Deacon

 

My hand wraps around the silver chain in my pocket. I know it’s morning by the orange hue that bleeds through from outside, but I can’t see anything beyond the fog on my windows.

If I’d have known the night was going to hold a chill, I would’ve packed a jacket. Then again, I never planned on sleeping in my Range Rover on the side of the road. I just wanted to bring Grace the necklace. The one she loved that day at the harbor. I wanted to wrap the chain around her delicate neck. Touch her skin one more time.

 When I found out where and when she worked, I didn’t expect to find her standing in the middle of the parking lot being chased by adolescent wannabe badasses. But, I’m glad I did. The guy in the Camaro wasn’t pulling any punches. He had his foot on the gas, and Grace had a target on her back.

For the first time ever, though, I think it shook her. I think she realized that she can’t help everyone all the time. That the world is ugly. And life is harsh. I know this because I watched her heart break the moment it hit her.

I wanted to take her in my arms, to tell her she’ll be okay. She’ll adjust. She’ll wake up and the sunrise will remind her that the beauty isn’t all lost. But that’s not who I am. That’s not what I do. I’m not a comforter. I wouldn’t even know where to start.

I offered to stay with her, to make sure she’s safe. And when she politely said no, I parked across the street and slept in my car.

 

 My finger scrolls down my contacts until it reaches David’s name. I’m curious to see how his first night back home went. On the flight from South Africa to California, he finally found the courage to tell me what they did in the three weeks the radicals held him captive. He’d been locked in a dark closet, forced to lose all sense of reality, for days at a time. For hours on end, he was made to kneel in the heat of the day on the streets of their compound. Once, he tried to escape, and that’s when they broke his ankle with a wooden bat.

The sheer joy on the faces of his wife and son the second they saw him walk through the gate at the airport was enough to make even me envious of that kind of closeness. Those moments make the darker ones worthwhile. They bring light to the sins I’m driven to commit, hope to the shadows that dance on my soul.

 A light tap on the glass grabs my attention. So, I turn the ignition to lower the window. It’s Grace.

“I hope you take the cheap stuff. It’s all I’ve got,” she says, holding up a small red gas can. She’s pulled her hair up on top of her head, and her face glows even without makeup.

“I didn’t run out of gas.” I can’t help but chuckle at her assumption. She sets the plastic container on the ground beside her then leans in the window. The morning sun kisses her skin, but her eyes are heavy from a sleepless night. Yet still, she’s beautiful.

“How long have you been here?”

And chatty.

“Since you went inside last night.”

Not the answer she was expecting, obviously.

“So, sleeping in cars. That’s your thing?”  

“Only when I need to make sure someone’s safe.”

A pained expression flashes across her face. Surely, I’m not the first person in her life to look out for her. This woman who does so much to help others can’t possibly be alone in this world. She clears her throat and stands up straight.

“Thank you. But, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I’ve slept in worse.”

Her brows bunch together as she mentally processes what that might mean, but she doesn’t ask. I don’t use words to flatter or comfort. I’m not trying to make her feel better. She’s only just beginning to learn about the world we live in. And I’ve been exposed to it since I was nineteen years old. I’ve slept in six-foot holes, behind rocks, in the freezing rain. Spending the night in the protection of a luxury SUV to make sure no one followed her home was nothing.

“I have coffee,” she says, fending off all the questions I can see behind her curious eyes.

“Coffee sounds fantastic.”

Her face brightens with a smile that makes her eyes light up.

“Okay, then. Follow me.”

 

 

“The bathroom is down that hall. Second door on the left,” she says once we’re inside, allowing me to avoid asking the obvious question.

The first door I pass is open just enough for me to peer inside. It’s very different from the rest of the house, which is cozy and warm. That room is crisp and modern. Misplaced.

Grace sits with one leg tucked under the other in the corner of a white, linen sofa, both hands around her coffee cup as she cools the liquid with her breath. Her plaid pajama pants hang past the bottoms of her feet, and stray locks of hair fall from the pile on top of her head and around her face.

“Maybe tonight we can spring for you a hotel. Unless sleeping in cars is your thing,” she says with a playful tone as she hands me a mug. I take a seat next to her, careful not to spill.  

“I own some property here. Normally, that’s where I stay.”

Her eyes widen in surprise as she lifts her head to look at me.

“Oh. So, you must come here often.”

