Turning Grace Page 8

  She tried to pull away but I squeezed tighter. “Gracie, you are hurting me.”

  She struggled to get out of my grip for a few moments until she realized she couldn’t. I continued not to speak. I didn’t move. My mind was completely void of any thoughts except what I was holding in my other hand.

  Finally, when I glanced over to the kitchen table and realized that my stomach was not completely satisfied, I let go and headed toward the food. All I wanted to do was eat and hold on to that bag. Mom stood still, dumbfounded about what just happened.

  After about 10 minutes of cleaning every last crumb off the plates, I was finally full. I sat at the table alone, staring at the dishes, and then the bag. I suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Was I seriously sucking on a frozen, raw piece of beef? I swallowed back the bile in my throat and began cleaning up the mess. I threw the frozen meat into the garbage, feeling ridiculous for what I was trying to do. How could I possibly think raw meat was delicious? Well, there were people who ate raw meat. Or how about sushi? Everyone loved sushi and it’s raw fish. Wanting to eat raw meat wasn’t that bad, was it?

  I walked out of the kitchen, shaking those thoughts out of my head and making an internal promise to never try that again. Unless I wanted to die of food poisoning.

  As I made my way upstairs, memories of my mother being in the kitchen flooded back. Oh my God, she was in the kitchen…and I grabbed her! I picked up the pace and headed to her bedroom to apologize. How could I have done that? I would never hurt my mother. Ever!

  Her door was slightly open and her bedroom light was off. As I slowly pushed the door open further, I could hear her whispering voice on the other side. I leaned my ear closer into the small opening in the door and slowed my breathing.

  “…well, I am not sure if I want to do that. I don’t believe it would be the best thing for her.”

  Was she talking about me? Her voice was uneasy.

  “I left California to shield her. To protect her. I left everything I knew. Megan has no idea where I am.”

  I could hear her voice strain, and I knew she was crying. My mother never cried. She was as guarded and unemotional as they came. And who was Megan? And to protect me from what?

  “It’s getting worse, Mark. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

  It was Mark, the handsome doctor friend who came to visit the other day. I wondered if he and Mom were secretly involved, romantically. There seemed to be something more than that. Something involving me.

  I leaned in closer to get a better listen.

  “Well, we are going to have to figure something else out. Sending her to—”

  Shit! My attempt to shift my weight to hear her better without making any noise failed. My shoulder bumped the door. I paused, as did Mom. I backed away from the door slowly, praying that she wouldn’t open it. I headed to my room down the hall, silently stepping and hoping the wooden floors wouldn’t decide to be charmingly creaky tonight.

  I got into my room safely and plopped down on the bed. What was she about to say? Send me where? Why would my mom want to send me anywhere? To boarding school maybe? Who does that anymore these days, anyway? It wasn’t like I was a terrible teenager. I made good grades at school. I never got into trouble. If anything, I was an abnormal teenager. I didn’t go out often. I did my homework every night. Things had been awkward lately, with my hormonal eating and making a fool out of myself in front of the whole school, but that wasn’t it. Was it? I mean, I knew she didn’t agree with my feelings for Tristen, but that was still not enough. If she was trying to shield me from ever being with a guy…well that was just ridiculous.

  And who was Megan!

  I woke up the next morning to a familiar sharp pain in my stomach. My entire body was aching. My bones felt as though they needed WD-40 when I attempted to maneuver myself out of the sheets.

  I finally scraped myself out of bed, limping with every step I took toward the bathroom. God, I felt like shit! My stomach felt like it was touching my back, or like I haven’t eaten in a month. Every inch of my skin was hurting. My head was pounding. I thought about skipping the bathroom and just heading straight to the refrigerator, but I needed to go.

  After doing my business, I stood up the flush the toilet. I gasped when I looked down into it. The toilet bowel was filled with red. What the hell was wrong with my insides? It didn’t hurt coming out. I felt the urge to run to my mother, but just couldn’t find the strength. Instead, I stood in front of the sink with my eyes closed. I was so tired I could barely keep them open. I splashed some cold water on my face to wake myself up. I pulled the towel away from my face and noticed a tiny bit of blood.

