusty, but in just about every other way Grace could name.

  “So I guess it was a shock, hearing Dusty has a kid. . . .”

  Not nearly as big a shock to me as it was to Dusty, she thought. But if the admission sounded self-righteous and judgmental to her, how much more so would it sound to Randi? “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t. But seeing Dusty so happy made it a whole lot easier to wrap my mind around it.”

  Randi dumped a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “Did he tell you why we ended things?”

  “Yeah. He did. I’m sorry he put you through all that.”

  “Oh, I gave every bit as good as I got,” she said, grinning. “Bad timing, mostly. We were both so stupid and selfish back then. It never would have worked out.”

  “Still . . . it had to be tough, thinking you couldn’t turn to him for help with the pregnancy, with Ethan, once he was born. . . .”

  She dunked a biscotti into her tea. “Trust me, I called him just about everything but ‘father material,’ for years.”

  Randi bit off the point of the cookie. Took her time, chewing and swallowing, as if buying time to figure out whether or not to say more.

  “Then Ethan started developing a personality. Displaying character traits that reminded me of all the good things about Dusty. The older he got, the less angry I was. And pretty soon, all I felt was gratitude, because if it hadn’t been for Dusty, I wouldn’t be able to say I’m the mother of the most terrific kid in the whole world.”

  Tears misted in her eyes, telling Grace that Randi had meant every word.

  “To be fair, I wasn’t exactly ‘mother material’ back then, either. Wasn’t easy, admitting how far out of control I’d let my life get. But every time I looked into those baby blues, I knew that if I didn’t get back in control, he’d pay the price.”

  Grace only nodded; God would show her the best time to spell out her plan.

  “My grandmother used to have this saying: ‘Life and all its glories.’ She said it whether the sun was shining or lightning and thunder were crashing outside her window. I didn’t get it . . . until the diagnosis.”

  Her lower lip quivered as she ran trembling hands through sparse auburn strands.

  “Got my act cleaned up. Set up a college fund for Ethan. Bought a nice house in the suburbs, where he’d be safe. Went back to church, to set a good example for him. But before I knew it, I’d turned myself over to God. Man, I thought, could life get any better?” A shaky sigh passed her lips. “And then . . . and then. . . .”

  Then the doctors diagnosed cancer, Grace finished mentally, and began a series of painful treatments and operations that only weakened her further. If she knew her better, Grace would walk around the table and hug her.

  But why did she have to know her better?

  At first, Randi stiffened, but in seconds, she’d slumped against Grace like a frail child, and wept.

  Finally, she sniffed and sat up a bit straighter, plucking a napkin from the basket on the table, “I’m really sorry about that. If you knew me better, you’d know I’m not usually such a crybaby.”

  “I don’t need to know you better to see how strong you are. How strong you’ve always been.”

  Randi blew her nose . . . a loud honk got them both to giggling. “Well, nobody will ever accuse me of being a prissy finger-in-the-air lady, now will they?”

  They shared a good laugh over that, and the fact that people had often compared Grace to a Canada goose when she blew her nose.

  “I should probably find Ethan,” Randi said on a sigh. “Much as I hate to leave, it doesn’t take much to wear me out these days. Guess I should get back to the hotel.”

  Grace’s heartbeat quickened. She couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “You know those big signs apartment complexes hang on the sides of their buildings: ‘If you lived here, you’d already be home’?”

  “Yeah. My question has always been, what poor fool has to climb up there and hang them?”

  Smiling, Grace said, “If you lived here, you’d already be home.”

  Randi laughed, which provoked a coughing fit.

  When Grace saw the blood on the napkin Randi had used to blot her eyes, she ran to the sink and ripped a paper towel from the holder. After dampening it, she bent at the waist and gently dabbed the corners of Randi’s mouth.

  “I-I can’t apologize enough. Sorry you had to see that, Grace.”

  She pulled the nearest chair closer to Randi’s, and, facing her, said, “I’ll tell you how you can make it up to me. You can promise not to say a word until I tell you what I have in mind. And why.”

  Grace didn’t give her a chance to agree. Instead, she plunged right in, and described the many positives of having Randi and Ethan here at Angel Acres. When she finished, Randi said, “I saw the way you looked at Dusty.”

  Grace failed to see what that had to do with her proposal.

  “And I thought to myself, ‘Wow. This girl is crazy about him.’ I see I was only half right.” She grinned. “You’re just plain crazy!”

  “Can’t argue with that.” Grace grinned, too. “So, is that your roundabout way of saying you agree? Moving in here makes sense? That it’s best for everyone concerned?”

  Randi harrumphed. “For everyone but you, maybe.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  “You have no idea what you’re letting yourself in for, Grace. Things are going to get real messy. . . .”

  “I know exactly what I’m getting in to. My grandmother died of cancer, and spent her last days, right here with me.”

  A deep furrow formed on Randi’s pale brow as she studied Grace’s face. “If I wasn’t such a selfish broad, I’d walk out that door, right now.”

