Devlin's Grace (8 page)

Chapter Five

On
Mondays Gracie’s last class ended at two in the afternoon.
 
With her watercolor evening class coming up,
she didn’t bother to walk home then back, so she settled in the library.
 
Her favorite spot, a comfortable chair tucked
away behind some stacks where few students bothered to go, faced a window and
as she struggled to read a textbook, she grew drowsy.
 
Her Sunday shift at the bookstore seemed
longer than usual and some of her muscles, unaccustomed to moving with a
motorcycle, remained stiff.
 
Although
she’d wanted to phone Devlin, she didn’t, self-conscious and worried about
being an annoyance.

Around
four, just when she thought about wandering over to the student union for a
soft drink and snack, Lauren Devlin-Marks tapped her on the shoulder.
 
Gracie jumped, startled enough to drop her
textbook to the floor.

“Hi,”
Lauren said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.
 
I’m about to take a break and I wanted to talk to you.”

“Okay,”
Gracie said.
 
She gathered up her book
bag and followed Devlin’s cousin out of the building.
 
They ended up at a table near some vending
machines in a different location and as Gracie nibbled at a package of peanut butter
crackers, Lauren launched into conversation.

“I’m
not trying to be nosey but I’m so glad Robert, I mean, Dev has a friend,” she
said.
 
She opened her bag of peanut
M&M’s and popped several into her mouth. “We grew up together, close as
brother and sister, but he’s never been the same since he came home from the
Marines.
 
He’s been a lone wolf and
refuses to let anyone get close.
 
He must
think a lot of you and I can see you’re good for him.”

“Am
I?” Gracie would like to think she meant something to Devlin.

“Oh,
my God, yes,” Lauren said. “He talks to you, doesn’t he?”

“Well,
yeah, he does.”

“And
I saw you two holding hands.
 
I couldn’t
believe it, but it makes me happy.
 
Whatever happened to him over in Iraq must have been terrible, because
when he came home, he kept to himself.
 
He doesn’t talk to anyone and he’s almost untouchable.
 
I think it’s because he’s still wounded
inside.
 
You probably don’t know, but Dev
got severely burned over there.”

In
a quiet voice, Gracie said, “I’ve seen the scars.”

Lauren’s
shock wasn’t feigned. “He showed them to you? His own mother never even saw
them.”

“Yes,”
Gracie said.
And I touched them and
kissed them, too.

“That’s
a miracle.
 
Do you care about him,
Devlin?”

“I
do, very much.”
 
I think I love him and it’s crazy because I’ve
known him a week today.
 
She wasn’t
going to share her private thought with Devlin or his cousin, not yet.

“Don’t
let him run you off,” Lauren advised. “He did everyone else, Gracie.
 
No matter what happens, don’t quit on
him.
 
He needs you, more than he’ll ever
admit.”

Emotion
burned a hole in her heart until it was almost a physical pain. “If he does, I
won’t,” Gracie vowed.

Their
conversation shifted to lighter topics and the two women parted close to
friends.
 
As six-thirty approached, Gracie
headed over to wait for Devlin outside Ellis Hall.
 
She almost gave up before he roared up on the
motorcycle minutes before class and rushed toward the entrance.

“Hey,”
she said.

Devlin
whirled in her direction.
 
“Hi, Gracie,”
he replied.
 
“I missed you.”

He
opened his arms and she walked into them, hungry for his embrace, but although
he held her for a moment, something wasn’t right with Dev.
 
His haggard face evoked her concern.
 
The dark shadows under his eyes seemed deeper
and although he smiled, he appeared to hurt.
 
He wasn’t shaven either, the first time she’d seen him with bristles.

“I
missed you, too,” she said. “Dev, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,”
he said in a tone meant to repel any further questions. “Come on or we’ll be
late.”

Mr.
Zeller put them to work drawing preliminary sketches of what they might paint
in a few weeks and for the first time Gracie got to see Dev’s sketch book.
 
His pencil drawings were good, far better
than anything she could draw. She sketched cute kittens and pretty puppies or
blooming flowers, but he’d drawn character sketches, interesting buildings, and
old cars.

She
held up a drawing of a huge old building and asked him, “Where’s this?”

“Oh,”
he said, with a flat tone in his voice. “It’s the Pythian Castle, here in
Springfield.
 
It used to be an orphans
and old folks home then part of an Army hospital. I’ll take you there sometime
if you want.”

Devlin
shifted position as he sketched and he winced.
 
His frown of pain didn’t last long, but she saw it.
 
Gracie put her hand on his arm. “I know
you’re hurting, somewhere.
 
Tell me
what’s wrong with you.
 
Please don’t shut
me out.”

He
shook his head. “It’s all right.”

Gracie
persisted. “No, it’s not. Don’t you feel good?”

A
flicker of a smile lightened his sober features for a split second and faded.
 
“Don’t worry. I’m not sick.
 
I’ve got a piece of shrapnel working out and
it hurts like hell.
 
I’m not one to bitch,
but its hurt all damn day.”

“Where
is it?”

Dropping
his voice to a near whisper, he told her, “Left side, just below my ribs.”

Her
fingers slipped beneath this shirt and touched the hard pocket.
 
Gracie felt the sharper edge of something
metal emerging, too.
 
Devlin grimaced.
“Don’t,” he said. “It’s worse when you touch it.”

“Shouldn’t
it come out?”

His
grunt bordered on a groan. “Yeah, it should, but I’m not going to pay some
doctor to cut it out.
 