  I shot my head up to look in the mirror. Aside from my limp hair, the deep, dark circles around my eyes, and the blotchiness of my face, my bottom lip was bleeding. I leaned in closer to get a better look. A piece of skin on my lip was hanging off, similar to that of a chapped lip. Just like anyone else would do, I pinched the piece of skin between my finger nails, pulling slowly to get rid of it. As I pulled, my lip followed and the tiny piece began to grow. I winced. Blood rushed to the surface, formulating into a tear drop. I wiped it away with the towel and attempted to pull the piece off again. This time, a larger piece of skin followed and I realized that a chunk of my lip was coming with it. I couldn’t stop. It needed to come off. I pulled further and the piece continued to travel down from my lip to my chin. Blood began rushing faster, drops falling into the sink. I let go, leaving the piece free to hang down my face.

  Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was already feeling terrible or not.

  I searched the top drawer of the sink cabinet for a pair of scissors. After finding a pair of nail clippers instead, I clipped the long piece of thick flesh. I threw it in the toilet and inspected my face in the mirror. Wasn’t skin and a cut this deep supposed to be pink? My underlying skin seemed to have a brown tint. I glanced up at the light bulbs. It must have been the lighting.

  I pressed the towel down over the wound to stop some bleeding. I wasn’t bleeding as much as I thought I should be either. Strange.

  My stomach snarled at me, followed by a shooting pain. I had to eat. To be honest, I wasn’t as interested in what was happening. I wasn’t sure if that was something that I should be alarmed about, but the smell of that raw meat in the garbage was intoxicating and was most important at that very moment.

  My attempt to rush down the stairs to the kitchen was unsuccessful. Every step felt as though my bones were cracking into two. I glanced over at my mother’s bedroom door, and it was open. She didn’t seem to be in there. After finally reaching the bottom step, I looked over to my right into the living room and all I could hear was the ticking of our grandfather clock. I peeked over to my left and the kitchen was empty. There was a note on the table.

  Gracie,

  I had to work this morning. Breakfast is in the fridge. I love you.

  Mom.

  Well, at least she wasn’t pissed enough not to leave me breakfast after what happened last night. I made my way to the fridge to retrieve my chow. The smell of bacon, eggs, toast, and all of the irresistible odors of a wholesome morning breakfast seeped into my lungs before I even opened the refrigerator door. As I reached out to open it, the smell of raw meat took over. I glanced over to the garbage can. Was the meat still in there? I walked over and slowly lifted the lid. As I did, the smell grew stronger and I could feel my stomach turning. My heart began to race, and my breaths were quicker. It was still there.

  My eyes couldn’t turn away. My mind was telling me to leave it alone. There was no way that I would allow myself to dig into the filthy garbage to grab a chunk of rotting beef. But my body began to shake, and an uncontrollable urge to have that chunk of beef in my mouth swept over me. Without hesitation, I reached in, grabbed the beef, and sunk my teeth in. It was warm. I hunched over the garbage can as I chewed and chewed. The meat was dry, with a taste I couldn’t place.
It was disgusting…irony…but it was so, so delicious…and familiar. I thought of nothing else but what I was putting into my mouth. Not even the fact that I was devouring a chunk of balmy, dry, rare-beyond-rare meat.

  When I was done, I continued to lean forward over the garbage. I was waiting to vomit, even gagging a few times, but nothing came out. Should I make myself vomit? What did I just eat? The honest truth was that it was so good that, I didn’t even care.

  I straightened my body after a few minutes, still feeling hungry. Without another moment of thought, I headed to the fridge to get my real breakfast. I sat at the table, grabbing handfuls out of the dishes to feed my belly. My body felt better and better with every bite I took, and once I was completely done, I was ready to start my day. I washed the dishes and headed upstairs to shower.

