point in your life, you shouldn’t be dating someone you don’t see yourself marrying. Remember when we were talking in the hospital and you mentioned that girl who threw her shoe at you?”
“Alicia. Yes, I remember. It was a stiletto heel, which is a lot more dangerous than your average shoe.”
“Yes, well, she wasn’t long-term material. But this one? I think this one seems to be good for you.”
“I think she’s good for me, too.”
“So…would you ask her to marry you?” he asks. I smile, leaning against the counter.
“I know it’s really soon…but I have thought about it.”
Dad sets the knife down and claps me against the back. “I’m proud of you, son. I can see the two of you being happy together for a long time.”
He picks up the plate of turkey and I follow him out to the dining room. Mom, Louise, and Grace are huddled around the end of the table, whispering about something. When they all turn to look at Dad setting down the plate of turkey, Grace catches my eyes. There’s a sparkle in her celadon eyes and, at that moment, all I want to do is put something that sparkles on her ring finger as well.
Chapter Eleven
Grace, 2015
( T hursday Night ; Kevin Deats’s House, Murray, Virginia)
KEVIN RETURNS TO HIS HOUSE with a brown paper bag that has grease soaking through the bottom of it.
“I thought you were on a diet,” I tease.
“Even Dr. Oz would allow Frankie’s Philly cheesesteaks on the strictest diet.” He pulls out a wrapped-up sub that also has grease saturated through it. “It tastes like strips of heaven with a layer of magic, dipped into healthy, but still addictive, cocaine.”
“Wow,” I say, as he hands me the sub. I unwrap it. “That is quite the critique. You should write up that review in the newspaper.”
“Nah,” he says. “If I did that, the next PTA would be about how I’m encouraging students to use cocaine and practice witchcraft.”
“Probably,” I say. “And if you mentioned me, Lori Schneider would tell everyone I needed to be burned at the stake.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “That woman is a piece of work. Are you still having problems with her?”
“No, I try to avoid her as much as possible. It’s difficult when they’re still living in the house that I’m trying to sell. But once I have a buyer, they have thirty days to move out and I will never have to talk to her again.”
“Amen,” he says, unwrapping his own sub. His phone rings. “I swear, someone always calls the minute I pick-up my dinner. Excuse me for one moment.”
He walks to the living room to answer his phone, and I take a bite out of the sub. The mixture of steak, provolone, grilled Amoroso bread that’s lightly salted, and the slightest hint of garlic makes it beyond perfection. I take another bite before I finish chewing my first one. It might be unladylike, but when you taste something as good as this, manners are the last thing on your mind.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I think about ignoring it since I’m enjoying this sub and my hands are greasy, but I figure it’s probably Sam and with the murder he was talking about, he might need moral support. I set down the sub, wipe my hands on my jeans, and then I take out my phone. It’s not Sam. It’s my mother. Well, that’s barely worth interrupting my meal.
Then again, she did save my life when she came home and caused Francis Tate to flee after he stabbed me six times.
I click answer and hold it up to my ear.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, picking up the sub with my other hand. “I’m kind of busy with some, uh, paperwork for selling the house. Can I call you back?”
“Grace…” she says. There’s a heavy note in her voice that makes me put the sub back down.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…I’m fine,” she says. “It’s…it’s Francis Tate.”
I feel acid swirling in my stomach and threatening to push the steak and cheese back up my