It’ll come out
anyway, sooner or later.
 
Just forget
it.”

“I
can’t,” Gracie said. “If you won’t go to the doctor, I suppose I can get it out.”

Both
his eyes widened. “Shit! You’re not serious.”

“Yes,
I am.” She was determined, too.
 
“It’s
almost class break so let’s go.”

“Go
where?”

“My
place,” she said. “I’ve got first aid stuff there.”

When
he said nothing, Gracie thought he might be about to explode and braced herself
to deal with anger, but after a couple of long moments, he nodded. “All right
but if we’re going, let’s
do
it now.”

Five
minutes later, despite his pain, they headed for her apartment.
 
Neither one of them might ever learn to paint
water colors at this rate, leaving halfway through class, but some things were
more important.

“Take
off your shirt and let me see it,” Gracie said.

Devlin
obeyed and shifted his arm so she could examine the lump.
 
Surrounded by scar tissue, it’d be harder to
do, but she knew she could cut it. Even though it was red and puffy, she saw
the thin silver edge of metal sticking through and touched it.
 

“Damn,”
he cried.

“I’m
sorry,” she said. “It feels like it’s as big as my thumb.
 
It’s going to hurt even more to get it out.”

Through
gritted teeth, he said, “Do it.”

White-lipped
with pain, she saw the lines in his face deepen as he hurt. “Haven’t you taken
anything to help?”

“I
don’t do any of that shit.”

Gracie
gawked at him. “You don’t take aspirin or ibuprofen or anything?
Why not?”

“I
don’t because I was on too many pain killers in the service,” he grunted. “I
got where I needed them and I decided never again.”

 
His warm breath wafted against her face and
she caught the unmistakable scent of whiskey. “But I guess booze is okay?”

Her
question surprised him. “Huh? Oh, yeah I had a drink earlier.
 
It didn’t help much.
 
I didn’t think a nice girl like you would
know what cheap whiskey smells like.”

Now
it was Gracie’s turn to snort. “My dad uses it for his rheumatism,” she said.
“If you’ll take a drink, I don’t see why you won’t take a couple of over the
counter tablets.
 
You’re stubborn,
Devlin.”

“No
shit.” His buckeye brown eyes stared at his side. “How’re you going to get it
out?”

Gracie
met his gaze without blinking. “I’m going to cut it with a razor blade and pop
it out.
 
It’ll bleed like crazy and hurt,
but then it’ll start to heal.”

“Jesus!”

“I
know what I’m doing,” she said and hoped so.
 
Old-fashioned farm folks did a lot of their own doctoring, and she’d
been raised the same way.
 
Gracie lanced
her own infected hand when she was fourteen, but she’d never forgotten the
intense pain.
 

“Then
do it,” he said.

She
swabbed his side with alcohol and got her supplies ready.
 
Gracie sterilized the blade with rubbing
alcohol too and asked Dev to sit still.
 
With one swift motion, she sliced open the pocket of shrapnel.
 
Blood issued from the gash, but she blotted
it with a clean towel and used tweezers to get ahold of the metal
fragment.
 
With a triumphant cry, she
jerked it free and held it up to show Devlin.

“I
got it!”

Paler
than white bread, he nodded. “Good.
 
Now
if I don’t bleed to death or pass out, I’ll be great.”

He
wasn’t joking so Gracie pushed his head down between his knees. “Don’t faint,
Devlin.”

Under
her hands, the towel soaked crimson with his blood.
 
The cut bled more than she’d expected, but
after a few minutes, it slacked down to a trickle.
 
Her hands, steady earlier, trembled now and
Devlin, white faced but alert, noticed.

“Scared
you, didn’t it?”

“The
blood did,” she admitted. “I worried it wasn’t going to quit.
 
Does it hurt?”

“Not
as much.
 
It will, though, when you clean
it out with some alcohol and peroxide.”

His
voice sounded better now, more like himself and her nerves eased a little.
 
“Are you okay, Devlin?”

“Yeah,”
he said. “I’ve been through a lot worse than what you just did.”

Despite
his blood on her hands, Gracie touched his face.
 
“I know, honey.”

The
endearment slipped out, unplanned, but his eyes lit up when she spoke.
 
Devlin cradled his hand around hers and kissed
her palm.
 
“Thanks,
babe.
 
You did a good job.”

“I’m
not finished yet.”

Gracie
wiped away the last of the blood and bandaged his torn flesh.
 
She coated it with antibiotic cream first and
after she washed her hands, she brought him some ibuprofen along with a glass
of water. “Here, take these or you’ll hurt worse.”

“Gracie,
I don’t want them.” Devlin tried to push her hand back, but she stuck her face
in his.

“Don’t
be silly,” she said. “It won’t hurt you.”

His
tone took any sting out of his words, gentle and soft. “I guess you won’t take
no for an answer, you stubborn woman?”

She
shook her head and he downed the tablets.
  
Without hesitation, she helped him pull his shirt back over his head
then asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve eaten supper?”

“No,
I haven’t eaten anything today,” Devlin admitted.

“Are
you hungry?”

“Well,
yeah.”

“Then
I’ll fix you something.
 
How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”

Devlin
nodded. “I could eat one.”

Anticipating
he’d be hungrier, she made him two and he devoured them both with speed.
 
Gracie ate hers and offered him a couple of
store cookies for dessert.
 
Devlin ate
those, too.
 
Afterward he flopped back on
her sofa and sighed. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”