Page 89 of Falling for Grace

“God, what is it with everyone telling me that we need each other tonight.”

“Why? Who else has told you that?”

“Ava, of all the bloody people,” I admit.

“Well, clearly I’ve misjudged that one, then, haven’t I?”

“I think she didn’t leave the best first impression.”

“First impression? It was like she was a wet fart, dear.”

I snort and smile for the first time in what feels like forever. “Sue,” I say, “I can’t believe that just came out your mouth.”

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you calling, Grace. I’ve been going out of my mind.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Yes, you can. You're a mother, too.”

My smile falters at these words.

“Grace, are you there?”

I clear my throat. “Yes, yes I am.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you, but it’s a fact. You are a mother. You may have lost your child, but as short as that bond had been, nothing can take that away from you. Now go get my boy. I don’t want to talk to you until you are on my doorstep.”

Then she hangs up. No goodbye, no good luck. Just an order. I pull the phone away from my ear, which is now warm, and look up at Theresa.

“Well?” she asks, hands on her hips.

“Looks like I’m going to L.A.”

Chapter 32

Inever thought I’d be in L.A., The city of angels. But not only do I find myself in L.A., I also find myself standing in the middle of a huge entryway of Ava’s mansion. Two sets of curved stairs with intricately detailed iron handrails wrapped around either side of the entryway and led to the landing at the top.

Oh how the other half lived. I found Ava to be kind and caring. Not like the person at the funeral. She hadn’t asked me about Maya, she didn’t probe me with questions about Brandon and my past. She had just made small talk, asking whether there was anything she could do to help. Originally I had said I’d stay in a hotel, but she wouldn’t let me. She opened her doors and invited me in.

I was even more surprised to see that she didn’t live alone. When we walked in a small 12-year-old girl with cute blonde hair bounded over to her.

“You’re home,” a small 12-year old girl squeals, bounding over, her blonde hair in pigtails. Ava drops all her bags and pulls her into a tight hug.

“See, told you I wouldn’t be long. Where’s Mama?”

“She’s in the den. We were watchingThe Dark Alliance.”

“Again… You’re obsessed with that film.”

I watch the exchange, feeling fidgety and very much like I was imposing.

“This is my friend, Grace Bush.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I put my hand out.

The girl shakes it enthusiastically. “You have a strange accent,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Lucy!” Ava says, laughing. “Brain to mouth filter, I’ve told you to work on that. Grace is from England.”

---