I, Gracie Read online

  I, Gracie

  Sharon Sala

  Copyright © 2020 by Sharon Sala

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Kim Killion, The Killion Group

  Edited by Deborah G. Staley www.writebytheocean.com

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  This book is for my Little Mama and me.

  For the god-awful journey we took together.

  For the hard times, and the bad times.

  Because I loved her, and she loved me.

  Parts of this we lived.

  And parts of this are all Gracie and Delia's story.

  But they will forever be entwined within my heart.

  Chapter One

  It was the tenth of July—one day after Gracie Dunham's twenty-ninth birthday, and just before midnight—when Gracie called Brother Harp, the preacher from their church.

  The hospice nurse she had been expecting had had a wreck on the way to their house. The hospice nurse was okay, but otherwise indisposed, so Gracie called the preacher to stand witness to Delia's last hours instead.

  And he came with his wife, Ramona, and they sat with Gracie, listening to Delia gasping, choking, struggling to breathe.

  Gracie was white-lipped and silent, sweat running down the middle of her back, her hands folded into fists in her lap, willing her mama to stop fighting the inevitable. Silently begging her to just give up the ghost and go find Daddy.

  Brother Harp's prayers were long, loud, and vocal, as he prayed for Delia's soul to be delivered to the Lord, while Ramona patted Gracie's knee in cadence with the rise and fall of her husband's voice.

  Just as the sun breached the horizon, Delia gasped, briefly opened her eyes, and pointed toward the foot of the bed.

  "Hallelujah! She sees the angels come to carry her home," Harp cried.

  Ramona turned, staring intently in the direction Delia had pointed, but all she saw was her husband's shadow on the wall, reflected by the rising sun.

  Gracie, however, was beyond hallelujahs and prayers. The past nine years of Delia Dunham's dance with dementia had worn the life clean out of her. She was holding her breath, giving the air in the room to Mama, so she could take what she needed to let go. And then when she finally did, all Gracie could think was, Finally, Lord.

  She was too worn out to cry, so Ramona cried for her. It was enough drama to wear Gracie slick. And because no one else seemed led to do it, Gracie got up and pulled the sheet over her mama's face.

  At that point, Brother Harp noticed the beads of sweat on Gracie's upper lip, and the exhaustion in her eyes. She must have looked like she was about to pass out, so he thought to offer further aid.

  "Gracie, can we call someone for you?"

  "If you care to let Decker Funeral Home in Sweetwater know Mama passed, I would appreciate it," she said.

  Ramona wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and gave Gracie a strange look.

  Gracie suspected the woman was bothered by her lack of grief, but she was too numb to cry. There was nothing left of the woman who'd loved and raised her, and it was likely going to take the rest of Gracie's life to get past the memories of what these years had done to both of them. She barely noticed when Brother Harp went out into the hall to make the call, leaving the women alone.

  "Bless her heart," Ramona kept saying, then stood up and moved closer to the bed, staring down at the sheet-covered body.

  Gracie eyed the preacher's wife without judgment, noting only what she saw. The constant frown and lips always pursed with disapproval. The dyed black hair, and black dress she was wearing—hovering like that at her mama's bed—made her look like a turkey buzzard perched up on a fence, just waiting its turn.

  Gracie shuddered.

  "I'm going to get some fresh air," she said, then bolted out of the room, past the preacher, and straight out the back door into the rising heat of another day.

  She was wearing yesterday's clothes, and her long, dark hair was still in the braid from the night before, but it didn't matter. Not yet. Later, she'd have to clean house and clean up. People would be coming, whether she wanted them or not. It's how things worked when someone died, even though they hadn't had a soul inside this house since the Sunday Mama had thrown a knife at their neighbor for coming to their door to tell them they had a steer out on the road. And they hadn't owned cattle in over six years, so they'd been on their own a long time. Still, she expected a few would come by, if for no other reason than curiosity.

  A crow flew between the sunrise and Gracie's line of sight. The empty corrals and the drying pasture were vivid reminders that more than mama's good sense had disappeared from this place.

  There were so many things she had to do now when all she wanted was to lock all the doors and sleep. There were her siblings to notify, not that they deserved it. They'd gone AWOL on her years ago, but she still had to call them and let them know. Delia was their Mama, too.

  The screen door squeaked behind her, and then Brother Harp was beside her. He was a stout man with green eyes, a weak chin, and a big booming voice.

  "Willis Decker sends his sympathies and said to let you know they will be here within the hour."

  "Thank you," Gracie said.

  "Is there anyone else you—"

  "Not at the moment. I'll deal with all that later," she said.

  Brother Harp nodded. "As you wish. The church calendar is open right now, so you just pick the day and time that best suits you, and we'll make it work, okay?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Brother Harp gave Gracie a sharp look, and as he did, Gracie saw a glint in his eye she didn't like. Then he smiled and cleared his throat.

