Faking Grace, page 13
a) Pray that Jesus will reveal the hypocrisy in your life. (No denial, now!)
b) Read the Word (a.k.a. the Bible).
c) Strive to be your Sunday best all week long (at home, at church, and among the masses).
d) Refrain from judging others, and be as quick to forgive as you want to be forgiven (time and again).
Doesn’t sound easy, does it? It isn’t, which is the reason prayer is listed first. Now get to it! That is, if you’re in it for the long haul.
I want to be, but the author’s right. It’s not easy, especially when you’re me. But once my work at Steeple Side is complete, things will be better. Easier. More attainable.
Cultural Christian.
I toss the DBGC on the chair beside my purse and check my watch: 7:17. I glance at the security checkpoint that Grandma should be coming past in the next ten minutes. Should I have sought clearance to meet her at the gate with a wheelchair? Not that she can’t get around on her own, but she may be expecting to see me when she disembarks. Not the way to kick off our visit, especially if it was a rough flight. But it’s too late now, as the plane is arriving on schedule.
I groan in anticipation of her displeasure. It’s been a bad enough week without adding to it. Not only does Jem continue to avoid me (haven’t lunched with her in a week and a half), but Fiala’s on my case for everything from missing files to missed phone calls. Then there’s all the gofering between Women’s and Men’s Publications. The icing on my sorry week was the discovery that my paycheck from the paper didn’t stretch far. Must cash the Steeple Side checks.
Deep breath.
There’s more. Yesterday Ray charged Tessie with monitoring my progress on the investigation, meaning I’m to update her regularly. Meaning they don’t trust me to bring in the story. As for Jack, I must be crazy, but though he and I haven’t exchanged a word since he caught me in the parking lot with my new hair color, every time I see him in passing … every time he acknowledges me with a raised hand … every time our eyes meet and his mouth turns up … I go carnal. Not carnal carnal, but “Wonder how he kisses?” carnal. “Wonder how he links fingers when holding hands?” carnal. “Wonder if his palm against mine will produce delicious shivers?” carnal. All bad.
“Grace! Is that you?”
It’s me, but that’s not Grandma. Jolted by the appearance of a thirtyish man whose goatee and sparkling eyes strike a chord of familiarity, I jump up. “Uh …?”
“Avery.” He releases the handle of his wheeled bag and thrusts out a hand. “We met two Sundays ago in the singles’ class at Sovereign.”
“Oh, right.” Certain I’m about to be badgered for not attending this past Sunday, I slide my hand into his and steel myself, just as I’ve done each time I see Jack. Strangely, he has yet to ask about my absence. Meaning he was absent himself?
“You’ve changed your hair color.” Avery releases my hand.
Angling my body to block his view of the book, which may or may not be faceup on the chair, I push fingers up through my hair and draw them out to the ends. “I’m surprised you recognized me.”
“I’m good at faces. Especially pretty ones.”
Is he flirting with me? “Thank you.”
“So what are you doing at the airport—picking up someone?”
“My grandmother. What about you?”
He switches his laptop bag from his right to his left shoulder. “I just flew in from Seattle.”
Not Seattle. “Really?” Please, God, don’t let it be that he sat next to Grandma. You name the version—King James, Queen James, Prince James, whatever!—and I promise to carve out time tonight.
“I was there on business.”
I hazard a glance past him, hoping Grandma is taking her sweet time walking from the gate.
“I’m a sales rep for industrial pipe fittings. I was in Seattle setting up a new account.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“Not really, but I like my job. How about you? Do you enjoy working at Steeple Side?”
I do not have time for this. Any moment now—
There she is, all five feet, one hundred pounds, and elegantly coifed silver hair. And she appears … not happy, but not unhappy either. I look back at Avery. “Uh, yes, Steeple Side is a very nice work environment.”
“That’s hard to come by.”
I steal another glance at Grandma. Fortunately she hasn’t seen me. Because of my dark hair? Because Avery is partially blocking her line of sight?
I smile big. “Yes, hard to come by.” Back to Grandma.
Avery follows my gaze. “Is that your grandmother?”
Oh no. And it goes from bad to worse when she catches sight of me and raises a hand. “That’s her.”
“We came in on the same flight.”
Tell me they didn’t sit together, that she didn’t go on about her Maizy Grace, who’s the only one who cares a whit about her.
I press my shoulders back. “Small world. Well, it was nice chatting—”
“Looks like she’s recovered all right.”
“Recovered?”
“Yeah, though she was several rows ahead of me, it was obvious she was anxious about flying.”
How obvious? “I’d better go see to her.” I flash a smile and grab my purse.
“Nice talking to you, Grace.”
I wave over my shoulder. “And you.”
“Hey!” His voice causes me to break my stride. “Is this yours?”
I turn as he advances, The Dumb Blonde’s Guide to Christianity in hand.
Heart thwacking, I put on my best never-seen-it-before face. “Was that sitting there? Hmm. I’m sure whoever left it will come back for it.” Hey, that was pretty good. Not exactly a lie. Unfortunately I should probably track it, so Lie Number Seven it is.
