Page 8 of A Taste of Grace

He nodded.

“I’m not messy like that.”

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

No matter how generous Uncle Keith was, I didn’t want to assume anything.

“We are.”

“Oh, and if anyone asks what I do, tell them I’m a writer. And my name is Grace Toliver, not Dr. Grace. People can be funny actin’ about titles.”

Although I was a darn good researcher and analyst, I wasn’t lying about being a writer. I’d always been a solid editor and creative, so it was easy for me to craft a plan for my new profession in rehab. I joined several freelancer sites and advertised my services as a ghostwriter, picking up a couple of jobs that would keep me busy for the next few weeks. I also marketed myself as a creative writing coach with a specialty in writing intimate scenes between protagonists. Several romance authors had already contacted me. I even had a pending opportunity to write a screenplay draft for a primetime television host whose husband was a big-time Hollywood movie producer.

Uncle Keith crossed his arms across his chest and stared at me with light brown eyes that always appeared watery despite his never shedding a tear about anything other than the final words spoken over my mother’s dead body.

“As a writer, you can craft any story you want. It’s not my place to tell your business, but you earned that doctorate and deserve the respect that comes with it. Pat was so proud of you.”

At the mention of my mother’s name, my heart swelled. I would consider Uncle Keith’s words but didn’t want to stand out too much in such a small place.

“I will.”

“Oh…before I leave, here’s Nita’s info. Call her when you’re ready.” He pulled a small canary-yellow business card from his wallet and handed it to me.

I received it and read the relatively small words out loud.

“Prophetess Nita Stallings, Woman of God.” I raised an eyebrow. “Why does she need to advertise being a woman of God?”

Uncle Keith chuckled.

“Nita’s different.”

“Different how?”

“You’ll see.”

“Because she’s a prophetess? Like a fortune teller?”

Despite my growing trust of Uncle Keith, I didn’t want my first connection in the city to be too radical. I needed to take baby steps in my recovery.

“Calm down. She’s not spooky or mystical. She has a pure heart and is drawn to people who need direction. Give her a chance. What do you have to lose?” My uncle’s smiling eyes displayed hope that matched how I wanted to feel.

As had become my habit since rehab, I forced myself not to overthink.

“I’ll call her tonight.”

“Good.” Uncle Keith gently patted me on my arm and walked to his Chevy truck. With a final wave, he drove off down the narrow dirt road that led to the main highway.

Before it got too late, I called Nita.

“Hello?” Her crisp voice rang through the phone.

“Hi…this is Grace Toliver, Keith Glass’s niece.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been expecting you. What time are we meeting tomorrow at Sunbeams?”

I was shocked by her forwardness despite my intended request to meet her at the cute little coffee shop down the road from my home.

“Does ten o’clock work for you?” she asked, interrupting my thoughts.

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