  “I know it won’t be easy, watching Ethan grow closer to Dusty, and to me, too. Not to mention being under the same roof, day in and day out, with the guy who let you down, who hurt you. The fact that you’re seriously considering the move is all the proof I need that you’re anything but selfish.”

  Randi sat quietly, studying her hands for a long, silent moment. “Before I give you my answer,” she said without looking up, “you need to hear a few things.”

  Grace held her breath, bracing herself for the confession. Dear Lord, give me the strength not to behave like a jealous shrew when she admits that she still loves Dusty. . . .

  “First of all, I came to the reckoning years ago that love wasn’t the glue that kept Dusty and me together all those months. If anything, it was neurosis. We’d been rookie cops, sharing a squad car, saw some pretty grisly things on the streets. Saw even more horrible stuff on 9/11, and for months—years, even—afterward. It made sense, in a twisted sort of way, to try and block all that out b
y denying it happened. And with risky behavior. Substance abuse. The ugly truth is, the only thing Dusty and I share are bad memories. And Ethan.” A slow smile brightened her face. “Although I have a strong suspicion that in very short order, we’ll share admiration for you, too.”

  Grace wanted to hug her. Instead, she said, “So you’ll stay?”

  “Ethan deserves to belong to a real family, where he’ll feel safe and loved. I don’t know why, but God help me, I believe that’s exactly what he’ll get with you and Dusty. I’d be crazy to deny him that.” She snickered. “And let’s not forget that—by your own admission—you’re the crazy lady in the room.”

  Laughing and crying at the same time, the women hugged . . . while Grace prayed for the strength to deliver everything she’d promised.

  36

  When she’d gone back to the hotel to pack up for the move to Angel Acres, Randi had started the legal ball rolling. It hadn’t been easy, keeping Dusty and Grace from seeing any of the paperwork, but she’d managed. She’d known about the inheritance Dusty had invested; money would never be a problem for him. But that didn’t stop her from resting easier, knowing that everything she’d owned was now in Grace and Dusty’s names.

  The most important document: The Certificate of Adoption that ensured no one would ever question Dusty’s rights to his son. She’d spent years, justifying the bitterness that had inspired her spiteful response when the nurse asked how to fill in that blank line on the birth certificate. “I have no idea who the baby’s father is!” Back then, she’d rather have people see her as a woman of low character than admit she’d been stupid enough to get pregnant by a man like that.

  A man like that. Randi looked around the space that Dusty had helped turned into a homey hospital room, flinging dressers and chairs and the weighty hospital bed under Grace’s direction. Remembered, too, the many times over the past week he’d gently helped her hobble to the big comfy recliner in the family room, so she could spend time with Ethan and the boys who’d come to view her son as a little brother. It had been Dusty who’d made countless trips into town for prescription refills and air cushions to ease the pressure on her skin-over-bone behind, who’d uncomplainingly dispensed of bloody tissues in the trash can beside her bed. Could have done worse, way worse, she’d thought no fewer than a hundred times, than to give Ethan a father like that.

  As for her part, Grace—that sweetheart—got up hours earlier than usual to make healthy, easy-to-digest soups, then bustled through her daily chores to ensure she’d have time to put clean linens on the bed, help Randi bathe, gently rub lotion into her sheet-parched skin.

  And those boys she’d called hoodlums? Dusty had been right: they were anything but. They played cribbage with her, entertained her with silly songs, made up on the spot, dragged a small color TV from Grace’s room into Randi’s, then sprawled on the floor to keep her company while she watched the news, sappy, old movies, and Wheel of Fortune, always doing their best to hide their boredom.

  They spent hours and hours with Ethan, too, teaching him to field grounders and catch pop-up flies, to put just the right spin on the old pigskin, and pitch it in a high, distant arc. They showed him how to make a fishing rod, then taught him how to use it. Snuck him cookies before dinner and cupcakes at bedtime, and patiently listened as he recited the seemingly endless list of people he wanted God to watch over. Quite the gesture of love on the boys’ part, considering that since moving to Angel Acres, Ethan’s list had more than doubled.

  Randi loved them all. Dusty and Grace, Mitch and the boys, even the goofy cousin, Gavin, who’d stopped by daily to deliver tabloids and crossword puzzles and groan-inducing one-liners.

  How odd that a woman like her, who’d spent a lifetime boasting that she didn’t need anybody, was surrounded by friends. People she’d miss, and who would miss her.

  It made the pain more bearable—and it was excruciating and almost constant now. To hide it from them—from Ethan in particular—Randi had been spending more and more time in her room. She needed to rest up and dig deep, so that on Saturday she’d be well enough to sit front and center at their wedding. How ironic that they’d moved the date up for her benefit . . . and that because of two trips to the hospital in the back of an ambulance . . . they’d postponed it, twice. That last time, she’d forced the ER doc to admit she was living on borrowed time. “I hope your affairs are in order,” he’d said, slapping a Fentanyl patch onto her arm.

