Grace

Grace Bennett Sinclair stood on the brick stoop and hesitated just a moment more before rapping decisively on the wide yellow door of Jonah Delaney's townhouse.  It had been just over two weeks since the scandalous incident at the Calder-Grey reception, and the town was buzzing like a maddened hornet's nest about who had done what to whom and how a perfectly lovely afternoon had devolved into such a fiasco.  There had been a pair of dueling heiresses, something to do with a hot tub, a temporarily stolen Porsche, and somehow, defying all rational thought, Jonah Delaney's name had been dragged into it all.

Wholesome Jonah Delaney.  The elementary school teacher.  The kindest, sweetest man Grace had ever known.  The same Jonah Delaney who had been known to actually help old ladies across the street and who had once quite literally rescued a little girl's kitten from where it was stuck in a tree; who tutored on weekends and volunteered twice a week at the hospital, who'd been voted 'Best All-Around' (along with Best Eyes) in their high school year book.  That Jonah Delaney.  With the strong moral compass and the upright values and the smile that was apple-pie and vanilla ice-cream.

Her Jonah Delaney.  Her friend since childhood.  The man she'd grown up believing she would marry.  The man she still counted on as a confidant, and better than a brother.  The man she still cared about and would do most anything for-- was in a great deal of hot water, and each rumor Grace heard sounded more far-fetched than the one before.

He'd stopped answering the phone, and though she'd left several concerned messages on the answering machine, he'd yet to call her back.  And she was worried.

He'd hardly been seen around town, they said, and the same went for the very young and very pregnant Mrs. Grey.  Grace's brother Marty told her that poor Nolan was being hounded relentlessly by people trying to pump him for details, and, Grace sighed, the guy had been fired from his winery job—ostensibly for whatever role he'd played in the Calder-Grey (and now apparently Delaney) debacle.

“Who is it?”  Came a stern voice from within.  The yellow door had no peephole.

“Jonah?”  She called tentatively.  She wasn't entirely certain that rigid voice had belonged to her mild-mannered friend.

“May I help you?”

She swallowed.  She guessed she knew why he hadn't simply swung the door open when she'd knocked—as was his bright, bouyant habit—and imagining Jonah afraid, or defensive, or closed-off made her feel constriction in her chest.

“It's me--”  She called.  “Grace.”

There was a breath, a beat, and Grace thought he might turn her away. 

“Are you alone?”  The voice sounded much more his own now and she let out a shaky breath.

“I am.”

Grace heard the unmistakable sound of several locks being released.  This was Cedar Falls, for goodness' sake—one lock would normally be more than sufficient.  She shuddered to think about why the Delaney brothers had decided to install more.

The yellow door opened—not precisely slowly, but more cautiously than was comfortable.  Grace forced a smile.  “Can I come in?”

Jonah appeared perfectly fine, she was a little surprised to discover.  With the rumors swirling around town and then the 'who goes there' and the multiple deadbolts, she'd been expecting some bleary-eyed, whiskered, haggard looking soul to be peering out at her.  But her friend was standing tall and clean shaven and well groomed and looking perfectly handsome in his casual (but definitely ironed) button down shirt over a tee-shirt and jeans.

And he smiled at her.  “Gracie.”  He said, and opened his arms for an embrace. 

She answered his smile with one of her own, relief washing over her, warming her, and making her almost light-headed.  She moved into the hug, which necessarily had to be a little askew due to the enormous protrusion of her very pregnant belly, and squeezed him a little more fiercely than she'd wanted to.  He squeezed a pulse in return before dipping his head to place a friendly kiss on her cheek and then moving to close and re-lock the door.

Her cheek felt a little over-warm where he'd kissed it and she chided herself for enjoying the way his shirt had smelled, and the way her name had sounded on his lips. Nobody called her Gracie anymore.  Just Jonah.

When the last bolt had been slid into place he turned to her, his smile apologetic.  “I never returned your phone call.”  He said, looking guilty.

