Helen Brenna - Her Sure Thing

“Um…yes, ma’am.”

“Do I look like a ma’am to you?”

“Ah, not really…Mrs. Kahill.”

No one ever called her Mrs. Kahill, either. “Grace. Just Grace will do fine.”

“Okay. Sure.”

Two more hulking men lumbered through the front door carrying suitcases, trunks and boxes, everything she owned that wasn’t being held in storage. The men stopped and stared at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. No longer worried about her shirt having shifted, she impatiently crossed her arms and transferred her weight to one leg. The novelty of any man’s obvious approval of her looks had worn off long before her twenty-fifth cover shot, and these days, more than anything else, it aggravated her. Was it too much to ask to be treated like a regular human being?

“I’m not paying you gentlemen to stand here,” she said. “Get this place set up.”

“Will do, ma—ah, Grace.” The head mover directed the other two men and the three set off in various directions.

She opened a few more windows, hoping to catch a breeze, and glanced around the place. What had ever possessed her to come back to, of all places, Mirabelle Island? Hadn’t she left this place, vowing never to return, before even graduating from high school?

If not here, though, where? There was nothing left for her in L.A., she reminded herself. Not anymore. You’re here now. Might as well make the best of it. Besides, Dad needs you.

She’d already called her father to let him know she’d arrived, but since he was busy all afternoon she’d have the rest of the day to get settled. She’d be comfortable enough in this rental, she supposed, even if the house’s blue-and-white seaside decor was a bit dated. At least it was private, located at the end of the road at the top of the hill overlooking Mirabelle’s village center, the marina and the daunting expanse of Lake Superior.

Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at the number displayed on the small screen. Excited now, she quickly answered the call. “Are you ready?”

“Yep,” the man said.

“You’re still at the airport?”

“Yep. If that’s what you could call these two short strips of cement. Been busy getting all Louie’s things together. He’s good to go.”

Mirabelle’s tiny airport didn’t get used very often, but at least the island had one. It had made her move here as simple as could be by having the movers load all of her things on a chartered flight out of L.A. “How’s Louie doing?”

“Better,” the man said. “Considering he’s never been on a plane before, he’s doing great.”

Their landing had been a bit rough, so while Louie was settling down she’d left with the movers to bring things to the house. “Good.” Grace felt herself smile for the first time that day. “You know where you’re going to meet me, then?”

“Yep. We’ll be there.”

She’d no sooner disconnected the call than her cell rang again. The moment she recognized her personal assistant’s number, her spirits sank. This call felt like an intrusion, a piece of her old life butting in and dampening her attempt at a fresh start. But she had loose ends to tie up. Might as well face the camera lens. “Hello, Amanda.”

“Good morning, Grace. How are you this fine Monday morning?”

“Could be better.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Amanda sounded sincere enough, but then Grace did cut her generous payroll checks. “Especially since you have such a busy day scheduled. A yoga session at ten and lunch with the fitness video folks at noon. Then a doctor’s appointment at three.”

“Cancel everything.”

“That’s not a problem for lunch and yoga, but…” The young woman hesitated. “You’re supposed to stick to your doctor’s checkup schedule and you missed your last appointment.”

“I don’t care. Cancel everything.” After all the surgeries, physical therapy, and doctor, acupuncture and chiropractor appointments, stacked one on top of the other over the past year, Grace was wholeheartedly sick of every medical care professional on the face of this earth.

“Grace—”

“Leave it, Amanda. You’re not my mother.”

Grace had no mother. Not anymore.

For the first time since the funeral, she missed her mom. They may not have gotten along once Grace had hit thirteen, but for the first twelve years of Grace’s life, Jean Andersen had been Grace’s rock. Moms fixed things. They made the world right. Now more than ever, Grace was on her own.

“While you’re canceling appointments for me today,” Grace went on, “you might as well cancel my entire summer.”

“What? As in the next three months? You sure about that?”

As sure as she could be about anything these days. “I’m falling off the grid for a while, so enjoy the time off with pay, Amanda. I’ll be back in the fall.”

The moment the words had left Grace’s mouth, one of the many knots in her stomach slowly unfurled. The weight that had been bearing down on her shoulders for the past year was slowly but surely being replaced by a curious sense of freedom. She’d gotten out of L.A. Finally. She could stretch out her arms and let her soul breathe.

“Grace, where are you?” Amanda asked.

“Mirabelle Island.”

“Wisconsin? But what… Why… When did you…” Amanda sputtered. “I don’t get it.”

Neither did Grace. At least, not entirely. She chuckled, and another knot unfurled. Her dad could use the company, but it was more than that. Something had drawn her to Mirabelle. Something as powerful and inescapable and deeply rooted in her soul as it was elusive. “There’s nothing to get, Amanda. I simply needed some R & R.”

“I take it, then, that you’re not interested in a house in Carmel. Your real estate agent called and said it hasn’t been listed yet, but it’s perfect for you. She wants you to get the first shot at it.”

“Tell her that for the time being I’m no longer in the market for a house.” Who knew at this point what the end of summer would bring? “Is there anything else you needed from me?”

“I don’t think so.” Amanda hesitated, and then gently, she said, “I hope Mirabelle is just the thing for you.”

Grace clicked off her phone and leaned against the nearest wall. Already it had been a long day and it wasn’t even dinnertime, but then she still wasn’t one hundred percent even a year after the accident. An all too familiar pins-and-needles type tingling sensation zinged up in her left shoulder and spread down her side. Then the itching kicked in. Panic threatened to immobilize her as her left arm became virtually useless and her upper back muscles tensed and cramped.

Holding on to the rail, she climbed the stairs and sat on the edge of the bed. Grabbing the tube of medicated prescription lotion from her purse, she unzipped the top part of the custom compression garment her layered tees hid quite well and slathered the cream over her skin, if you could even call it that. It felt more like animal hide as far as Grace was concerned.

Then she grabbed the bottle of pain meds, shook out two of her quickly dwindling supply and glanced at them. More than likely they’d not only knock out her pain, they’d knock her completely out. Better to save the rest of these for crises. Truth be told, she was sick of her head feeling as if it was stuffed in a wad of cotton.

“Saddle ’em up.” A man’s voice sounded through the open window.

Grace slid the pills back in the bottle and glanced outside. The Mirabelle Island riding and livery stables were practically in her backyard, and college kids hired to work through the busy summer tourist season were getting ready for a trail ride. With few bushes and trees to demarcate property lines, several large barns, paddocks and, beyond them, acres and acres of pastureland were clearly visible.