  The drug took the edge off the pain, enough so that when Randi got home, she was able to sit up and make plans, then place the phone calls that would put things in motion. And tonight, after Ethan was fast asleep, she’d call Dusty and Grace into her room and give them their wedding gift. As the hours ground slowly by, Randi hadn’t known which caused more discomfort: Her pain, or her impatience. And now that they were here, she wished for more time. Because how did one begin a speech like this?

  “So what’s up?” Dusty asked.

  “The sky? The price of gasoline?” Randi joked.

  “Ha ha,” he said, sitting on the corner of her bed. “Quit stalling. I’ve got cows to feed.”

  She took a rattling breath and slid the envelope from where she’d hidden it under the covers.

  “What’s this?” Grace asked, peeking inside. “Legal documents?”

  Randi nodded. “I’ve had a lot of time to think. And pray. You’re holding the results of all my brain strain.”

  Dusty and Grace put their heads together, reading.

  “I hope you two won’t mind driving into town tomorrow, to have everything notarized.” She twirled a pen like a tiny baton. “But you’ll have to sign them first, of course.”

  Dusty looked up from the adoption papers. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He looked insulted that she’d taken legal steps to name him Ethan’s father . . . and make Grace his official mother. “Oh, get over yourself,” she snapped. “Surely you didn’t expect me to leave without ensuring Ethan’s future.” She looked from Dusty to Grace and back again. “You had to know for that to happen, this had to be the first step.”

  There were tears in Grace’s eyes when she said, “But Randi, this is . . . so. . . .”

  “Final. Right.” She shrugged. “I know this makes you uncomfortable. If you want the truth, it isn’t exactly easy as pie for me, either.” She smoothed the top sheet and lifted her chin. “But we’ve all got to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and do what needs to be done.”

  She waved them away. “I’m pooped. I need a nap. Turn off the light and close the door on your way out, will you, please?”

  Randi watched them walk woodenly toward the hall, exchanging worried glances.

  The light clicked off, and as the swath of light spilling in from the hall narrowed with the closing door, she said, “Oh, there’s one more thing. . . .”

  “Anything,” Grace said.

  And Dusty followed up with, “Name it.”

  Good thing it’s dark in here, she thought as tears puddle in her eyes. “Don’t come back here until those papers are signed and notarized.”

  Silence, save the quiet dialog of whatever show the boys were watching in the living room across the way, then the quiet click of the closing door.

  It would be tough, she knew, saying a final farewell to these two who’d come to mean so much to her.

  But not nearly as tough as the final speech she’d be required to make . . . to say goodbye to Ethan.

  37

  Look at you!” Randi said when she rolled her wheelchair into the living room. “You’re . . . you’re positively gorgeous!”

  Grace looked into the foyer mirror, hands clasped under her chin. “You think so?”

  “Dusty’s gonna think he’s died and gone to heaven.” She reached out and touched the filmy lace overlay of the dress. “Your grandma had good taste, I’ll say that much. What’s even more amazing is that the material and seams held up all these years.”

  “We have careful packagi
ng to thank for that. Tissue paper, sealed box, steamer trunk. . . . Believe me, I paid attention as I unwrapped it.”

  “So that when your little girl gets married, she can wear it, too.”

  Grace nodded. Down on one knee, she wrapped Randi in a gentle hug. “It’s the answer to a prayer that you feel well enough to sit up today.”

  “Hush. You’ll wear yourself out. Can’t have that this early in the day. You’ve got a lot on your plate!” Randi counted on her fingers: “Get married, hostess the reception, leave for Fells Point. . . .”

  “Fells Point?”

  Randi laughed into her hand. “Oops. Did I say that out loud? Sorry. Blame the drugs. Sometimes, I talk out of my head.”

  Grace would have pressed for more information, but Randi said, “Roll me over to the French doors, will you, so I can look outside?”

  Grace had taught the boys how to make huge white satin bows, and they’d helped her wire them to the fence posts and deck rails. Two dozen white folding chairs sat in tidy rows along the back walk, and potted ferns flanked the arbor, where she and Dusty would exchange vows. “Looks lovely,” Randi said, squeezing Grace’s hand. “You and those boys do excellent work.”

  “I’m just praying the rain holds off until after the reception.”

  “Yeah, the minute I saw those dark clouds rolling in, I said the same thing.” Then she winked. “But what’s the worst that can happen? We all get a little wet. Isn’t like any of us are made of sugar—though we’re sure sweet enough to be.”

  Grace only nodded.

  “Scared?”

  “A little.”

  “Don’t be. I have it on good authority you’re gonna be a great wife. And a super mom.”

  “From your lips to God’s ear.”

  Randi aimed a thumb at the ceiling, then pressed her palm to her chest. “I’m more sure of that than I’ve ever been about anything.”

  Then she struck a pose. “So,” she said, fluffing her sparse curls, “what do you think?”