Malice (18 page)

The girls even tried to fix her up with their friends, but she drew the line at that. Groceries were one thing, but gifts of men were of no interest. She had no desire to go out with anyone, or complicate her life. At twenty, she was perfectly content to stay home and read a book, or watch TV at night. Every little freedom she had was a gift to her, and she wanted nothing more from life. Certainly not romance. Just the thought of it terrified her. She had no desire to go out with anyone, possibly ever.

Her roommates teased her about it at first, and then eventually, they decided she had a secret life. Two of them were sure she was seeing a married man, particularly when she started going out regularly, three times a week, on Monday and Thursday nights, and all day Sunday. During the week she would leave direcdy from work, and change there, and more often than not, she was home after midnight.

She had thought of telling them the truth, but eventually the fantasy that she was seeing someone worked a lot better for her. It made them leave her alone and stop trying to fix her up with their friends. In fact, in terms of how she wanted to live, it was perfect.

And the truth was that her three-times-a-week trysts were the heart and soul of her existence. Once she'd gotten settled in the town house with the girls, she had started looking for a place to work three times a week. Not for pay, but to give back some of what she had gotten out of life. She felt too fortunate not to do something to help others. It was something she had always promised herself, as she lay on her bunk at night, chatting with Sally, or while she worked out with Luana.

It had taken her a month to find the right place to volunteer. There had been no one she could ask, but she had read a number of articles, and there had been a special on TV about St. Mary's. It was a crisis center for women and children in an old brownstone, and when she'd first gone there, she was shocked at the condition it was in. Paint was chipping off the walls, there were bare bulbs hanging from sockets. There were kids shouting and running around everywhere, and dozens of women. Most of them looked poor, some were pregnant, all were desperate. And the one thing they had in common was that they had all been abused, some to within an inch of their lives. Many of them were scarred, some no longer functioned normally, or had been in institutions.

The place was run by Dr. Paul Weinberg, a young psychologist who reminded her of David Glass, and after the first time she'd been there, Grace found herself aching for Molly. She would have loved to talk to her, and tell her all about it. It had been a deeply moving experience just being there. The place was mostly staffed by volunteers, and there was only a handful of paid employees, most of them doing internships for psych degrees, some of them registered nurses. The women and children living in the crisis center needed medical care, psychological help, they needed a place to live, they needed clothes, they needed tender loving care, they needed a hand to get out of the abyss they were in. Even for Grace, going to St. Mary's every week was like a light shining in the darkness. It was a place where souls were restored, and people were made whole again, as whole as they ever would be.

Just helping them helped her. It made her whole life worth something just to go there. She had volunteered for three shifts a week of seven hours each, which was a tremendous commitment. But it was a place where Grace felt at peace herself, and where she could bring peace to others. The women there had experienced many of the same things she had, and so had the children. There were pregnant fourteen-year-olds who had been raped by their fathers or brothers or uncles, seven-year-olds with glazed eyes, and women who didn't believe they would ever be free again. They were the victims of violence, and most of the time of abusive husbands. Many of them had been abused as children, too, and they were continuing to perpetuate the cycle for their own children, but they had no idea how to break it. That was what the loving staff at St. Mary's tried to teach them.

Grace was tireless when she was at St. Mary's. She worked with the women sometimes, and most of all, she loved the children. She'd gather them close to her, hold them on her lap, and tell them stories she made up, or read to them by the hour. She took them to clinics at night, to see the doctor for injuries they'd had, or just to get exams or shots. It gave her life so much more meaning. And at times it hurt too. It hurt terribly, because it was all so familiar.

“It breaks your heart, doesn't it?” one of the nurses commented a week before Christmas. Grace had been putting a two-year-old to bed. She had been brain-damaged by her father, who was in jail now. It was odd to think that he was in jail, and her father, who had done things that were almost as bad, had died a hero.

