Page 85 of Grace

“It’s gonna be at your place tomorrow,” Tom says to Cyrus, patting his shoulder in a friendly way.

Cyrus walks to me with a huge grin on his face. His smile warms my heart.

“I’m gonna miss you,” I mumble, half-asleep, while he sits in the driver’s seat. He gently rubs my leg just above my knee.

“I think this is the perfect opportunity.”

“For what?”

“For you to see that you can handle everyday life without me.”

I turn my head away and stare out of the window. Exhaustion dulls my senses. I don’t feel like analyzing the coming days, because I’ve learned that what’s meant to happen will happen. Even if I run to the end of the world to escape my fate.

We pack Cyrus’s things into a duffel bag. Saying goodbye hurts. It hurts to watch him shift the car into reverse and roll down the driveway. It hurts to see the acid-green Pontiac disappear at the crossroads. I feel as if all eyes were on me. But this is just panic. Nothing else. Pure imagination. But when I think about Nikky…

When Cyrus was here, I couldn’t let my emotions spill out. I buried them, shoved them down, because I’m afraid he’ll get fed up with me one day and lock me away in an asylum.

Dylan—our across-the-street neighbor—waves to me while trying to calm his huge dog so he doesn’t wake the whole neighborhood. Bruce has just chased a cat up the willow tree next to the fire hydrant and is barking at it fiercely. I wave back and go inside. I lock the door and slide the bolts. I stop at the bedroom window and only lower the blinds when I notice the police car.

I look around the small flat. The walls seem to be closing in, the ceiling pressing down too, squeezing the air from my lungs. The world is shrinking. Panic overwhelms me.

I sit in the corner, hug my knees, and rock back and forth.

I’m fine. I’m getting better. It’s going to be fine. Nothing bad can happen to me while Cyrus is away. And I can go after him to Tulsa anytime, even though he wouldn’t like it.

This morning, an ordinary brown cardboard box is waiting for me on the doorstep. I almost stumble over it because my eyes are on Madison. She’s guarding me today.

“Good morning!”, she greets me with a warm, wide smile.

“Hi.” My reply is curt, reserved.

I pick up the brown box and toss it onto the kitchen table.

“Can I have your number?”

“Why?” I look at the short woman standing in front of me, my face blank.

“I’m picking you up tonight. I just want to let you know if something comes up,” she replies in a friendly, chatty tone.

“Oh, I see. Of course. I’m sorry… I’m a bit distracted.”

She gives me a sympathetic look, a warm smile spreading across her face. There is no pity in her eyes, which shocks me. And there is no hint that she thinks Cyrus is an idiot for being with me.

For the rest of the day, Cameron takes over watching me. Although… he couldn’t stop it last time. Chase got in. But I didn’t tell Cyrus.

There’s a lot I don’t tell Cyrus…

This morning, I was worried about what would happen if Chase showed up. But I find it reassuring that nothing happened. Evening has fallen, and Madison is standing in front of the bar, waiting for me. Everything is back to normal. Sticking to the schedule I map out in my head minute by minute gives me a sense of security.

After taking a bath, I sit at the round table, nibbling on a ham sandwich. I didn’t open the box earlier because I assumed Cyrus had forgotten to tell me he’d ordered something for me. But when I see there’s no sender or recipient listed on it, curiosity takes over. I grab a pair of scissors and slice them along the brown packing tape. I ease the lid open and peel back the bubble wrap. The moment my fingers brush what’s inside, bile surges up my throat. My dinner ends up in the toilet. And the teddy bear—its head sewn back on—ends up in the trash.

Chase

I love Grace. I captured every detail of her like an artist. Her eyes are the most extraordinary thing about her. They remind me of clear glacial lakes. Her face still holds a childlike innocence because her heart has always carried more love than hate. Grace doesn’t know how to be evil. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Her hair has grown darker. She smells like a summer breeze, sweet scents mingling with blooming flowers and a hint of rain.

In my imagination, Grace dances barefoot in a meadow, wearing a light spring dress, colorful butterflies fluttering around her. Her dark hair is threaded with tiny white flowers, crowning her head like a tiara. She is the queen of butterflies. Enchanted, she watches as insects drift from flower to flower. And I watch her from far away… Because all of it is only a cruel trick of my mind. A mirage.

Her smile is radiant, her laughter carefree, her eyes glittering like crystal-clear seawater.