Saving Grace

By Ann Grant

The closest to being in control we’ll ever be is that moment when we realize...we're not.

Grace Pearson is a wife, mother, lawyer. She’s smart and funny, strong and independent. And maybe a little neurotic. She has it all—except nobody told her having it all would be so hard. All she wants is a little more help from her husband, a little more time for them to have sex, and a little more respect from her mother. She also likes to worry. It gives her a feeling of control. After all, if you worry about something enough, it won’t happen—right?

Grace’s husband Rob teaches Phys. Ed., plays hockey with the guys and has fun with their kids. He’s a great dad and a faithful husband, but he’s not good with money and not exactly diligent about helping out with household duties. When Grace falls down the stairs and breaks her arm, he has to step up and take responsibility for their family.

After her fall, Grace worries there’s something terribly wrong with her that the doctors have missed. She worries that she’ll be disabled for the rest of her life. The one thing she doesn’t worry about, the thing that sneaks up on her, is her marriage falling apart. When Grace goes from having it all to losing it all, she has to look deep inside herself for the strength to fight to get her life back the way it was. But does she really want her life back the way it was?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Grant
• Release date: Jun 9, 2012

Book preview

My fall from grace wasn’t a loss of innocence. It wasn’t a story of disobedience or expulsion or even sin. It wasn’t an epic event or even anything metaphorically momentous. It was a stupid, careless literal slip and fall, and it was the best thing that could have happened to me.

I know that sounds weird. Of course I didn’t realize that right away. It was a long painful journey before I came to know that truth.

The day it happened, we were in our usual rush to get the kids to school and get to work, packing bags, making lunches. I had to race upstairs to change because I’d gotten peanut butter on the sleeve of my blouse, and when I flicked on the light, the last two light bulbs popped in the upstairs hall. Shit.

I couldn’t see through the inky darkness, and I cursed my husband as I felt my way along the wall. Damn, Rob, why couldn’t you have replaced those bulbs before all of them went? Then I sighed. I was perfectly capable of changing a bulb. I could have done it just as easily as him, but I hadn’t either. The thing was, just because I could do everything, didn’t mean I should have to do everything. But I did do everything.

Pressure building inside me, I zipped back downstairs and found the bulbs in the cupboard even though I was running late, and ran back up to change them. I couldn’t quite reach the light fixture where it extended over the stairs, so I climbed onto the banister and was standing there in my stocking feet trying to twist the bulb into place when one foot slipped. I wobbled. My stomach lurched, and a flash of adrenaline heated my veins. Nothing to grab but air. It seemed to take a long time, thoughts racing through my head as I teetered... back...and...forth. I was going to get my balance. I was going to fall backward onto the floor. And then with a screech, I toppled over the banister and onto the stairs.

I hit the stairs with my right hand extended, the light bulb still clutched in my hand, and I actually felt the snap in my wrist along with the crunch of glass. A shaft of exquisite pain tore through my body. My right hip connected with one step and my shoulder smacked the one above it, more pain ricocheting through me. My fingers dug into the carpet to try to keep myself from tumbling all the way down, but there wasn’t enough to get hold of, and again in slow motion, I rolled ass over teacart, as Rob’s dad would say, down the stairs, landing in a heap on the floor at the bottom. I cracked my head hard on the wall at the bottom of the stairs and lay there in a daze.

I might have lost consciousness actually, because it almost seemed like I went to sleep and woke up with my son Michael calling, Dad! Dad! Come quick, Mommy’s dead!

Part I

Grace under Pressure

Chapter One

The week that led up to my fall was a week from hell. A stressed-out, stretched-thin, head-banging week from hell. Okay, it wasn’t that different than any other week. If you are a mother who also works outside the home, I don’t have to tell you how busy and stressful life can be, but I’m telling you about this particular week so you’ll understand how far I truly plunged when I took that fall.

Rob and I have three children, and our life is a constant juggling act, a never-ending attempt to keep multiple balls in the air without one of them crashing down.

Saturday morning the alarm went off at six-thirty because our older son, Matthew, had to be at the hockey rink by seven-thirty. Rob and I rolled toward each other in the middle of the bed, and eyed each other through bleary eyes. What happened to the days when we could sleep in on weekends? I mumbled. One corner of Rob’s mouth kicked up.

Gone, he said. He’s much better at talking in the morning than I am. I need about a gallon of coffee to get my brain and mouth to coordinate. "That’s what happens when you have kids.’

Gone, along with so many other things. But yet, replaced with so much too – joyful laughter, expansive pride, boundless love. Sometimes I just felt like I was too busy to enjoy everything I was so blessed with. Like I was running on a treadmill, heart hammering, out of breath, but getting...where, exactly?

We rolled out of bed and into weekend clothes, the kids already waking on their own. No alarm clocks necessary for them.