“Maizy Grace!” Grandma exclaims a moment before her arms come around me.
Oh dear. Did Avery hear the Maizy part? Since it’s her habit to emphasize Grace, maybe he didn’t catch it. “Grandma!” As I return her hug, I dip my head and put my mouth to her ear. “Call me Grace. Okay?”
She pulls back. “What?”
“Grace,” I hiss. “Don’t call me Maizy. I’ll explain later.”
Before she can confirm that she understands, Avery is beside us, fingers wrapped around the spine of that stupid book, his other hand outthrust as I draw back from Grandma. “I’m Avery Kenwood. I understand you’re Grace’s grandmother.”
Her gaze flicks to me as she accepts the handshake. “That I am. Grace Stewart.”
His smile broadens as he releases her hand. “Then Grace here is your namesake.”
Another flick of her gaze at where I stand awkwardly alongside her. “Yes, her father and”—she clears her throat—“mother named her after me.”
“For good reason, I’m sure.”
Her lips edge upward. “I’d like to think so.” She clasps her hands at her waist and gives him the twice over. “Are you my granddaughter’s boyfriend?”
Avery startles, and I don’t know whether or not to take offense. “I believe someone else has claimed that honor.”
I’d be flattered except that he’s surely referring to Jack—and Grandma is giving me the evil eye, as in, “Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”
“I’m just her Sunday school teacher.”
Her penciled eyebrows jump. “You’re Grace’s”—gray eyes dart to my face and back to Avery—“Sunday school teacher?”
“Yes, we just ran into each other here. In fact, you and I were on the same flight from Seattle. I was a few rows back. I couldn’t help but notice how nervous you were.” Sympathy curves his mouth. “You’re all right now?”
Grandma nods. “My feet are on the ground again.”
“Good.” Avery twists the wrist of the hand holding my book and checks his watch. “I should get going. It was nice meeting you.”
Grandma inclines her head. “And you, young man.”
What about my book? Surely he’s not going to walk off with it?
“Interesting title, hmm?”
I startle at the realization he’s caught me staring at the DBGC. “Yeah. Imagine that: a Christianity guide for dumb blondes.”
Grandma frowns. “Surely that’s not your book, Avery?”
“No.” He nods over his shoulder. “Someone left it on the chair near where Grace was sitting.”
Grandma’s eyes land on me with an almost audible thunk. “Wonder what fool paid good money for something like that when the Bible is all a person needs?”
Itching to snatch the book from Avery, I shrug. “It must have some value if it was published. And, um …” I tilt my head to the side to peer at the cover. “It does say ‘National Bestseller.’ ” So there!
“Amazing what sells nowadays,” Grandma mutters.
With a noncommittal nod, Avery zeros in on me. “I’ll see you Sunday?”
Sunday? Just because I attended two Sundays ago doesn’t mean I’ll attend this Sunday. “Maybe. You know how it is when you have out-of-town guests.”
“You’re welcome to bring your grandmother.”
“Oh, she will,” Grandma says.
I silently implore her to look deep into my eyes. “But, Grandma, what about all those places you want to see?”
She smiles. “You know the importance I place on church, Grace. Besides, I’m here for two weeks. If that’s not enough time to be a tourist, I’ll alter my plans.”
Can this day get any worse?
“I look forward to seeing you both.” Avery shifts his laptop bag. “Now I’m off to drop this book at the Lost and Found and head on home.”
I raise a hand. “Bye.”
“Good-bye, Avery.” Grandma wiggles her fingers and, when his back is to us, pins me with those sharp gray eyes. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady.”
“I know, but first let’s get your luggage and drop by the Lost and Found.”
Steeple Side Lies
#1. No real work experience (Mrs. Lucas)
#2. Currently not working anywhere else (Mrs. Lucas)
#3. Interested in full-time work at Steeple Side (Mrs. Lucas)
#4. Didn’t say the D word (Jack Prentiss)
#5. Attend Sovereign Church and like the congregation (2 lies in 1—Jack & Linda)
#6. Do freelance editing (Jem)
#7. DBGC not mine (Avery)
Grandma sighs into her teacup, causing the steam rising from it to cloud her face. “Some pickle you’ve got yourself into, Grace.”
Amazing how receptive she is to dropping my first name. Of course, she never much liked my mom’s mom. And in defense of Grandma Grace, her counterpart was not easy to like. I stare at the tea leaves at the bottom of my own cup. Generic tea bags just don’t hold up as well as the leading brands.
“Did you hear me, Grace?”
“I’ve gotten myself into a pickle. Unfortunately, I don’t have much choice.”
“You can say no.”
I look up. “Is that what you think I should do? Tell the paper no? Risk my career again? Resign myself to writing mindless articles about county fairs and the newest eatery in town? Barely scrape by? Maybe not even scrape by?”
She sets her cup in its saucer. “You are not an orphan. You have safety nets.”
I’ve heard this before—many times. “Grandma, how old am I?”
She waves dismissingly. “I know. ‘I’m twenty-six, a grown woman, and I can do it on my own.’ ” She harrumphs. “That’s pride speaking, and pride will lead you into sin, Grace.”
