Page 16 of Saving Grace

I thought by ignoring that last text from Ma, it would mean she would drop the whole idea of the live-in babysitter. But since a stranger, albeit a beautiful one, is standing in the doorway to my laundry room, I’m guessing ignoring Ma did not, in fact, translate to the word no.

The woman’s pale blue eyes skate over my body, stalling momentarily on the braces on my leg and hip before snagging on my bare chest. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and her plump lips shine with some kind of gloss. Her sneakers look worn. Toned legs and lightly tanned skin consume me at eye-level. Tiny frayed denim shorts are topped with a pale blue checked button-down shirt. I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry, I was just wanting to put these?—”

“Did you find it, Grace?” Ma calls from the kitchen.

Great, just great.

Here we go again.

Grace glances behind her and hovers for a second. “Yep, all good.”

Her gaze meets mine and she offers a small smile, leaning in to pop the linen on the counter. But she doesn’t turn and leave. Instead, she drops to her knees and starts sweeping the powder away from where I sit with her hands.

“It’s fine, I’ll clean it up.” My words are harsh.

She stills for a heartbeat before sitting back on her heels. “Alright.”

“I take it you’re the new babysitter.”

It’s not a question. She simply nods and says, “Your mom said you needed some help around here. I needed a job. Guess it worked out.”

“No.” I lean forward and rise to my hands and knees. The stabbing pain in my hip turns to fire. “It didn’t. I’m not interested in having a carer. Didn’t work out the last three times, won’t this time, either.”

She pushes to her feet. I clamber through the acidic snow and haul myself up the doorjamb. She stares, folding her arms over her chest. Pushing up to my full height, I lean on the doorframe. I still tower over her by a head. She looks up. Her left eye and cheekbone have a purple-green bruise. Probably got into some catfight over something fuckin’ stupid. Most likely over a guy. Like I said, don’t need another carer. Let alone one who has drama following her around.

“You done staring?” Grace mutters.

“’Bout as done as you are here, I reckon.” I drag my gaze from hers. “Ma!”

Footsteps hurry down the corridor and Ma appears, a smile brightening her face. “I see you’ve met Grace. Show her to one of the spare rooms, will you, my boy.”

My face turns to stone, body ratcheting up the tension in every damn muscle. “She’s not stayin’. We are done with the carer, babysitter, hand-holding bullshit. I’m fine.”

Ma leans and glances to the floor behind me. “It looks anything but fine, Mackinlay. Now, show Grace where her room is, or I’ll have your father come over and do it.”

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

“Whatever.”

I sound like a petulant child. Not feeling much more than one, either. I hate it. I hate this whole situation. But when Ma’s steely gaze doesn’t break from mine, I relent. Nudging one of the crutches with my foot, I try to slide it toward me. It flings further away. “Dammit.”

Neither of the women move to help me. Ma folds her arms now, imitating Grace’s stance.

“You want me to get that?” Grace asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. I’m fine.”

I try again. Bending at the hip, I grip the doorframe with one hand and swipe at the crutch with the other. My fingers curl around the side of it. I yank it toward me and use it to drag the second crutch to where I stand. With both crutches in action, I thunder down the hall, not waiting for them to catch up.

The bedroom at the back of the house faces the east. Its huge bay windows give it a ton of natural light. I stop and move to turn back, finding myself in Grace’s space. Her scent, vanilla and peaches, crashes into me. I falter back a step as she peers into the room.

I take another step back away from the doorway and gesture for her to enter. “Have at it.”

She wanders into the room, eyes taking in the queen-size bed. The attached en suite. The oak dresser and the window and seat by it. She spins back and opens her mouth, but she must have thought better of it, as she closes it and walks from the room and back to the kitchen. I push out the back screen door and wander into the backyard.

With difficulty, I lower myself onto one of the outdoor chairs by the firepit. The heat of the day is already rolling in, and I focus on the light breeze and the inhale and exhale from my lungs. Maybe it won’t be so bad if she stays. She’s much prettier than the last three nurses. And alotyounger. She must be around twenty-five or something. Knowing Ma, she never bothered to ask.

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