Disgrace

“Yes?”

“Come in with me?”

Yes.

I went into the bathroom with him, and we took off one another’s clothing so slowly. The only sound was from the water streaming from the showerhead. I climbed into the tub first, and he followed me. We stayed quiet, him rubbing soap against my back, and me lathering his hair with shampoo. We cleansed our skin, our hurts, our fears, and when the soap washed away from our bodies, we remained standing under the hot water.

Jackson pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes. I felt his breaths coating my skin as he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “I can’t lose him, Grace,” he said softly, and I watched as his tears intermixed with the water falling against his skin. “I can’t lose him.”

I felt the heaviness of his words, and I wasn’t certain how to fix this, how to fix his heartbreak, or how to heal his father, so for the first time in a while, I did the only thing I could think to do when life felt out of control.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to pray.

Dear God, it’s me, Gracelyn Mae…

47

Jackson

He wasn’t waking up, and each day that passed made it more unlikely that he would. On Sunday morning, I was tired of looking at his small figure in that hospital bed, but I wasn’t certain what more I could do. I couldn’t leave for long periods of time because I felt he’d pass away while I was gone, and I wouldn’t be there when it happened.

I knew it sounded stupid, but when I lost my mother, she was alone. She’d died alone, by herself, and I couldn’t imagine that happening with my father.

I’d never forgive myself if I wasn’t there beside him when he either woke up or fell asleep forever.

“We’ll have to start making big decisions soon,” Finn told me, standing in the hospital room as Grace stood in the far corner. Whenever he came around, she made sure to drop hold of my hand, just to make it a little more comfortable for everyone.

Finn went on about options, and then even mentioned that my dad might not ever come out of the coma so next steps needed to be addressed.

“You mean unplugging his machines?” I asked him.

He frowned. “I mean making the best choice for his life. I’ll give you some time to think everything over.”

I nodded, and before he left, he glanced at Grace one more time.

“He still loves you,” I whispered, lowering my head and staring at my hands. I didn’t know why that bothered me, but it did. I hadn’t known Grace for long at all, and we had made it very clear where we stood with one another. Yet, still, seeing how he looked at her hurt me.

Part of my mind wondered if, over time, she’d ever look at him in the same way again.

“He loves the idea of me,” she said matter-of-factly. “But truthfully, he doesn’t even know me anymore. Plus, I think it’s more of a ‘I want what I can’t have’ type of thing. He only wants me because he thinks you have me.”

I turned toward her a bit and gave her a broken smile. I wanted to speak my mind. I wanted to open up my heart and tell her what it’d been feeling, but I held my tongue.

Late that evening, she’d be on her way back to Atlanta to fall into her future, and I’d still be in Chester, stuck in my past.

But, if there was ever a way, I’d wish she could be mine because so many parts of me wished I was hers.

“I was thinking,” she told me, walking back over to me on the couch. She sat down, and her hands fell into mine. “Every now and then, my family hosts a person in need, and we do prayer and a dinner to help those going through difficult times. I was thinking maybe you could be our guest tonight before I head back to Atlanta.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you didn’t pray anymore.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t, but I recently started again.”

“For me?” I asked.

She nodded. “For you.”

I didn’t pray, and I didn’t believe in God, but for some reason, that meant the world to me, more than she’d ever know. “Your family hates me.”

“Only my mother, and don’t worry, she might hate me more than she hates you,” she joked.

“No, she doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because no one can hate you, Grace. Trust me”—I rubbed the palm of her hands with my thumbs—“I’ve tried.”

“I haven’t really seen or talked to my mom since the blowout we had, so it might be a little weird to see her, but I think if she sees you—the real you—she’ll understand where I’m coming from.”