“Yes, it does. They all do. But they're lucky.” Grace smiled at her. She knew this story well. Too well. “They're here. They could still be out there getting battered. At least, for now, it's over.” The real heartbreak was that some of them went back. Some of the women just couldn't stay away from the men who beat them, and when they went back, they took the children with them. Some were hurt, some were killed, some never recovered in ways that couldn't be seen. But some got it, some learned, some moved on to new lives and came to understand how to be healthy. Grace spent hours talking to them, about the options they had, the freedom that was theirs, just for the taking. They were all so frightened, so blinded by their own pain, so disoriented by everything they'd been through. It made her think of the condition she had been in herself nearly three years before, when she'd been in jail and Molly tried to reach her. In a way, Grace was doing this for her, to give back some of the love that Molly had shared with her.

“How's it going?” Paul Weinberg, their chief psychologist, and the head of the program, stopped to chat with her late one night. He had been working shoulder to shoulder with the volunteers and employees, doing intakes. Most of them came in at night. They came in hurt, they came in frightened, they came in injured in body and mind, and they needed everything the team had to give them.

“Not bad.” Grace smiled at him. She didn't know him well, but she liked what she'd seen. And she respected the fact that he worked hard. They had sent two women to the hospital that night, and he had driven them there himself, while she cared for the children. Each of them had had four kids, and they were all in bed now. “It's a busy night.”

“It always is right before Christmas. Everyone goes nuts over the holidays. If they're going to beat their kids and wives, this is the time to do it.”

“What do they do? Run ads? ‘Beat your wife now, only six more days to do it before Christmas.’ “She was tired but still in good humor. She liked what she was doing.

“Something like that.” He smiled at her, and poured her a cup of coffee. “Ever think of doing this for real? I mean, on a paid basis?”

“Not really,” she said honestly, but she was flattered by the question, as she sipped the steaming coffee. Paul had the same woolly hair as David Glass, and the same kind eyes, but he was taller, and better-looking. “I used to think about getting a psych degree. I'm not sure I'm that good at this. But I like what I do here. I love the people, and the idea that we might make a difference. I think doing it as a volunteer is good enough for now. I don't need to get paid for it. I love it.” She smiled again, and he seemed to be studying her carefully. She intrigued him.

“You're good at what you do, Grace. That's why I asked. You should think about that psych degree some more, when you have time.” He was impressed by her, and he liked her.

She had worked until two o'clock that night. Half a dozen new women had come in, and there was just too much going on for her to leave them. When everyone was settled, Paul Weinberg had offered to drive her home, and she was grateful for the ride, she was exhausted.

“You were great tonight,” he praised her warmly, and she thanked him. And he was surprised to see where she lived. Most people on Lake Shore didn't bother to volunteer three days a week at St. Mary's. “What's the deal?” he asked her, as they pulled up outside her house. “This is a pretty fancy place, Grace. Are you an heiress?” She laughed at the question, and she knew he was teasing her, but he was curious too. She was a very interesting young woman.

“I share a town house with four other girls.” She would have invited him in but it was late. It was after two-thirty. “You'll have to come by sometime, if you can get away from St. Mary's.” She was friendly, but he sensed that she wasn't flirting with him. She treated him like a brother, but his interest in her was definitely not platonic.

“I get away once in a while,” he smiled. “What about you? What do you do when you're not helping women and kids in crisis?” He wanted to know more about her, even though it was late, and they were both tired.

“I work at a modeling agency,” she said quietly. She liked her job, and she was proud of it, and he raised an eyebrow.

“You're a model?” He wasn't surprised, but he thought it was unusual that someone who'd have to spend so much time on themselves would give so much to others. Because she did give a lot, to the women, and the kids. He had watched her.

“I work in the office,” she smiled at him, “but my roommates are all models, all four of them. You're welcome to come back and meet them.” She was trying to tell him she had no interest in him. Not as a man, at least. It made him wonder if she had a boyfriend, but he didn't want to ask her.