“You didn't.” She agreed.

“I'm so sorry--”

“I've been worried sick.”

He smiled gently.  “I'm an idiot, I'm sorry.  I've just been—well, things have been--”  He stopped.  And smiled.  And chuckled.  “Well I'm sure you must have some idea.”

“That's why I've been worried.”  She said, her eyebrows gathering together.  “What the hell is going on?”

He laughed, and then kissed her other cheek.  “Can I get you something to drink?  I have lemonade.”

He moved past her into the large open space of the townhouse.  Grace watched him heading for the fridge and then noticed there was something a little different about the place.  She wasn't able to quite put her finger on it.  Had they re-painted?  She didn't think so.  The furniture was slightly re-arranged, but it seemed like there was something else. 

“You have lemonade?”  She asked vaguely.  She loved the Delaney brothers with all her heart, but in the past if she'd stopped by unannounced the only option she'd have had for a beverage would have been wine or expired milk or tapwater.

“Mmmhmm, and oh, Iced Tea too.”  Jonah answered, peering into the fridge.  “'Are you hungry?  I was about to start lunch.”

Start lunch?  As in start making lunch?  As in more than a slapdash sandwich or a delivered pizza?  Grace looked around her as she moved toward the kitchen.  It looked like the Delaney townhouse, but it felt like she'd entered a pleasant version of the twilight zone.

“I never turn down food anymore.”  She said in response after she realized he was staring at her, politely waiting for her answer.

He chuckled appreciatively and pulled both the lemonade and the iced tea pitchers from the fridge and set them on the counter.  She thought the pitchers looked nicer than the ones the boys used for mixed drinks on poker nights or for parties.

“You look radiant, Gracie.”  He told her as he pulled a tall glass down from a cabinet. 

She didn't feel radiant, but the compliment made her smile.  “The glow is really just sweat.”  She said wryly.  “It's too damn hot out to be pregnant.” 

He chuckled again and then pointed to the lemonade.  She shook her head, knowing the lemonade would revisit in the form of brutal heartburn.  He picked up the iced tea pitcher and poured.

“It agrees with you.”  He said, moving around the island and handing her the cool refreshment.  “You've never looked happier.”  They locked eyes and though he was smiling she saw the deep sadness embedded within him.  “And so beautiful.”  He added.

She felt neither happy nor beautiful.  “Thank you.”  She said, for the iced tea and the heartfelt compliments.

He nodded with a wistful smile and moved to another glass that he'd evidently left on the counter before she'd arrived.

“Holden tells me it makes me seem older.”  She said with a short laugh. 

Jonah stiffened as he poured his own drink, and his face pulled into a serious expression.  “You're lovely.”  He responded with a vehemence that made her brows rise.

“He's just teasing.”  She said weakly.

Jonah grunted and didn't meet her eyes as he strode back to the fridge.

“Is that a new fridge?”  She asked, managing to catch just a glimpse of the nearly pristine inside before the door swung closed.

“Hm?”  Jonah glanced at her, then back to the refrigerator.  “Oh, yes.”  He chuckled once again and she heard and saw some of the tension that had stolen over him at the mention of her husband dissipate.  “Brand new.  Couple days ago.”

It was a Calder refrigerator.  The newest model.  Grace had been planning to re-model her own kitchen and had had her eye on this new Calder series. 

“Gracie--”  Jonah began and she started with “Jones--”

They met eyes and smiled.  He nodded, deferring.

She swallowed.  “Listen, I want you to know I'm here for you, no matter what, and I'm not trying to be nosy or butt-into your business, but people have been talking, and the rumors have been outrageous, and, God, Jones.”  She looked at him searchingly.  “I need to know if you're alright.”