I’ll take Matt, Rob said, lugging Matt’s hockey bag to the back door once we’d shoved breakfast into the kids and poured coffee into ourselves. And I’ll bring him home. You’ll have to take Michael with you when you take Kaley to ballet class.

I nodded, following along behind him with Matt’s hockey stick. Okay. Keeping Michael entertained for an hour while Kaley did ballet would be challenging, but I’d done it before. Then I’ll take them both with me to do the grocery shopping. Michael has a birthday party at noon. I slammed my hand against my forehead. Shit. I forgot to get a present. Okay. I quickly regrouped. Maybe I can find something at SuperValu. I’ll have to get wrapping paper and a card, too. Oh yeah, that would be a great birthday present. Oh well.

What time will you be home? Rob asked with a frown. Because my junior basketball team is playing at one o’clock, and I have to be there around noon.

I stared at him in dismay. Rob loves his job as a high school physical education teacher, and he also coaches the boys’ basketball teams. I vaguely remembered him telling me there was a tournament this weekend. Noon? I can’t be home by noon. Michael’s party starts at noon.

What’ll I do with Matt until you get home, then? That feeling of panic clawing its way up from my gut started again. It was getting to be very familiar. I twisted a strand of my hair around my index finger. Bring him to the grocery store. Phone my cell phone and we’ll meet up somewhere. You’ll have to have him there by eleven-thirty. He can come with me to drop Michael off. What time will you be home?

Not until about six.

Six! He was going to be gone all afternoon! Again. Weariness rolled over me, weighing me down like a water-logged blanket. Okay. Okay. That’s okay. I pick Michael up at three o’clock. I’ll just have to drag Matt and Kaley with me. I’ll try to get some laundry done while we’re home.

It took all weekend to do all the laundry because every time we went out I turned the dryer off. Supposedly it was safe to leave it going when we went out, but I just couldn’t do it. After I’d heard about lint traps catching on fire, I would never leave the dryer going when we weren’t home. Actually, I’d heard about lint traps catching on fire even when the dryer wasn’t going, and I’ll tell you, that really gave me some sleepless nights for a while. For about a week after that, I woke up every night, sniffing the air for any whiff of smoke.

I estimate a trip to the supermarket with the kids adds about fifty dollars to the grocery bill. On my own I can zip up and down those aisles pretty efficiently, scooping up what’s on my list, but when the kids are with me, they want every candy cereal they see advertised on TV, every tooth-decaying fruit rollup, and mega-size boxes of ice cream treats. I was getting tired of telling them to put things back on the shelf, sick of the refrain of no, no, no.

Then I spotted Kaley in front of a huge display of canned tomatoes. You know the ones they pile up in a pyramid shape that are just begging to be knocked over by someone’s cart? Well, she was about to remove a can from near the bottom. My heart lurched to a stop. I left the cart and dashed over to grab her.

Kaley, no! Don’t do that, sweetheart!

She turned her innocent eyes and sweet smile on me. She was so angelic and cute with her silky blonde hair and big blue eyes. It’s like Jenga, she said. I just wanted to see if it would fall over.

I held in my smile. Let’s not try it, okay? I led her by the hand back to the cart. Where did Michael go? I scanned the store as I pushed the cart.

I still didn’t see Michael. My pulse kicked up a notch. Oh God, where did he go? Either he was getting into trouble somewhere or someone had abducted him. It was one of those times where I didn’t know whether to be mad at him when I found him, or deeply, bone-meltingly relieved that he was okay. If I found him.

Excuse me! Lady! That’s my cart!

A hand reached out and grabbed the handle of my cart, shoving me aside. Hey! I was startled out of my worry about Michael. A woman glared at me, very well-groomed with funky glasses, stylish blonde hair and an expensive looking coat.

"That’s my cart, she repeated, a scowl furrowing her brow. And my purse. What the hell are you doing?"

I looked down and sure enough, that wasn’t my Coach purse sitting there. Oh. Dear. God.

Mortification heated my face. I’m so sorry! I gasped, backing away. Sorry, sorry. I thought that was my cart.

She jerked on the handle of the cart, gave a huff, and continued down the aisle.

I grabbed Kaley’s hand again and hurried away. The other shoppers in the aisle eyed me with amused interest, and I wanted to run right out of the store, leaving my full cart behind. Oh thank God, there was Michael. And my cell phone was ringing.

It was Rob, waiting at the front entrance of the store with Matt.

Mommy tried to steal a lady’s purse, Kaley piped up when we met up with him. He lifted a brow as he looked at me, and my face heated again.

I grinned and shrugged. Didn’t get away with it, though. And it was a nice purse, too. Coach. He stared at me. Just kidding. I accidentally took the wrong cart.

Ah. His mouth twitched. That happens to everyone. Don’t worry about it.