“I'd like to come back and see you,” he said pointedly. But he didn't have to do that. She was at St. Mary's three times a week, and he was always there when she was.

She volunteered for extra duty on Christmas Eve and couldn't believe how many women came in that night. She worked tirelessly, and she didn't get home till four a.m. And she managed to go to the Swansons’ the next day for their annual Christmas party for all their photographers and models. It was fun, and much to her own surprise, Grace actually enjoyed it, when she went with the others. The only thing that bothered her was that Bob had danced with her several times, and she thought he held her a little too close, and once she couldn't have sworn to it, but she felt him brush her breast with his fingers as he reached for an hors d'oeuvre. She was sure it had been an accident and he hadn't even noticed. But one of her roommates made a comment later that night which made her worry. It was Marjorie who had noticed it, mother hen that she was. She was always checking on all of them, and she knew his tricks from her own experiences with him.

“Was Uncle Bobby warming up-tonight?” she asked Grace, who looked startled.

“What's that supposed to mean? He was just being friendly. It's Christmas.”

“Oh God, sweet innocence,” she groaned, “tell me you don't believe what you're saying.”

“Don't be a jerk.” Grace was defending him. She didn't want to believe that Bob cheated on Cheryl. But he was certainly surrounded constantly by temptation.

“Don't be naive. You don't think he's faithful to her, do you?” Divina added to their conversation. “Last year he chased me around his office for an hour. I almost broke my knee on that damn coffee table of his, getting away from him. Oh yes, Uncle Bob is a busy boy, and it looks like you're his next target.”

“Oh shit.” Grace looked at them with dismay. “I thought maybe something was going on, and then I figured I'd imagined it. Maybe I did.”

“In that case, so did I.” Marjorie laughed at her. “I thought he was going to tear your clothes off.”

“Does Cheryl know he does that stuff?” Grace asked unhappily. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in the middle, and she had no intention of inviting his advances, or of having an affair with Bob Swanson. She didn't want to have an affair with anyone. Not now anyway, and maybe never. It just wasn't what she wanted.

Paul Weinberg had called her several times to invite her to dinner, but she had declined. But on New Year's Eve, when she was working at St. Mary's again, he insisted that she at least sit down with him for ten minutes, and share a turkey sandwich.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he accused her as she sat there with her mouth full of turkey. It took her a minute before she could answer.

“I'm not avoiding you,” she said honestly. She just wasn't returning his phone calls. But she was perfectiy happy eating a sandwich with him at St. Mary's.

“Sure you are,” he objected. “Are you involved?”

“Yup,” she said happily, and his face fell, “with St. Mary's, and my job, and my roommates. That's about it, but it's enough. More than enough. I hardly get time to read a newspaper or a book, or go to a movie. But I like it.”

“Maybe you need to take some time off from here.” He smiled at her, relieved that she hadn't mentioned a boyfriend. She was a great girl, and he really wanted to know her better. He was thirty-two years old, and he had never met anyone like her. She was bright, she was fun, she was deeply caring, and yet she was so shy and so distant. In some ways, she seemed very old-fashioned and he liked that. “You ought to at least get to a movie.” But he hadn't been to one in months either. He had dated one of the nurses for a while, but it hadn't worked out. And he had had an eye on Grace since she'd started coming to St. Mary's.

“I don't want to take time off. I love it.” She smiled at him, as she finished her sandwich.

“What are you doing here on New Year's Eve?” he questioned her, and she smiled at him again.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn't I?”

“I work here,” he said smugly.

“So do I. You just don't pay me.”

“I still think you should think about becoming a professional,” but before he could say any more to her, they were both called away in separate directions. It was another late night for her, and she didn't see him until the following Thursday. And that night he offered to drive her home again, but she took a cab. She didn't want to encourage him. But he finally cornered her on Sunday at St. Mary's.

“Will you have lunch with me?”

“Now?” she looked startled. They had four new families to talk to.