Inglath Cooper - A Gift Of Grace

With a weary heart, he straightened in the seat, pressed the accelerator on the crochety old truck and headed home.

ON THURSDAY MORNING, Sophie drove the short distance from her house to the University of Virginia campus with her window cracked, letting in the flavor of the crisp morning. Spring was her favorite season; she loved the trees with their newborn leaves, the tulips popping up from their winter nest. To Sophie, the world felt more hopeful at this time of year, as if all things were possible.

She stopped at Starbucks for her morning fix, then got back in the Volvo and turned the radio to NPR, only half listening to Terry Gross interview a newly published author. Her thoughts were on the day ahead and the details left to tie up for Grace’s birthday party. After her first class, Sophie planned to pick Grace up from day care and run a few errands, things she wouldn’t have time to do tomorrow.

Her cell phone rang just as she pulled into the faculty parking lot.

She glanced at caller ID, ran a hand through her hair and suppressed a groan. She could ignore it, but that would only prolong the inevitable.

With a sigh, she hit the talk button. “Hi, Aunt Ruby.”

“My goodness, you actually answered,” was the dry reply.

“What’s up?” Sophie said, ignoring the barb behind the greeting.

“Do I need a reason to call and see how you’re doing?” she asked, her voice hoarse with forty years’ worth of cigarettes. “We haven’t heard from you in months. I thought something might be wrong.”

“Everything’s fine,” Sophie said, not adding that it was these conversations that usually sent a perfectly fine day flying right off track.

“How’s little Grace?”

“She’s great.”

“About to turn three, isn’t she?”

“Yes, difficult as it is to believe.”

“Are you doing a party for her?”

“Nothing elaborate,” Sophie hedged.

“Oh.” Ruby paused and then said, “I assume we aren’t invited.”

“Aunt Ruby, it’s not that kind of thing. Just a few of her friends from preschool—”

“Are you ashamed of us, Sophie?” she interrupted. “After everything we did for you?”

Sophie let several beats of silence pass, reaching for calm. “Of course not.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Ruby said, her voice threaded with quiet hurt.

Sophie started to protest, to say once and for all that she’d had enough of her aunt’s guilt trips, but stopped herself just short of it as she always did. Because Ruby was right about one thing. She and Uncle Roy had taken Sophie in when she’d had no one else in the world, and the only other option for her would have been a foster home.

“It’s not a big deal, Aunt Ruby. I didn’t think you’d want to come. That’s all.”

“You don’t have to justify your actions to me, Sophie. I mean, we hardly know the child.”

Sophie dropped her head against the seat, massaging one temple where a subtle headache had begun to throb. “You know you have an open invitation to visit anytime.”

Another stretch of silence. “Then maybe we’ll drive up for the party and bring her a present. When is it?”

“Saturday afternoon at one,” Sophie said with resignation.

“Nothing like advance notice,” Ruby said, sarcasm coating the words. “Anyway, we’ll be there. Don’t want that little girl to grow up not even knowing who we are.”

Sophie bit her lip to keep from reminding her aunt she had never once invited Grace and her for a visit. “I have a class to get to, Aunt Ruby. We’ll see you on Saturday.”

She clicked off the phone and then sat for a few moments thinking how odd the call had been, trying to remember the last time they had even talked. It wasn’t like her aunt to call her out of the blue. With Ruby, there was always a catch. Sophie felt sure this time would not be an exception.

CALEB LIKED TO drive with his window rolled down; even on winter days, he’d turn the heater up full blast and let the outside in. This Thursday morning, he pulled into his parking space at the side entrance of Tucker Farm Supply, warm April sunshine pouring in. The store sat at the south end of Main Street in an old two-story brick building that had once been home to Miller Produce.

Jeb had bought the building and started the business some twenty-five years ago, and Caleb had grown up working summers loading trucks and running the front register. It was a small business by most standards, but firmly rooted in the community with a following of loyal customers.

Caleb got out of the truck, Noah leaping down behind him, tail wagging. Inside the store, Noah did a quick survey for Russell, an overweight tabby whose job it was to patrol the building for trespassing mice. Noah glimpsed Russell’s tail disappearing behind one of the display cases and spun out on the concrete floor.

The cat made it to the fescue seed barrel with seconds to spare, already cleaning his front paw with a touch of arrogance by the time Noah slid to a stop in front of him.

“Never gives up, does he?” Macy Stephens stood behind the old wood counter at the front of the store with a bottle of Pledge in one hand and a white cotton cleaning rag in the other. She spritzed the top of the counter, rubbing hard until the aged wood shone.

Caleb shook his head. “One of these days, he’s gonna flatten some nice old lady who never saw him coming.”

Macy smiled. “We all have our goals in life.”

Caleb registered a hint of fresh-smelling perfume and the fact that Macy was wearing her hair down most days now instead of in the ponytail she used to keep it pulled back with. She had started working at the store part-time when she’d begun classes at the university. She was about to finish up this year and planned to teach elementary school in the fall.

“The Spring Festival starts this weekend.” Macy added another squirt of furniture polish to the countertop, her gaze a few inches short of his.

Caleb stepped behind the counter and reached for the box of receipts beneath the register. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Any interest in going?”

Normally, Caleb would have answered with an automatic no, but something in her face made him reach for a softer note. “Lotta work to do this weekend.”

“Oh,” she said, nodding.

“You going?”

“Thought I might.”

“Sounds like good weather for it.”

“Hope so.”

“All right, then. I’ll be upstairs taking a look at the month’s statement.”

“Okay,” she said and turned her back to him.

In his office, Caleb pulled a chair up to the heavy oak desk by the window that looked out over the feed store’s main floor. He worked for a couple of hours, glancing over receipts, comparing margins on certain labels of feed they sold, dog food, cat food, grain for horses. Tucker Farm Supply wasn’t the kind of business that would ever make a man rich, but it was a comfortable living, a stable one. If there was anything Caleb appreciated now, it was stability. He clung to the things in his life that didn’t change, weeded out what did.

The bell to the front door dinged several times while he worked, customers going in and out. It was almost noon when he stood and stretched just as the door jingled again. A woman came in with a little girl holding on to her hand. The child said something and the woman nodded. The little girl took off for the corner of the store, headed straight for the seed barrel where Noah and Russell were still maintaining their standoff.

The woman stepped to the counter, said something to Macy. The child squatted beside Noah, rubbing his head. Noah’s attention, strangely enough, had been diverted from the cat. He sat with his nose in the air, his eyes closed in absolute appreciation of the child’s doting.