He sighed.  “Gracie you are such a sweetheart.”  He told her affectionately.  “I'm fine.”  He assured her.  “Actually,”  He amended, gazing off into the distance dreamily.  “I'm better than fine.  I'm--”  He laughed and looked fairly giddy, but he didn't finish the thought, only lifted his iced tea and drank.

Grace looked around again.  It was cleaner.  That's what it was.  Not just tidy, but really cleaner. And there was a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table.  And there were scented candles.  Lemonade, pitchers, flowers, lunch?

“Oh my God.  Is she living with you?”

Jonah lowered his glass and his expression sobered a bit.  “She is.”

Grace blinked several times rapidly.  “God, Jonah.”  She wasn't quite sure how she felt.  “I refused to believe the rumors because I thought I knew you.”  She wasn't angry, not precisely.  Disappointed?

Jonah looked stern and she wondered if he gave that look to miscreant sixth graders.  “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

She shook her head and stared at her tall glass of tea.  “I'd have bet my life against anyone who said you were a homewrecker.”  She said.

“Homewrecker?!”

“Don't bother sounding so aghast Jonah, she's a married woman!  You know better.”

Jonah began to say something but stopped himself and was quiet for a long moment.  She couldn't look at him.  She heard him take another gulp of iced tea and then place the glass carefully on the counter.  “Miss Calder found herself unable to remain in her home any longer.  Nolan and I offered her a place to stay.”  His voice was deadly calm.  He was angry, but he didn't want to get angry with her.

She clucked her tongue.  “Mrs. Grey--”  She countered pointedly, “is married and expecting another man's child.  What were you thinking getting involved with a married woman?”  She wasn't sure, but she thought she might be experiencing some form of jealousy.

Color rose on his cheeks.  “I met her about a minute before she discovered her husband in the hot-tub with that Aschere woman.”  Jonah said sharply.  “If anyone should be branded a homewrecker--”

“Wait, what?”

“Excuse me?”

“You met her, when?”

Jonah furrowed his brow and sighed.  “Just as she was walking out to the sundeck.  About a half minute before she went to see what the commotion was.”    He rested his knuckles on the countertop and rapped a few times lightly.  “It was pretty horrific.”

“So you weren't having an affair with her?”

Jonah's face twisted and she recognized that he was offended.  “Absolutely not.”

She snorted. “Don't act so righteous!” 

“I would never--”

“But you are!  Now. ”  She argued, cutting him off,  “Unless you mean to tell me you're bunking with Nolan and it's all perfectly innocent that a gorgeous seventeen year old is living in your house.”

Jonah opened his mouth but closed it with a snap.  “She's getting a divorce.”  He mumbled.

“Jesus.”

They were quiet.  She was relieved he hadn't been the slimy bastard rumor would have him be.  But she was almost more worried about him now.  “Has he come after you?”

Jonah moved to the fridge with a heavy sigh and she thought he was trying to hide his expression from her.  “Yes.”  He answered tersely.

Hence the extra locks.  She'd heard Vaughan Grey was a violent man.  “And?”

“And I dealt with it.”  He evaded.  “I'm making a stirfry.”  He said, “Will you stay for lunch?”

She stared at his back.  At the proud, defensive set of his shoulders.  And she felt a surge of love and compassion for the man.

“Is that ok?”  she asked quietly.

He turned his head fractionally.  “Why wouldn't it be?'

She smiled wanly.  Men.  “Your old high school sweetheart?  Here alone with you?  What will your new  houseguest think?”

Jonah turned slowly, his face a puzzle.  “You're my friend.”  He said simply. 

Grace shook her head pityingly.  “She's just found her husband sleeping with another woman.  I doubt she'll be enthusiastic about any female friends of yours for a while.”

Jonah looked thoughtful for a moment and then shook his head firmly.  “No.  I think she'll love you.”  He concluded.  Grace tried not to feel insulted that he didn’t believe she would be a threat to the perfect young heiress.  “And I think you'll really like her too, Gracie, she's so great.”  His eyes got far away and she raised her eyebrows.  He was definitely smitten.