  "Now that you're free of your burden of health care, we'll be expecting to see you back in church...after a decent time of grieving, of course."

  Gracie blinked.

  "Brother Harp, I thank you and Ramona for coming. I called you here because it was something Mama had asked of me before she went and lost her mind, and because there was no one else to call after the hospice nurse wrecked herself outside of Abilene. I'll be in touch about the services. As for going back to church...that's gonna take some time. The last seven years of our lives were nothing short of hell. Neither you, or Ramona, or any of the congregation, chose to visit us during all these years to see if we were in need, so I'm not of a mind to return the favor."

  Brother Harp turned red, and then he paled. "But we were told that she'd gone crazy. That it wasn't safe to be around her, and that she didn't know people anymore. Everyone in Sweetwater felt bad for the situation, but—"

  Gracie cut him short. "I understand. You didn't want to get involved. She was crazy. But she didn't know it. And she didn't mean to be. However, I wasn't crazy, and I was hurting, and we were in need, but I was raised not to beg. So, I didn't. No thank you for the invitation to return to the fold. I appreciate you coming, and please thank Ramona for me. I'll let you two see yourselves out."

  He
looked like he couldn't believe he was being asked to leave. "What about the funeral home coming for the body?"

  Gracie stared him down. "They know the way here. All I have to do is open the door."

  Brother Harp had been dissed and dismissed with about as much class as he'd probably ever been party to, and he had enough dignity to not make excuses, or be angry with a truth.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. "I'm sorry." And then he went back into the house.

  Gracie was still standing on the porch when she heard them drive away, but she had no qualms about what she'd said, and they knew their way back to Sweetwater.

  She thought about what he'd said—about people in town being afraid of Delia. She'd acted out a lot in the first two years, which was why Gracie had quit taking her to town. And after that, Gracie had gone on her own. People had sent their best wishes to Delia, but they’d never asked Gracie if she was in need. There was a difference.

  Gracie thought about her mama lying there in that room all alone, and then looked out across the prairie and knew Delia wasn't here anymore. She was out there somewhere, dancing through heavenly bluebells with Daddy. The thought made her heart hurt. But instead of crying, she went back inside, washed her hands and face, got a cold Coke out of the refrigerator, and turned on the box fan standing behind the table.

  She needed caffeine, but they'd been out of coffee for a week. At least Mama had had the grace to wait and die until her social security check hit the bank. Otherwise, Gracie would have had to give it back, and she was going to need it.

  Mama's death was not a shock, and had been a long time coming, but at the same time, Gracie couldn't remember what it felt like to be free, or what it was like to know someone had her back. But she remembered their last happy family gathering nine years ago, like it was yesterday.

  * * *

  It was just after Easter dinner.

  James and his wife, Darlene, were sitting side by side on the sofa. Their two kids, Caleb and Joanie, were outside with Mamie's husband, Joel, who was hiding eggs for them. James, the eldest and only son, was holding court, and the conversation, as if he were king.

  Gracie's older sisters, Daphne, who'd never married, and Mamie, who had chosen to remain childless, were sitting in the two blue recliners, talking in unison and laughing without finishing their sentences, just as they'd done when they were kids.

  Gracie had just graduated college in January and was about to move to Denver, Colorado for her new job.

  "Are you excited?" Daphne asked.

  "Oh, yes," Gracie said. "Getting hired as an event planner for that big hotel will never be dull. The scope of the events will keep everything exciting. And I'm looking forward to mountains and lots of green trees."

  James frowned. "We have trees here."

  Mamie snorted. "Says the man who moved to flat-ass Houston, where it floods with less than an inch of rain. We have scrub brush and tumbleweeds here," she said, and everyone laughed.

  Delia was sitting quietly in the loveseat beside her youngest daughter, seeing herself and her Tommy in all of them. Loving them so much, and at the same time, aware she was in possession of a bomb that was about to explode in all their lives.

  Gracie was only slightly aware of her mother's unusual silence, but looking back, she would remember that the expression on her mama's face was something between pride and regret.

  And then Delia cleared her voice and reached for Gracie's hand.

  "Kids, there is something I need to tell you, and there's no need to keep putting it off. I have been having memory problems for almost a year. Last month, when I was leaving Sweetwater to come home, I forgot where I was going. I forgot about home, and I was halfway to Abilene before I realized what I'd done."

  Gracie noted the looks of shock on all her siblings’ faces, but it was the hidden horror in her mother's eyes that touched her most.

  Mama was scared, and Gracie's heart hurt for that fear. "Oh, Mama! Oh no! You must have been so scared!" Gracie said, and tightened her grip on her mother's hand.

  Delia squeezed it gratefully, then took a quick breath and kept talking.

  "I remembered my granny. She'd lost her mind real young, and I knew stuff like that can run in a family, so I went to the doctor. After weeks of testing, they diagnosed me with fronto-temporal dementia, which means, I will not only forget people and things, but I could have a change in personality, too."