I know she isn’t trying to pry. I’ve told her nothing about myself. Who I am. What I do. Where I’m from. And she’s always been very respectful of that. Even now, her questions aren’t invasive. Not intentionally. She doesn’t know my past, or why I had to leave. Or why it’s better if I stay away.

“I used to. Not anymore. Not in a very long time.”

 “So, why now?”

“Business.” Her face falls. Disappointment replaces the playfulness in her tired eyes. I remember the chain in my pocket. “And you.”

She looks up, her gaze locked with mine. Her lips part, just slightly, enough to inhale a sharp breath. I caught her off guard. She takes a sip of her coffee to distract herself.

“I don’t know what to say.”

I tuck my hand into my pocket and pull out the necklace. “Don’t say anything. Here. I thought you’d like this.”

I hold the chain at each end, letting the diamond dangle in the middle. She doesn’t say a word as I stand then move behind her, latching the chain around her neck. She clutches the solitary diamond at the base of her throat and looks back at me.

“Deacon, I… This…” She shakes her head in denial. I lean forward and speak against her neck.

“It’s just a gift, Grace.”

“Thank you.” She turns her head away from mine, the smooth skin of her bare neck just inches from my mouth. I fight for control. “I don’t… This…” She waves her hands around the area between us. “This isn’t something I do. The harbor. The restaurant. The coffee. This,” she says, grabbing the necklace again.

“A woman like you should experience all of those things. And more.” I could show her so much more. I walk back to the sofa and sit beside her. 

“Sometimes life doesn’t give us a choice.”

“You always have a choice, Grace.”

Choices are life’s versions of safe words. We aren’t forced to lie back and accept things outside of our limits. If we don’t like something, we change it.

“Maybe that’s true for some people.”

“It’s true for you.”

“You don’t know that.” She pulls her leg from under her, straightening her posture. She sets her coffee on the table beside her and grabs a pillow, cradling it against her stomach. She’s defensive. “You don’t even know me.”

 Her words come at me like a blow to the chest. If I were standing, I’d have stumbled backward. “Then change that. Tell me who you are.”

Silence. Her gaze holds mine as the silence wraps around us like a vice. Clenching. Suffocating. Ending us before we even begin. Don’t do this, Grace.  Let me in. She lets out a long, steady breath, and the ropes that threatened to bind us break loose. Setting us free.

“Do you know what I do?” she asks, her eyes never letting go of mine.

“You’re a doctor.” She smiles, and I remember the first time we met, in Johan’s room. “And I’m not,” I smile back.

“Yes.” She nods. “I’m a doctor.” She moves the pillow to the side, breaking away at the ties that bind us, opening the wall that stands between us. “Neo-natal.” I knew that from her profile. She’s one of the best in the state, and she’s got the credentials to prove it. Her smile fades. “But do you know why?”

“No.”

She clears her throat, the way I’ve come to learn she does when she’s deciding exactly what to say and how to say it. Her eyes fall to her lap as she finds the courage to let me in.

“I’d just started med school when I met Brent. We dated a while. It got serious. But my father was so headstrong. And I was so afraid of disappointing him. Get your life together. Finish college. There will be plenty of time for love later.” Her voice drops deep in her throat as she mimics his words. “Then there was a week in St. Tropez.” She takes in a deep breath, carefully choosing her next words. “I forgot my birth control pills. But Brent told me not to worry about it. He made promises and convinced me no matter what happened, we’d be okay.” She laughs at some unspoken memory. “I don’t know if subconsciously I forgot my pills on purpose. To rebel against my father. Who knows. But, it happened. And I got pregnant. I thought my parents were going to kill me. But, they didn’t say a word. They just did what parents do. They supported me. My mom. She was amazing. She told me what to expect. She took me shopping. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was actually excited.” Her eyes start to glisten with tears, but she quickly blinks them away. “The baby was born ten weeks premature. There was nothing anyone could do.” Jesus. I can see the pain in her eyes, hear it in her voice. It cuts through me as if it’s my own. “He had a name. A heartbeat. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. And I held him in my arms until the moment he stopped fighting.” She clears her throat then looks across at me. “I can’t imagine the thought of any mother feeling what I felt that day. So, I do everything I can to save them. Both.”

 The inches between us seem like miles, stretched as far as the eye can see. She’s carried this pain alone for so long. I can’t let her do it anymore. I lay my arm across her shoulders and pull her body to mine, burying my face in her hair, inhaling her sweet scent. She rests her head against my chest, and we sit there in soft broken silence.