Grace Sinclair had had to endure watching Jonah Delaney choose one bad mistake after another for years.  Girls that were all wrong for him, girls that could never be worthy of him, girls that wound him around their little fingers and fooled around behind his back.  There was a time when she'd given him her honest opinion, but it threatened to ruin their friendship once, when he was particularly heartsick over this awful two-faced bitch named Candace who'd been just wretched to him, so since that debacle she'd vowed to hold her tongue and be there as a shoulder to cry on when his relationships inevitably fell apart.

She supposed she'd be doing that again in oh, say six months.  She wondered how Nolan felt about the heiress, and if he'd voiced his concerns or held his tongue.  He must have consented to letting the woman move-in, but that didn't necessarily mean he endorsed the relationship.  Nolan, like his brother, was chivalrous almost to a fault.  If the young woman was afraid of her husband and felt she had nowhere else to go (which was a ridiculous notion for someone as wealthy and adored as Velvet Calder Grey), then Nolan would likely insist she stay.  But Nolan was considerably more level-headed than his older brother, and Grace thought it was very likely that the young man was feeling cautious and considerably less smitten of the heiress than the hopeless romantic with the new-found cooking skills over there was.

“Is she here now?”  Grace asked suddenly, looking around, half expecting to be ambushed.

Jonah pulled a fairly new looking wok out from a lower cabinet and set it on the stovetop.  He was really going to do a stir fry.  Who the hell was this man?  In two weeks he’d become a capable chef?

“No, she’s stepped out for a bit.  I expect her back around one.”  He answered, moving toward the refrigerator again.

Grace watched her friend pull fresh produce from a large temperature controlled crisper and had the urge to pinch herself.  Instead she stood, crossed around behind the island and pulled a small cutting board from a drawer.  She’d been to the townhouse often enough to know her way around the kitchen.  She often served the guys on poker nights, and she’d cut up enough limes to know where the cutting boards were kept.

Jonah grinned at her and handed her a bright orange bell pepper.  “You don’t mind?”

She’d chopped the top off it before he’d even finished the question.  She couldn’t just sit while someone prepared food.  And for some reason today she felt a particular compulsion to make herself busy.  She waved a hand dismissively and set to work on the pepper while he moved to rinse some snap peas.

“So, you going to tell me what happened, or shall I continue to get my information second-hand?”

Jonah set the colander of snap peas down in the deep sink and moved to peel the carrots.  “What have you heard, exactly?”  The swish-tick of peeling carrots seemed to make all the drama of the last two weeks farcical.  The domesticity of Chef Jonah warred with the Casanova Jonah of rumor and gossip.

She rolled her eyes.  She’d heard enough craziness to fill a soap opera.  “Well Holden was up there.”  She began, and Jonah’s swift peeling rhythm stuttered.  “For a lot of it.  He said he saw the two in the hot-tub and then saw Mrs. Grey go out in that direction, and when she started screaming he came to find me.”

Jonah pushed his glasses up his nose and resumed vigorously peeling the carrot he was holding.  “mmmhmmm.”  He replied.

Grace finished the pepper and reached for its’ companion, a fat green one.  “He said he saw you up there.”  She added.  Jonah didn’t comment, but traded the peeled carrot for another and set to work again.

“Did you see him?  Up there?  I never made it up to the third floor.  What the hell was it like up there?  I mean, how do two people expect to get away with fooling around in broad daylight on a sundeck with a house full of guests?”

Grace heard Jonah draw a long, deep breath and let it our through tight lips.  “I’m glad you never made it to that floor.”  He responded with an ominous tone.

She lifted an eyebrow and sliced the pepper carefully.  “What were you doing up there?”  She asked.  The rumor had it that he was up in Mrs. Grey’s bedroom for a stolen rendezvous with the woman when they stumbled upon her husband already engaged in such a scenario with the Aschere heiress.