  All of a sudden, the easy camaraderie they'd been sharing was gone.

  Mamie was crying. "Does that mean you're gonna go crazy?"

  Gracie frowned. "Oh, for the love of God, Mamie! What a thing to say!"

  Daphne kept waiting for James to speak up, but he looked like someone had just poked a stick up his butt, while his wife, Darlene, was blinking back tears.

  "I'm so sorry, Mama D., but we're all here, and we'll be there for you when you need help," Darlene said.

  "Oh, it's okay," Delia said. "I just needed to get it said, and since we're all here together..."

  She let her voice trail off as she kept searching her children's faces for something...anything...and it made Gracie mad.

  "No, ma'am. It is not okay," Gracie said. "What can we do? What do you need?"

  Tears welled then rolled down Delia's face.

  "I don't know what to do. I don't know what I need. I hate this. I hate being a burden. I just wanted you all to know now, that I am okay with being put somewhere. Because when the time comes for it to happen, I might not be in my right mind. I might not be able to say those words."

  "I can't stay. I have a job and family in Houston," James said.

  "I can't move away and leave Joel in Austin all alone. My duty is to him, first," Mamie said.

  Daphne, who was a realtor and lived in Dallas, was still looking at the floor.

  Gracie felt them pulling away.

  Her dreams and her future were going up in smoke, but she knew she would hate herself for the rest of her life if she didn't do the right thing.

  "I'll stay with you, Mama."

  The moment she said it, it was as if someone had just opened a window and let in fresh air. Her siblings were suddenly smiling and nodding and making promises to help.

  Delia moaned. "Oh, Gracie...honey... your life is just beginning. I don't want this for you."

  "And we don't want this for you, Mama. You have done everything for us all our lives. It is our honor to give back to you," Gracie said. "Your children are going to make sure you don't ever get lost again, okay?"

  Delia threw her arms around Gracie's neck. "Thank you, baby girl. Thank you."

  * * *

  The sound of a passing vehicle pulled her out of the memory. That was then, and this was now. Her siblings had managed to show up at Christmas for two years after Mama's revelation, but at the last visit, her erratic behavior had made them uncomfortable, and they’d never come back. That was the year Gracie had put away her resumé and accepted the fact that her dream job as an event planner in Denver was as lost as Mama's good sense. Gracie had understood their fear of Mama, but she'd never thought they would quit her. Like Brother Harp, they had a lot to answer for, and she didn't accept excuses.

  She popped the tab on her can of Coke and drank long and deep—even though it brought tears to her eyes—even though it burned all the way down.

  There were three stale cookies still in the cookie jar. She ate one with the rest of her Coke and called it breakfast. By the time the hearse arrived, she was as mentally prepared as she was going to be.

  And then they were on the porch and knocking.

  She opened the door, eyeing them through the screen. She recognized the short man with white hair.

  "Good morning, Miss Dunham. I'm Willis Decker. On behalf of Decker Funeral Home, you have our deepest sympathies."

  "Thank you, Mr. Decker. You can call me, Gracie. If you'll follow me."

  Willis Decker held the door as two other neatly dressed men came inside with a gurney, then they followed Gracie do
wn the hall to her mama's bedroom.

  Willis Decker was trying to get over the shock of their level of living. Between the heat, the dust, and the utter lack of comfort, it hurt his heart, but he was here to do a job, and so he turned to Gracie.

  "If you'd like to step outside, we'll just—"

  Gracie stood her ground. "Thank you, I'll stay. Mama is past suffering indignities, but as long as she's still under this roof, she is my responsibility."

  Willis nodded. Gracie Dunham was obviously all business, and he admired a woman with grit.

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, and then began directing his helpers.

  Within a few minutes, they'd managed to get Delia's body onto the Gurney, covered up, and strapped down.

  "These are the clothes she wanted to be buried in," Gracie said, and handed him a paper bag with everything carefully folded up inside.

  Willis took the bag. "Yes, ma'am," he said, then they started through the house, going room by room, then out onto the porch and down the steps to the hearse.

  Gracie watched with an aching heart.

  Mama was gone from this house.

  Willis came back and handed her his card.

  "We'll let you know when the body is ready. We won't put her in a viewing room until you are satisfied with her appearance."

  "You have the casket she wanted?" Gracie asked.

  "Yes, ma'am, we do. Everything will be as she asked. We won't let either of you down." He paused, then added, "We'll need you to come in and sign some papers so we can set a date and time for the service."

  "I'll be in later today," Gracie said.

  "Yes, ma'am. Again, we are so sorry for your loss."

  Gracie watched from the porch as they loaded Delia up into the hearse. When they closed the doors, her gut knotted. She'd just given her mama up to strangers. Somehow, it all seemed so wrong, but she stayed on the porch, watching until they left the property, then went inside.