  Before getting into the shower, I glanced in the mirror to assess my face. My eyes were big and bright, my hair was long, curly, and shining, and my lip was healed. I ran my index finger over where the wound was. Nothing there. How could that be? Was I dreaming that my lip was bleeding? I must have been dreaming. Confused, I hopped into the shower, deciding to yet again, shrug off the awkwardness that was ensuing me on a daily basis.

  My phone rang when I was putting on my clothes. It was Phoebe.

  “Hey Phoebe.”

  “Hey Grace. Whatcha doing?”

  “Nothing, just got out the shower? Aren’t you working this morning?”

  “Yeah, but it’s slow. Come see me.”

  “I don’t know. I have to study for the retake test on Monday, and Mr. Kincaid gave us a ton of homework in civics.”

  “Oh, come on Grace. You can meet Eric! His shift starts in an hour. Please? I need you right now.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “‘Cause, I miss you G.”

  “You just saw me yesterday at school.”

  “Well, I wanna see you again.”

  I smiled. Phoebe was cute sometimes.

  “Fine, be there in an hour.”

  “Yay!”

  I hung up the phone and finished getting dressed. Skinny jeans, chucks, baby tee, and a fitted cardigan. I decided to continue my quest on gaining more self esteem with some light makeup. Phoebe was right; I did feel much better when I put this stuff on my face. I needed more practice, though.

  Two swipes of eye shadow, a few blots of lipstick, and one accidental poke in the eye with mascara later, I was ready. As I passed my mother’s room, I stopped in my tracks. Mom wasn’t home. I looked over to her empty room. That conversation last night was certainly about me. Although I didn’t quite believe that Mom would send me away, I was definitely going to ask her about what I heard. I knew my mother would never do that. Things had been weird lately, but we were friends. She wanted to be around me. She would never just send me away to let perfect strangers take care of me. Besides, this was my last year of school. It would just be silly.

  But I wondered if there was anything in her room to let me know for sure.

  Chapter 7

  The Bench

  I walked into the bedroom. I peeked around and did the same in the master bathroom just to be sure the coast was clear. I strolled around the room thinking of where a good hiding place would be. The nightstand was too obvious. Underwear drawer...Mom was too modest. Under the mattress, she wasn’t trying to hide her diary. I glanced over at the closet. I made my way inside the walk-in. I looked around for a minute. She wouldn’t have secrets in a shoebox. Might as well lay it all out on the bed.

  I moved her hanging clothes, looking behind them. I worked my way around the length of the closet. When I got to the far end, there was a tiny, metal door painted the same color as the rest of the walls. I inspected it for a minute. There was no handle. Hmm… I touched it and pushed. It clicked and popped open. Well that was easy. My heart began to race.

  I opened it slowly, not knowing what I was going to find. There was a folder and a box. Of course, out of curiosity, I reached for the wooden box first. It seemed like it was handmade, with hearts carved into it. When I opened it, it began to sing…some kind instrumental piece. It was a music box. The inside of the lid had a tiny mirror and the box was filled with little letters, cards, and what seemed like random trinkets. I picked out a pink ribbon and a bracelet with the word SISTERS engraved into it. I pulled out a folded piece of paper that almost looked like something Phoebe and I would pass around to each other under our desks in class. The front of it read TO: EVIE. I opened the letter.

  Dear Evie,

  Hiya. Oh my gosh! This class is so boring! Anyway, so did Jack sneak in last night? I fell asleep. You know, if the old man found out, he would have a cow! Are we still going to the game Friday night? Or are you gonna ditch me for Jack??? You know I would love you anyway. Write me back! I’m bored!

  Love Ya,

  Meg

  Who the heck was Evie? I knew Jack was my dad’s name. But Evie? My mom’s name was Veronica.

  Confused, I folded the paper back up and placed it into the box. I searched a little deeper and found a Post-it that read: Megan 760-555-7589. I was assuming this was the same ‘Meg’ as in the letter...and maybe the same ‘Megan’ she mentioned in the phone last night. I stared at the Post-it before deciding to stuff it in my back pocket.