“Looking for Nolan.”  He answered, and Grace knew him well enough to recognize that there wasn’t a hint of deception behind that answer.

“And what was Mrs. Grey doing up there?”  She asked, finishing the green pepper and casting her eyes around for what else she could cut up.  He slid the pair of large, peeled carrots toward her and grabbed a carton of mushrooms. 

“I think she’d gone looking for her groom because he’d been absent from the party for some time.”  Jonah’s tone was almost clinical it was so polite and distant. 

Grace pursed her lips and stared at the carrot.  She always had trouble deciding how best to slice a carrot.  Were rounds better for a stir-fry, or would slim julienne cuts work better?  “And what was Holden doing up there?”  She asked quietly, her knife poised above the carrot, still undecided as to which way to slice.

“A lot happened very quickly just after I arrived up there—I mean, I wasn’t up there five minutes before Velvet got there and all hell broke loose.”  Ah.  There was the deception.  Jonah Delaney was not a good liar.

“Do you know who she was?  Who Holden was with, I mean?”  She asked quietly, setting the knife down and staring at the vibrant wet-orange of the carrot.

The townhouse was quiet, save for the sound of the air-conditioning running at full capacity.  Jonah lowered his own knife to the counter and moved slowly toward her.  “Grace?”

She pressed her lips together and glanced up.  Damn him for being so goddamn perfect.  And considerate.  And compassionate.  And goddamn the hormones that threatened to cause her to make a fool of herself.  “I know.”  She said with a small shrug and a brave attempt at a smile.  “I’ve known for a while.”

Her friend looked pained, and pitying, and angry, and very saddened.  “I didn’t.”

She laughed shortly.  Of course he didn’t.  He was her best friend, but how could she go to him with the news that the man she’d married instead of him was a philanderer?  And at least for the most part her husband was a great deal more discreet than Vaughan Grey.  “No lectures.”  She said in a gentle warning, and watched his eyes narrow and his lips tighten.

“But—“

“No.”  She shook her head.  She really could not do this right then.  “Let me deal with it in my own way.”

Jonah looked at the ceiling, adjusted his glasses and then pulled her into a hug without warning.  “You deserve better than that.”  He impressed, his tone almost pleading.

She felt embarrassed to be in the hug but didn’t push away.  “It’s complicated.”  She excused vaguely.

“No, it isn’t.”  Jonah argued firmly.  “It’s simple.  You deserve better.”

“I haven’t been, well, I haven’t been especially in-the-mood much lately and—“

Jonah put her at arm’s length and shook her just slightly.  “Grace, listen to yourself!”  He barked, his expression stormy, his fingers fierce around her upper arms.  “That is no excuse.  None at all.”  His violet eyes searched her hazel ones desperately.

She wondered if he’d said these things to Velvet Calder Grey.  She laughed weakly because if she didn’t laugh she knew she’d cry, and Grace hated crying.  Avoided it whenever humanly possible.  “Not everyone can be as perfect as you.”  She teased.  “Most people are fallible.”

“Would you do it to him?”  Jonah looked faintly furious, despite what was a valiant effort at looking calm.

Grace sighed.  She’d expected this. “I love him.”  She was aware that she sounded pathetic.  But she owed Jonah the truth.  He was never anything but completely honest with her.  “And I know he loves me—“

“For God’s sake—“

“No, he does, Jones, he does.  And we’re having a baby.”  She pleaded with her tone and her eyes both.  “What am I supposed to do?  Throw everything away?” 

The incredulous expression on Jonah’s face was answer enough.  Yes.  He believed that was the only appropriate course of action.  He released her arms and stepped back, shaking his head. 

Grace reached for the carton of mushrooms and fought the plastic open.  She’d let him worry about the damned carrots.  Of course she’d considered divorce.  She was human, wasn’t she?  Of course she’d considered confronting him and making a big deal of it and all that.  She had her pride.  But thinking about life as a divorcee with an infant child made her break into cold sweats.  Thinking about how her father and mother would respond made gooseflesh rise all over her body.  And after their enormous wedding.  After saying vows and making promises before God and the whole town. 

