Grace is Enough by Willie Aames

Author:Willie Aames
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2009-11-30T00:00:00+00:00

Pancakes and a Vega… Early in the morning, I woke up on the floor. My head was comfortable on a squishy, white pillow, and I was nestled inside a down sleeping bag. My brother and sister were lying beside me, and I could hear them breathing in their deep sleep.

I slowly focused on my surroundings: a brown wooden desk chair on wheels sat at a large, old desk; framed photographs of mountains, woods, and icy blue waters taken from many cruises and travels; plaques and awards; and the methodical ticking of a small clock that sat on the desk. Grandpa's wife, Nikki, was an amateur photographer, so her pictures hung everywhere. The room was creamy-colored and calm, and it smelled safe—like leather and money.

I also smelled something more. Sweet and familiar. Salty. I got up and cracked open the door. I could hear my grandpa singing. We had spent the night in Grandpa Harry's condo in Culver City, located on an upper floor of a high-rise building. I padded down the hallway and looked around the corner into the kitchen.

Grandpa was at the stove, and Nikki was setting the table. She was beautiful and calm, and she smiled at me, though I did see the concern in her eyes. “Well, hello there.”

Grandpa turned and saw me. “Hiya, kiddo! Go get your brother and sister for breakfast.” His eyes twinkled and he smiled.

Oh my gosh. Pancakes! And bacon! Butter and syrup and salty, crispy bacon! I trotted down the hall and found my brother and sister already sitting up and sniffing, eyes wide open.

No need to waste time talking! We were at the table in less than a minute to have our fill of Grandpa's cooking. He was an excellent cook, and he made dinner every night we were there— his special tuna casserole and his homemade rolls still make my stomach growl. While we ate, Grandpa and Nikki would tell us about the many places they had been on their travels.

During those days, I spent as much time around my grandfather as I could. When he was busy with paperwork, I worked with him at his desk. Lary and Leenie colored and played board games. The atmosphere was quiet and settled, and the three of us relaxed. I don't remember what my mother did, or where she was, for that matter. She was in and out.

But I do remember Bernie. He showed up once or twice on the street below us and called out, “Sharon? Sharon!” He kept shouting for her until Grandpa yelled off of the balcony that he was going to call the police.

In the meantime, Grandpa was trying to find a new place for us to live so that my mother could get a new start with no Bernie. He enrolled us in the nearby school and came home one day with a brown Vega station wagon. He just gave the keys to my mother. “It's yours, Sharon.”

Mom became antsy and edgy. She would sit and twirl her hair around her fingers and chew the inside of her mouth.

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