Grace Grows by Shelle Sumners Page A

saw one time.
    “So, they’re looking at the dolls, and they push a button next to the painting, and in their wireless headset they get a random sound?”
    “Yes. Maybe a nice one, maybe not.” He looked devilishly pleased.
    “Dan. What does it mean ?”
    “My darling, what makes you think I am ever going to answer that question?”
    “I don’t think you know.” Like that was going to make him tell me.
    He laughed. “Maybe not.”
    We went downstairs and he made us a cup of tea, then we sat together on one of the couches and exchanged gifts. His was a bunch of Calvin Klein gray tees. They’re all he wears, with khakis. He gave me a chic, black-leather belted coat to replace my worn old shearling, and an overly generous gift card to Shakespeare & Co. It was touching that he paid attention to what I needed and liked. And it made me squirm.
    “Thanks, Dan,” I said, trying not to bolt. “That sure will buy a lot of books.”
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You still read, don’t you?”
    “Of course!”
    He looked at me with his x-ray vision. I got up and wandered around the room and pointed at the sparkly, dangling ceiling lights. “Are you having a party later?”
    “Oh, no, those are permanent.”
    “They’re beautiful.”
    “Do you and Steven have plans to celebrate?”
    “We’re just going to watch the ball drop on TV.”
    “Don’t take the subway home. I’ll call for a car.”
    “I don’t think it will be all that crazy yet, at nine o’clock.”
    He shook his head. “Don’t take the subway.”
    Great. So something awful was going to happen in one of the stations. Or hopefully it would just be that a train was going to stall.
    My dad is psychic.
    About me.
    He says he gets feelings about things all the time, but only tells me the really strong ones.
    I happened to be visiting him for a month the summer I was thirteen and came home from Rollerblading to find a package of maxi pads sitting on my bed. Embarrassed, and despising him even more than usual, I shoved them in the back of my closet. Two days later, I got my first period.
    When I was looking for a job in publishing he told me I was going to get a job in education. I scoffed, but a week later I got the call to interview at Spender-Davis. And one time last summer he called me at work and told me to get up and leave, right away. I didn’t tell everyone because I knew no one would believe me. But Edward and I went out for lunch, just in case. When we came back the building was cordoned off and people were filing out. There had been a bomb threat.
    The next day I e-mailed my dad and asked him: Why is it just things to do with me? Why not world events, or your own life?
    I think it’s my guilt , he wrote back, in overdrive .
    I could smell curry. Dan cooks great Indian food.
    “Can we eat soon? It smells so good.”
    He got up. “Come on.”
    Place settings were arranged on the kitchen island. I hopped up on one of the tall chairs and watched him spoon basmati rice and lamb curry onto a plate.
    “Give me a lot,” I said.
    “There’s raita and mango chutney in the fridge,” Dan said. “Will you get them?”
    I was rooting around in the refrigerator when I heard my cell ring.
    “Excuse me.” I went across to where I’d left Big Green and looked to see who was calling. twilk. A 570 area code.
    “Hello?”
    “Damn, Gracie. Damn .”
    “Ty?”
    Silence.
    “Are you okay?”
    “I just finished the book.” He sounded strangled. Was he crying?
    “Are you okay?”
    “No! Were you, when you finished reading this?”
    “No.” I smiled, delighted. “It wrecked me.”
    “In a good way?”
    “Yes.”
    “Man, Atticus was awesome.”
    “Wasn’t he?”
    “He tried , you know? Even when everything sucked and there was no way he was gonna win. Damn, that pissed me off! What a bunch of fucking idiot people, in that town.”
    “I know! In that time.”
    “He was righteous. A righteous human being. And the stuff at the end, with