Page 140 of Loving Whiskey

Chapter 60

Grace

“Comeon,Grace,wakeup…Grace.”

I shake my head, confused as to why I hear my mother’s voice so close to my face. It must be a dream.

“Grace, baby, wake up,” she urges louder now, her nose touching my own. Her fingers flutter over my forehead, and I wince in pain.

“Mom?”

“Shhh, don’t try talking. I’m going to get you untied and you can go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Hurry this along; we have to go,” I hear a man’s voice say.

Who’s that man? Where am I? Is that Steven?

“Steven?” I question, my mind foggy.

My eyes search the room for him, but I can’t see past my mother’s face. She’s so close. Her eyes crease in confusion. When did she dye her hair that darker brown? I thought it was blonde.

“Like your hair,” I mumble.

Her hand moves to her hair as if she’s trying to remember what I could possibly like about it. I close my eyes though because the pounding in my head hurts too much.

I feel my mother move around me and my hands fall. They feel heavy, and I open my eyes again and realize I’m sideways on the floor. I try to move, but my mother’s arm on my shoulder stops me. “Don’t roll, honey, you could hurt the baby.”

My mind seizes.Baby? What baby?

My eyes fly open and dart around the room in search of a child. All I find is a linoleum floor and a man’s shoes. My eyes travel up the legs belonging to the shoes, and my eyebrows shoot up as I see an older gentleman staring down at me with a furrowed brow and a gun in his hand, just kind of lazily positioned with no thought as to safety or aim.

My legs start to move as I try to crawl away from him, but my mother grabs me again. “Grace, stop, let me help you.”

The man rolls his eyes and huffs out a breath. “This is annoying.” He reaches down and grabs hold of my arm, pulling me up by the bicep. I feel heavy and weak, unable to get a grasp on the floor with my toes.

“Take her to the bathroom and let’s get out of here,” he mutters as he pushes me in the direction of my mother who is jumping to her feet. I go to straighten my clothes, to adjust myself and get my bearings, but when I look down I spot the swell of my belly, and I breathe in an audible gasp.

“What the hell?”

“Shh, come with me,” my mother whispers again.

“But I’m…I’m—”

She sighs. “Yes, you’re pregnant. Let’s go to the bathroom before you wet yourself.”

My wrists are marked from the rope, and I lift them to my face, running my hands through my hair, trying to shake the fog from my brain.

“Where’s Steven? Where are we? Mom, who is that guy with the gun?”

My mother’s exasperated sigh doesn’t answer my question. She leads me to the bathroom where I know well enough to sit down and take care of business. I may not remember much, but at least that’s still working. I stare down at my belly, the very round one that clearly houses a child that is far along, and will myself to remember.

What is going on?

“Mom—” I call out to her, and she peeks around the door and looks at me. “What is going on?”

Tears stream down my face. I’ve never been so lost in my life.

My mother walks over and motions for me to pull down my shirt, covering the child I don’t remember, and she stares at me.

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