I, Gracie - Sharon Sala Page 0,52

six were rejections. Either the jobs had already been filled, or she had lacked the experience required.

Disappointing, but not surprising.

She opened the last one, expecting more of the same, but to her surprise, the hostess job she'd applied for at a local steakhouse had a positive response. She had a request for an in-person interview tomorrow with the manager. That was a job she could do in her sleep, and the pay was decent. All she could do was hope.

Darlene sent a return text about an hour later.

Caleb and I have been in the ER. He smashed his thumb in the car door. Ugh. He's fine. Mama, not so much. Kudos on the apartment and thanks for the address. Happy job hunting. Stay in touch. We love you.

Gracie winced just reading it. Poor Caleb. Poor Darlene.

James was back at work and dealing with the legal aspects of the ranch long-distance. With the mailing address changed, he continued to pay the utility bills. He'd had the furniture put in storage, was having the home painted inside and out, and new flooring and appliances replaced in the kitchen. It shamed him that he was also putting in a new central heat and air system because it was going to sit idle in an empty house. After the misery his mama and Gracie had endured, they would so have appreciated it, but he also knew if he had a decent chance of selling it, the house needed to be habitable. Right now, there was nothing more to do until the will went through probate.

Unaware that his siblings had already donated money, he had also donated ten thousand dollars into Gracie's fund before he’d left Sweetwater. It had been the only way he'd known how to get money to her without her knowing where it came from. He'd thought it would make him feel better, but it hadn't.

When people got broken, it always caused pain, and there wasn't enough money in the world to repair the damage. He consoled himself by knowing that, wherever she was, she wouldn't be hungry or homeless. He needed to remember to say daily prayers for his immortal soul, because James was still on the "me first" track, and he really didn't want to go to hell.

Long after Gracie was showered and in her own pajamas ready for bed, she walked through the darkened apartment, using nightlights and moonlight by which to see. It was a thing with her—the need to know her safe place by day and by night. What a person knew, she could not fear, and Gracie did not ever want to be afraid again.

And so she moved from window to window, looking out at the grounds, and the sky, and the lights of the city, and the security lights on the neighbors' properties. Soon, she would know what was normal, and what was amiss.

She was grateful tonight.

For a man named Sam, who'd thought to call her back.

For a woman named Lucy, who had a rebel heart and a propensity for not following rules.

But for them, she would not be here in this place.

Finally, satisfied that she was where she belonged, she made her way back to that four-poster bed and climbed in.

The central air was moving through the room, stirring the canopy above her. Moonlight came through the cracks in the blinds. She didn't hear coyotes, but she did hear traffic, and she could hear faint strains of music coming from somewhere. It was good enough to sleep to.

The alarm woke Gracie from a dreamless sleep.

She rolled over to shut it off, and then remembered she had an interview this morning and leaped out of bed.

The newness of her surroundings was still a total delight, and she dawdled in the claw-foot bathtub longer than she should have, then raced into the kitchen, popped a breakfast sandwich into the microwave, and made herself a cup of coffee.

Then because she could, she ate standing up at the kitchen sink, looking out the window at a blue jay catching hell from a squirrel in the same tree.

The trees, alone, made this place special. All the green, and the shade beneath them—she couldn't wait to see what it all looked like in the winter when it snowed.

As soon as she was through eating, she ran to get dressed. She didn't know what the dress code for hostesses at this steakhouse might be, but black slacks and a black and white top should be safe, and the blouse covered up