Like my mother, Grace thought, thankful that her aunt didn’t say it.
Aunt Elizabeth put on the teakettle and got out two cups and saucers. Samuel had lost interest in the spoons and crawled toward the door to the garage. “Good thing I don’t have a doggy door or he’d manage to escape. I wish I had one of those jumper things you could hang in the door.”
“I have one in the trunk.” She’d been sure her aunt wouldn’t want it attached and possibly scratching up the lintel.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get it.”
Grace came back inside and installed the gently used doorway jumper. Samuel squealed in delight when he saw it. She fitted him into it, and he bounced happily. Aunt Elizabeth laughed. “Doesn’t take much to please that boy.” She leaned down. “Careful you don’t bounce too high, Rapscal. You might just bump your head.”
“Rapscal?” Grace couldn’t believe her aunt had given her son a nickname.
“Douglas called him that.”
“Douglas?” Grace didn’t remember anyone by that name.
“Retired grocer. Widower.” Aunt Elizabeth waved her hand airily. “He bought the house next door.” She set two cups of tea on the kitchen table. “He’s fixing the place up. Ruby Henderson let it go after her husband died. She moved into an assisted-living facility and put the house on the market last year.”
Suppressing a smile, Grace looked at her aunt over the rim of her teacup. “Is Douglas nice?”
Aunt Elizabeth gave her an annoyed stare. “We were talking about the men in your life. I don’t have any in mine.” She looked pointedly at Samuel and back at Grace. “Did you ever track down his father?”
Grace felt the heat surging into her cheeks. “No.” She and her aunt hadn’t trod this ground before, and Grace didn’t want it plowed. And she didn’t want to admit she had never tried.
“I’m not reprimanding you, Grace, but have you ever thought about it?”
“Yes, and decided it was a terrible idea.” She stared into her cup of tea, not wanting to see what her aunt might be thinking. “We barely talked.” She didn’t remember anything about him.
“Why did you go to that club in the first place? It was so . . .” She shook her head. “Out of character.”
Grace sighed. “I don’t know. I was depressed and lonely. Shanice loves to dance. Patrick and Virginia’s baby was due that week.”
She’d been working every day, coming home to an empty apartment at night, taking online classes, keeping busy so she wouldn’t think about her empty life. She wondered if she’d ever fall in love with a man who would love her back. Shanice said, Come on, girlfriend, have a little fun for a change. Why not? Everyone else seemed to be doing it.
The club had been packed, the sensuous beat of the music loud, people dancing like pagan worshipers. She’d been shocked at first, but wanted to fit in. So she pretended she could be as cool as anyone else. Before that night, she’d never had more than one glass of champagne, and that was in celebration of Patrick’s graduation, but Shanice ordered her a sloe gin fizz. It tasted good and went down easily. It also went to her head.
One drink would have been more than enough to keep her high for the evening, but she paid for another. She danced alone, moving to the music, and then found herself in a man’s arms. She didn’t even look up at him. It was fun to dance with someone who knew how to lead and exciting to feel the rush of heat and fast pounding of her heart. She’d never felt anything like this with Patrick.
When the man asked if she wanted to leave, she knew what he meant. Pushing down all sense of right and wrong, she said yes. They barely spoke on the drive to his condo. He asked why she’d come to the club. She said she wanted to have fun. He asked if she knew the rules. She shrugged and said sure, doesn’t everybody? One night, no strings. She hadn’t thought about the rest.
Aunt Elizabeth touched Grace’s hand. “Please don’t cry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Grace wiped tears from her cheeks. They sat in companionable silence, Samuel bouncing happily a few feet away, thankfully oblivious to adult misadventures and catastrophes.
“What about school, Grace? Do you want to go back?”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“You had your sights set on clinical psychology, didn’t you?”
To figure herself out? “I’d need a master’s to do anything with it, and an internship somewhere. That would all take too long. The subject still fascinates me, but I don’t think I could stay detached from patients. I’m too much of an enabler.”