“You still don’t feel worthy of him.”  Jonah concluded shrewdly.

She shrugged.  “He could have chosen anyone.  Anyone Jones.”  But Holden Sinclair, the handsome, wealthy, popular, Cedar Falls darling;  the young owner of the very successful Sinclair Windows & Doors company, who could have handpicked his bride, had chosen her. Had wooed and worked for and won her.

“So Goddamn ridiculous.”  Jonah muttered.  “He’s the one who isn’t worthy.  He doesn’t know how lucky he is.”

They were quiet for a minute.  She sliced up several mushrooms and he pulled out some condiments and set about trying to concoct a sauce.  But he was clumsy.  And short-tempered now.

“You’re a good friend.”  She said after he’d poured a healthy measure of soysauce into a smallish mixing bowl.

“I hope you don’t let that child grow up like him.”  Jonah snapped, twisting the cover back onto the soysauce with more torque than was necessary.

She winced.  Her heart twisted a little to think about her unborn son as a whole person someday.  And her careful slicing slowed to a stop as she realized she hoped her son would grow up to be like Jonah.  She placed the knife on the countertop and moved to sit on a kitchen stool. 

“I’m sorry—“  He said, pausing in the act of whisking, and watching her with a mixture of guilt and concern.

 She felt disloyal and confused and frustrated.

“No you aren’t.”  She laughed.  “You say what you mean. That’s why I like you.”

He frowned.  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

Oh.  Well, yes, that was likely true. “Do you ever think about it?”  She asked quietly.  “About?  It?” She was breaking a cardinal rule.  An unspoken pact between them.  She was bringing it up.  It had been on her mind more and more lately as her pregnancy transitioned into the later stages of development.  As she got closer and closer to becoming a mother.

He was quiet.  He searched her face for a long moment.  “Yes.”  He answered simply.  He knew exactly what she was referring to.

She nodded.  There had been a few years in there when she’d more or less managed to forget it.  Or ignore it.  It had been the right decision and she wouldn’t change anything, but still.  “Why’d we break up again?”  She asked, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“College.”  He answered stoically.

She considered this for a moment. “Nah.  It was the sex.” She said with half a chuckle.

Jonah adjusted his glasses in that same way he’d always done it, since the first grade, sighed, and leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his front.  “Yeah.  Sorry about that.”  He said.

She chuckled.  “You were scared.  Who could blame you?  I was terrified too.”  She thought about how ‘gun-shy’ they’d been after.  How their once insatiable physical relationship had cooled, how cuddling had replaced lovemaking, and how over the course of several months they’d grown closer but simultaneously evolved into a new species of relationship.  They’d become best friends.  Passionate but platonic.  Adoring but a-sexual.  It had been her idea to see other people.  To ‘take a break’ that had tacitly but mutually signified an end to what might otherwise have been the inevitable road to engagement and marriage.

He made a sound that might pass for a weak laugh.  “Took me a long time to, um, get over that.”

She knew that.  It had taken her even longer.  “I made Holden wait forever.”  She laughed nostalgically.

Jonah made a grunting noise that sounded like a non-verbal approval, and she smiled. 

“We’d have a five year old.”  She marveled. 

Jonah’s mouth pulled to the side and he nodded at the floor. “A kindergartner.”  He agreed, his voice soft and faintly whimsical.

He’d be a great father.  She felt guilty every time she saw him around his students, or up at the hospital where he read to and played board games with the kids in the pediatric wing.  Guilty because he’d been willing to keep it.  She’d made the final call.  And despite how supportive and understanding he’d been, she always sensed that beneath the immediate relief there’d been a measure of regret.

“So, are you in love?”  She asked, quite suddenly unwilling to wallow for another moment.