The only problem with driving to her brother’s house in Arlington Heights, Grace mused as she nosed her Ford Focus through westbound traffic—surprisingly heavy for Sunday afternoon—was the lack of east-west freeways this far north in Chicago. Seemed like she barely got on the expressway going north, and she had to get off again on Lake Avenue, a four-lane with stoplights every half mile, and take it west all the way to the northwest suburb.
Still, it was nice of Denise and Mark to invite her for Sunday dinner. She needed some company, something to distract her. It’d be great to be with family. “Bring Roger too!” Denise had chirped. “We’re practically on your way home from church.”
County Line Christian Fellowship was even further west. She might’ve looked for a church closer to home a couple of years ago, except for Roger’s involvement there. Maybe now was the time …
“No, it’ll just be me. I’m not going to County Line tomorrow. Did you say two o’clock?” She’d explain about Roger when she got there.
In spite of traffic, Grace pulled into the driveway of Mark and Denise’s modest suburban home after just the usual forty-five-minute drive. Another familiar car sat in the driveway …
“Hey, hey, hey, there she is!” Large knuckles were knocking on her side window.
Grace opened her car door. “Dad! What are you doing here?” Climbing out of the car, she was enveloped in a big hug. “Nobody said anything about you guys coming too.” Her raspy voice was muffled against his big shoulder.
“Gotta see our girl!” Her father, hatless, his thinning silver hair lifting slightly in the chilly breeze, held her at arm’s length. “Still got that nasty laryngitis, don’t you,” he scolded. “We gotta get you inside.” Grace barely had time to grab her purse and the bag with souvenirs she’d bought in Florida for her nephews before being hustled through the front door.
“Surprise!” Marcus and Luke, eight and five respectively, nearly bowled her over with hugs. “Grandma’s here too!”
Indeed she was. Grace smiled at her mom, an attractive woman in her early sixties, still working as a librarian at one of the branch libraries in Indianapolis. Margaret Meredith had let her hair go silver and wore it in a short pageboy, softly framing her pleasant face. Hugs all around … Mark, so like their dad, a bit pudgy in the paunch but still good-looking with his dark brown hair and lopsided grin, his pretty wife, Denise, and the two boys, all mophaired and big smiles—especially when she handed the boys the two wrapped packages, which they immediately ripped open to discover large rubber alligators she’d bought at Orlando’s Nature Park.
“Wow. Thanks, Aunt Grace!”
“Yeah,” echoed five-year-old Luke. He squinted up at her. “How come you’re talking funny?”
She pointed a finger into her mouth, and then grinned as she tousled his hair. “Laryngitis. You oughta try it sometime.”
Grace took her father’s arm as Denise shooed them all toward the dining room. “How’s the hardware store, Dad?”
“Oh, you know, hanging in there. Now if one of my offspring would just take over the business, I could retire …”
“Dad!” Mark rolled his eyes. “Don’t start that again. Sis, why don’t you sit on that side with the boys, Mom and Dad over here …”
When they were seated, they all held hands around the dining room table and Mark eyed his father. “Dad? Will you—?” And Paul Meredith launched into a “Sunday dinner prayer,” as the grandkids called it, a bit long, thanking God they could all be together, asking God to bless Tim and Nellie and the kids—Grace’s oldest brother’s family—who lived too far away to be with them today, blessing this home, thanking God for Grace being back home from her tour, safe and sound …
Not so safe. Not so sound, she thought, biting her lip.
“… and bless the hands that prepared this scrumptious meal. Amen!”
The next few minutes were a flurry of passing the pot roast and vegetables, the usual, “Aw, do I hafta eat carrots?” and Denise jumping up to get this and that she’d forgotten.
“So where’s Roger?” Mark asked, heaping roasted potatoes on his plate. “Thought he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight after being gone a whole month.”
Grace swallowed. She took a deep breath. “We broke up.”
All noise and movement stopped. Food dishes were held in midair. Even Marcus and Luke stared up at her from either side. Grace was aware that all eyes went to the bare third finger of her left hand. She nodded.
“Oh, honey …” Her mother’s face looked about to crumple. “You bought your wedding dress!”
“Please, Mom, don’t.” Grace smiled bravely. “It’s all right. Maybe we can talk about it later. I’m supposed to be resting my voice, so why don’t you all tell me what’s been happening around here while I’ve been gone?”
It took a false start or two to get the conversation going again, but the chatter finally picked up about jobs and politics and weather, until Marcus announced he wanted to quit piano lessons and play drums in the elementary school band next year.
“Like heck,” Mark muttered under his breath and everyone laughed. “You boys go play video games or something until it’s time for dessert. We’ll call you.” It took only two seconds for them to disappear toward the den.