  I closed the music box and pulled out the thick manila folder and opened it. The first page seemed to look like something that came from a hospital. I scanned through it quickly, suddenly realizing that I could get caught at any minute.

  Grace Elizabeth Manning

  Date of Birth: June 10, 1995

  Diagnosis: Rotavirus

  Manning? My last name was Watkins. I was sick? What the hell was this?

  “Gracie?”

  The file fell to the floor when I heard my mother’s voice from downstairs. “Shit!” I scrambled to get all of the paperwork back into the folder.

  “Gracie, are you home dear? I’m getting ready to make you some lunch!”

  I heard her heels clanking up the stairs. I rushed to get the folder back into the secret cubby hole. I closed the tiny door tightly and moved the clothes back to its original spot.

  “Grace? What are you doing?”

  Without turning around, I pretended to nonchalantly touch each article of clothing hanging in the closet. “Oh hey Mom, I was just looking for something to wear. I’m going to meet Phoebe at the mall today.” I tried to make my voice sound as normal as possible.

  “O…kay. Well here, I just bought this from that store on Magazine Street that you like.” She came into the closet and pulled a grey cardigan off the hanger. I couldn’t look her in the eye yet. I felt as though if I did, she would instantly know I was lying. I continued to look intently at her array of clothing. This wouldn’t be a far fetch. Mom was actually quite fashionable for a mom.

  She handed me the cardigan and I took it without looking, which may have seemed a bit suspicious.

  “Grace?” Her tone told me she knew something was up. “What’s going on?”

  I finally looked at her. Well, everything on her face except her eyes.

  “Nothing. I just really need to get going. I told Phoebe I was going to be there soon.”

  I turned to leave the closet and she grabbed my wrist. She knew. She knew I was going through her things.

  There was a pause, and finally she asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “Yeah, I ate breakfast.” At that same moment, the hunger pains began.

  “Well, let me cook you something before you go. Phoebe will understand.”

  There was no need for any persuading. The thought of her delicious cooking was already making my mouth water.

  After an exceptionally filling lunch, and a whole lot of awkward silences, I headed out the door to meet Phoebe at the mall. We only lived a couple of miles away, and of course after the delightful lunch Mom made for me, I was feeling as alive as ever. I could have walked a million miles after that amazing lunch. My body was loaded with energy.

 
; On my way there, I thought about the past few days. One of my mother’s philosophies was that when the world seemed to be confusing, take a step back and look around. The point of this was to get a bigger picture in order to get a better understanding of the situation and to make better decisions. In the last seventy-two hours, Tristen and I had a date, I passed out in a very embarrassing way, Sonny threatened me, my body was operating mysteriously, and my mother seemed to be lying about something. Where should I start?

  The Tristen situation was taken care of. The plan to win him over was underway. Although Sonny was not aware of it yet, or maybe she was, I had declared war.

  My body was…I guess…was growing from what Mom said, but who knew. To be honest, the freaky feelings and things that were happening to my body didn’t seem as important as everything else. Like, for instance, my mother lying. She sounded like she was going to send me away. This I wasn’t too concerned with, because I honestly didn’t believe Mom would do that. Maybe she was just upset about what I did over the raw meat and was confiding in Dr. Roberson.

  The things I found in her closet seemed to be off, but there could be a number of reasons for that. This ‘Meg’ person could be a friend and ‘Evie’ could be a nickname? Maybe my dad was cheating on my mom when they were younger, and my mom found this letter. A little out of the box, but my point was it could have been anything.

  And about all of those medical papers. Well, that’s normal for someone to have. What was the Rotavirus though? Was it serious?

  The question now was should I ask my mother about her conversation last night and what I found today? I have never had to lie to my mother about anything. We always had a very open relationship. She always made me feel comfortable about telling her things. However, I felt like that started changing ever since I told her about Tristen. And now that I knew she was lying to me about something, or rather withholding information….how did I know she wasn’t holding back more? I had always been curious about my dad, which she refused to speak of. Maybe I could find out more if I snooped again.