did Father Sean want to talk to you about?” Shelly asked.
Daria pulled out of the parking lot and turned onto the road. “He just wanted to see if I could help out with the charity auction this year,” she said.
“Oh,” Shelly said, satisfied, but Chloe gave Daria a dark look.
“With a lie like that,” she said under her breath, “you’d better go to confession before you receive communion next Sunday.”
Daria thought she was only half joking.
6
GRACE SPOONED A DOLLOP OF WHIPPED CREAM ON THE mocha latte and handed the cup across the counter to Jean Best, one of the regular customers at Beachside Café and Sundries.
“How are you doing, Grace?” Jean asked. Her eyes bore concern, and the question was sincere, but Grace busied herself cleaning the espresso machine.
“Just fine, Jean,” she said. “Thanks for asking.” She knew she should ask Jean how things were going with her elderly mother and the house she was trying to sell, but she didn’t want to engage her—or anyone, actually—in conversation.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jean said, taking her cue from Grace’s reticence and backing away from the counter. “Thanks for the coffee.” She carried her coffee to one of the small tables near the window overlooking Pamlico Sound, and Grace was relieved to see her go.
Beachside Café and Sundries was small, cramped and popular among locals and tourists alike. She and Eddie had opened it eight years ago with money Eddie’s mother had left him. They carried a few staples, but they were most beloved for their coffee and sandwiches, which ran the gamut from avocado and cheese to Italian subs, something for everyone. The shop had been a labor of love, a reflection of love, and people used to comment on the warm, supportive relationship she and Eddie still enjoyed after twenty years of marriage. No one was commenting on it now, though.
Grace made a couple of sandwiches for a man and woman she didn’t recognize. She was more comfortable these days with the strangers, with people who didn’t know her and know all she’d endured these past few months. She didn’t want pity. She didn’t want sympathy. And most of all, she didn’t want to talk about it. Because if she talked, she would disintegrate into little pieces. And that she couldn’t afford to do.
She knew her regular customers worried about her. They worried about how much weight she’d lost and how fragile she seemed to be, both physically and emotionally. They commented about her pallor and her inability to concentrate on what anyone was saying. A few weeks earlier, she’d overheard a conversation between two of her customers, one of whom said, “Grace just isn’t herself these days.” That had become her mantra. Whenever she found herself thinking or doing something out of character for her—which was often, lately—she heard that voice inside her head: Grace just isn’t herself these days.
She could hear Eddie in the small office behind the counter area, typing on the computer, and she wondered how many of the regulars knew that things had fallen apart between the two of them. It had to be obvious. The jovial atmosphere that had once existed in Beachside Café was gone, and now there was a palpable tension between Eddie and herself. Several customers even knew that Grace had moved into the above-garage apartment she and Eddie used to rent to tourists in the summer. How they’d found out, she didn’t know, but the year-round population in the Outer Banks community of Rodanthe was small, and it wasn’t hard for people to learn each other’s business. And, of course, everyone knew the reasons for the change in Grace, as well as for the change in her marriage.
“Grace?” Eddie poked his head out from the back office of the café. “Phone.”
Grace wiped her hands on the towel hanging below the counter and walked into the office. She took the phone from his hand.
“I’ll watch the front for you,” he said as he left the office.
She nodded, avoiding his eyes. Once he was out in the café, she lifted the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hi, Grace, it’s Bonnie.”
“Bonnie!” There was only one person Grace could handle talking to at that moment, and it was Bonnie, her oldest, dearest friend. But Bonnie rarely called. She lived in San Diego and sent an occasional letter or e-mail once or twice a month. A phone call was rare, and it worried her. “Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything is fine here,” Bonnie said. “I’m more interested in how things are going there.”
“Oh, you know.” Grace sat down on the desk chair and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s been rough.”
“Well,” Bonnie said, “I wish I could do something to help you, and I’m worried that my reason for calling might just make things worse for you. But I wanted you to—”
“I don’t see how you could make things worse, Bon,” Grace interrupted her.
Bonnie hesitated. “Do you know who Rory Taylor is?” she asked finally.
“Of course. True Life Stories.”
“Right,” Bonnie said. “Well, I was reading one of the L.A. magazines and there was this tiny little blurb—I almost missed it. It said that he’s going to be in Kill Devil Hills for the summer.”
Grace frowned, trying to figure out why that would be of any significance to her. “So?” she asked.
“He’s there—” Bonnie let out a long sigh “—to look into that baby that was found on the Kill Devil Hills beach twenty-two years ago. He wants to do a story about it for his television show.”
Grace was silent, a chill racing up and down her spine. “For what purpose?” she asked. Her voice sounded tremulous, she thought, even though she was struggling for control.
“I don’t know, specifically,” Bonnie said. “But he’s usually trying to solve some sort of mystery. Like, who the baby’s mother was.”
Grace shut her eyes. “You know,” she said softly, “that baby has been on my mind a lot lately.”
“Of course she has,” Bonnie said. “Of course she would be.”
“Why now?” Grace asked, a bubble of anger forming in her chest. “Why, after all this time, does somebody have to delve into that—”
“I know,” Bonnie said. “It’s the wrong time. Not that there ever was a good time for it. Gracie, how are you doing otherwise? What does the doctor say?”
Grace ignored her question. “You know who I hate?” she asked. “Who I despise? Even after all these years?”
Bonnie hesitated a moment before asking, “Who?”
“The nurse,” Grace said. “Nurse Nancy. I would love to get my hands on that woman.”
“I know,” Bonnie said, her voice soothing. “So would I. Look, Grace, I’m worried about you. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I didn’t want you to find out some other way. Do you want me to come to North Carolina to be with you? Maybe I could help out somehow?”
“No,