With the boys gone, all eyes turned back on Grace. “Okay.” She laid her cloth napkin on the table. “I need to keep this short, though. Still trying to get over this virus.” As simply as she could, she told them about Roger’s phone call the night before her last concert, Samantha’s mother’s heart attack, and coming home sick. She didn’t say anything about the humiliating “pat down” at the Memphis airport, not in front of her parents. She’d never been able to talk to them about sexual stuff. And … some things were better left buried. “Then he showed up yesterday and took his ring back.”
Mark threw up his hands. “Of all the nerve! He’s nuts!”
She shrugged. “He said he couldn’t handle the long separations when I’m on tour, and he didn’t like our relationship being so public. Not what he wants in a wife.”
Her mother reached across the table and touched her hand. “But, honey, it’s not like you’d be doing that forever. I mean, you’re almost thirty. Once you’re married, you’ll want to start a family, stay at home with the babies—”
“Now, Margaret …” Her father gave a warning shake of his head.
Her mother looked surprised. “Well, wouldn’t she?”
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know, Mom. We never talked about it. That’s what’s so weird. This seemed to come out of the blue. But then, late-night long-distance phone calls when I’m on tour aren’t exactly ideal for keeping up with each other. Somehow I missed the clues. But … Roger was quite clear. The engagement’s off.”
Her brother’s face was a thundercloud. “Probably has his eye on some other bimbo at that matchmaking factory out at County Line.”
Grace made a wry face. “What do you mean, some other bimbo, dear brother?”
Mark turned red. “Oh, you know what I mean. How old is Roger … thirty-two? And doesn’t he teach some college-age Sunday school class? Mature single guy … college girls on a manhunt … recipe for disaster.”
Denise poked her husband. “I think you need to shut up, Mark.”
Grace felt the tears start. She picked up her napkin and dabbed her eyes. “Yes, please. Don’t start any gossip about Roger. I don’t know what happened. Right now, you guys just need to understand that it’s over. And I’m so glad you’re my family. I—” It was no use. The tears spilled over. Her shoulders shook.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her father moved over to the seat vacated by Luke and wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed on his shoulder. “It’s okay, it’s going to be all right. You’ll always be our Golden Girl. Go ahead and cry.”
Golden Girl … Her father’s words made her cry even harder. Not so golden. Not if they knew. But held against her father’s chest, Grace’s sobs gradually eased as the others quietly started to clear the table. Grace heard her mother’s plaintive voice from the kitchen. “I just don’t understand!”
And her brother’s still angry voice: “Jerk has no idea he just lost the best fish in the sea.”
As hard as it’d been to tell them she’d been dumped, the Sunday afternoon with family felt like a soothing balm for Grace’s wounds. They built a fire in the family room fireplace, and Denise served hot cider with cinnamon sticks and peppermint ice cream as they played a cutthroat game of Scrabble—a Meredith tradition. But her parents had to leave around five, heading back to Indianapolis—a four-hour drive—and Grace said she’d better get going too. Mark followed her out to the car.
“If you want me to go punch his lights out, just say the word, Sis.”
She shook her head with a sad smile. “Thanks, Mark. I’ll let you know.”
“Hey, sorry I didn’t get over to shovel your walks. Maybe I can drop by tomorrow. I’ll look at my—”
“It’s okay. I paid a neighbor kid to shovel. Did a pretty good job.”
Her brother looked surprised. “Really? Thought you didn’t know anybody.”
“Well, I don’t really. But I met the family next door, some of them anyway, and they seem real nice. Tavis shoveled the walks. He’s a twin. Cute kid. Thirteen.”
“Thirteen. Hmm, never did think of thirteen as a cute age. All that angst. Kind of dreading it.”
She leaned over and kissed her brother on the cheek. “Marcus and Luke are going to be fine. But good luck with the drums.”
She got in her car, waved good-bye, and backed out of the driveway.
Daylight was fading fast and traffic was still heavy going back toward Chicago, but she felt relieved. She’d dreaded telling her parents about the breakup. Her mom had been so excited about getting to be mother of the bride—a whole different role than the mother of the groom she’d been at Tim’s and Mark’s weddings. And she knew her parents were a little anxious that she was almost thirty and not yet married. Tim had gotten married right out of college and he and Nellie had pre-teens already as well as a surprise baby, who was now three—all girls. They lived in Colorado Springs and she didn’t get to see her nieces very often. At least she had Mark and Denise and the boys nearby. Family. What a gift.
But … there was a lot she hadn’t told them. She just felt so weary. There’d be time to tell them about canceling the sweetheart banquet in Milwaukee next weekend—surely they’d understand that. She did tell them she had an appointment with a throat specialist tomorrow. After that, maybe she’d need their counsel—and surely their prayers—about what to do about her upcoming bookings and the West Coast tour this spring. And the switch in her booking agent …
Oh. She still hadn’t called Jeff Newman back about him stopping over in Chicago to see her on Tuesday! Guess she couldn’t put that off any longer. Why not meet the guy … she’d give him a tentative okay, and let him know for sure after her doctor’s appointment tomorrow.