Grace, Grace, Grace! I slump back into the pillows. “You know, Grandma, around here you can call me Maizy.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s my name.”
“Not at Steeple Side or Sovereign.”
“Neither of which we’re at.”
“But we will be. So if I’m to stay in character—”
In character?
“I need to practice.” She raises the cup to her lips.
I glower. “Why do I have this feeling that’s just an excuse, that you prefer Grace over Maizy?”
“Because I do. I can’t tell you how often I argued with your mother before you were born that you should be named Grace Maizy.”
At least once a week, according to Mom.
“But she preferred to honor her mother over your father’s mother.” She wags a finger. “And you know how she convinced my son? With that silly wordplay of hers. As if she cares about an old hymn.”
Lord, I know Grandma loves and believes in You, but why doesn’t it show at times like this? Even I know You don’t want to see this from her—bitterness over what she perceives to be wrongs done her. Regardless of whether or not she’s right, why can’t she try harder to get along with Mom? Maybe then Dad and Mom would visit more often. Isn’t there something I can say? Something that will make her see that she’s only hurting herself? Some verse—
As if I’d even know where to begin looking for a verse to cover something like this. After all, the Bible is little more than a prop for me despite my good intentions to read it.
Cultural Christian.
I set my cup and saucer on the end table, lean forward, and lay a hand on Grandma’s bony little knee beneath polyester slacks. “This day has given me more than my share of headaches. If we’re going to talk into the wee hours of morning, let’s talk about something pleasant.”
She shrugs. “Honestly, Grace, what is there pleasant to talk about? The flight was so nerve racking I had to take hits of oxygen. When I finally made it off the plane, there you were looking like a shorter version of your mother with all that dark hair. One moment I’m thrilled to learn that you not only have yourself a boyfriend but a church home; the next, I find out it’s a farce. Then there’s this business about Steeple Side, whose publications I’ve enjoyed for years. And now …” She rubs her nose. “Now my nose is itching from all that dander and hair your little dog deposits.”
She’s right. There isn’t anything pleasant to talk about—not even the good news that Edith took a turn for the better yesterday, as Grandma is certain everyone’s getting their hopes up for nothing.
I push up off the sofa. “How about we start all over again tomorrow after we’ve had some good sleep?”
A shadow of regret crosses her face. “You’re right. I am tired.”
Twenty minutes later, she’s tucked in my bed, I’m stretched out on the sofa with Woofer at my side, and The Message is open on my lap to Matthew, the first book of the New Testament. Yes, I’m reading the Bible. While I long to pull the covers over my head and sleep away the remainder of Friday, I made a promise I intend to keep.
Though much of what I read over the next half hour merely skims the surface of my gray matter, time and again I return to the sixth chapter of Matthew that we touched on in Avery’s Sunday school class. Especially the part that precedes the Lord’s Prayer and which The Message puts into language I’m better able to understand: “Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace.”
I try it out, and burrowed beneath the warm covers, I sense something. Is it all in my head? Perhaps, but it’s comforting, especially when I turn my self-centered prayers to others: Jem, Linda’s son, Fiala, Gwen and her husband, Grandma, and Edith.
Prayer. Who would have thought that something so simple could feel so good?
ELEVEN
“So this is your young man?”
I could just die. I look from Jack’s startled expression to Grandma, who’s beaming as if he’s the answer to her prayers. Unfortunately, as she was set on attending church, it had been necessary to alert her to the situation with Jack and the reason behind Avery’s assumption that we’re seeing each other. Why didn’t I stay in bed? In light of all the sight hopping we did yesterday—Opryland Hotel, Opryland Mall, and the Country Music Hall of Fame—surely we could have skipped church?
“Grandma, Jack and I are just …” I nearly roll my eyes to find him staring at me with raised eyebrows, no doubt enjoying the thought that I’ve been talking him up. “We work together and attend the same church. That’s all.”
She gives me a scowl and Jack another smile. “Is that really all, Jack?”
His eyebrows resettle, and for a moment it seems possible that he’s going to let me off the hook, but his eyes turn luminous. “If Grace says so.”
Embarrassment vying with dread over what Grandma will read into his response, I search for something to turn the conversation, but she gets there first.
“Don’t mind what Grace says.” She pats Jack’s arm. “Truth be known, she likes to be chased.”
“Grandma!”
“Well, you do. How many times did Ben have to ask you out before you accepted?”
Did I just crack a tooth? Two days down, twelve to go before she returns to Seattle.
Grandma sighs. “Of course, he turned out to be a horse’s patootie.”
An understatement, but I refuse to talk about him in front of Jack. I curl a hand around Grandma’s forearm. “Let’s find a seat.”
She looks back at Jack and winks. “Lovely meeting you. Oh, and delicious accent, Jack. I’m sure it drives the women wild.”
A groan escapes me, then another when I see the heads of other singles turn our direction. Two days down, twelve to go.
As I hustle Grandma toward the back of the class, I put my mouth to her ear. “What are you doing?”
“Endearing myself.”