It does happen to everyone, so that lady could have been a little nicer about it. That squirmy uncomfortable feeling bugged me for the rest of the day.

Anyway. That’s how that day played out. By the time Rob got home (much past six, I should add) the kids had already eaten dinner and I’d finished off the remainder of their macaroni and cheese. I was tired (as usual) but Rob was hungry so I made him more mac and cheese while he got Kaley, the youngest, ready for bed. Of course, that left the two boys alone for a while, and when I went into the family room to see what they were doing, I discovered Lego pieces strewn from one corner of the room to the other.

Oh, my…goodness, I said, standing in the doorway. What are you two building?

I’m building a Zamboni, Michael said, not looking up.

Ah.

And I’m building a robot! It’s gonna be awesome! Matthew upended another pail of Lego bricks, and they clattered into a pile on the floor.

Wait! I cried. Do you really need all those pieces?

They looked up at me. Yeah.

Frustration mounted in me, almost choking me. But it’s almost bedtime, guys. I tried to remain calm. Who’s going to clean all this up?

We will.

But I knew they wouldn’t. If I ever wanted to see the floor of that room again, it would be me down on my hands and knees picking up all those colorful little bricks.

Rob ate his dinner in front of the television, oblivious to the Lego explosion, while I moved one load of laundry to the dryer and started another in the washing machine.

Okay, guys, bedtime, I said, returning. Pick those things up now.

But we just started!

I knew that was coming. Ten minutes. I collapsed on the couch beside Rob. He put his arm around me and pulled me in for a hug.

I watched my two boys, so close in age and size, although built differently―Matt slender, Michael more solid ― both with blond hair that had darkened from the white-blond they’d been born with. I sighed and leaned on Rob for a minute, wanting to just sink into the warmth of his body, my mind saying I’m done, I’m done, but I still had dishes to do in the kitchen, and I was gearing up for the usual bedtime fight ritual. WWE Raw, live at the Pearson home.

Neither of the boys liked going to bed. They were so close in age, nine and eight, it was almost like having twins. They thought alike, acted alike, and knew how to push my buttons equally well. They were masters of the stall technique, and while sometimes I actually admired their creativity in coming up with excuses not to go to bed, most of the time it drove me crazy.

I was usually pretty good at handling it, unless I was really stressed or really tired. Lately I was really stressed and really tired all the time, so my tolerance wasn’t its normal level, and it wasn’t long before I was screaming at them to stop the fooling around and get into bed.

Shh! Rob poked his head into the bedroom, as usual trying to act as a buffer. You’ll wake up Kaley.

Damn. Please, guys, I begged, softening my voice. I’m so tired. Please go to bed.

Pressure behind my eyes grew, and tears stung the corners of them. But the screaming had scared them. I was happy about that, though, because the day they ignored my screaming was the day I had totally lost control of them, but I hated myself for losing it like that. I didn’t want to be a screaming witch mom. I didn’t. I really, really didn’t.

They finally settled down, and I shuffled into our bedroom to lie down. If one of us didn’t stay upstairs with them until they were asleep, no telling what they’d do. I lay there beating myself up with jabs and punches like, You’re the worst mom in the world, and How could you yell at them like that?, feeling like all that emotion had sucked every particle of energy out of my body.

Of course I fell asleep myself. That often happens on Saturday nights. Rob woke me up awhile later, wide awake and ready to party. Are you coming down? he asked. I poured you a glass of wine.

I blinked at him with gritty eyes. This was often the only time we had alone together, Friday or Saturday night after the kids were in bed. I know Rob was hoping that if I had a glass of wine I’d start feeling frisky and energetic and we’d have sex.

Dream on.

I dragged my body downstairs, yawning, and sat down with him with my glass of wine. We watched a rerun of Law and Order. Rob poured me another glass of wine, and I relaxed, and my body softened and mellowed. Next thing I knew he was waking me up again.

He was annoyed, but he was trying to hide it. I knew he wanted sex, so I crawled into bed beside him, let him kiss my neck and shoulders, then my breasts. When he closed his mouth around one nipple and tugged, I felt a little frisson of something. A very tiny frisson. I moaned a little so he’d know I was awake, and he moved to the other breast, cupping it and sucking on my nipple. Then he was sliding down my body to give me oral sex.

How on earth did he think I could be ready that fast? But whatever. I spread my legs, made some gasping and moaning noises while he licked me, and after a few minutes, it did feel good. I wanted to come, but (if only Rob knew) the alcohol made me numb.

Some people think alcohol is an aphrodisiac. Maybe it is for some people. Maybe it just loosens up the inhibitions or maybe it does help them get turned on, I don’t know. For me, it just kills whatever excitement I might have felt. If I work really hard, I can have an orgasm if I’m drunk, but most of the time, it just doesn’t seem worth the effort. I was so tired.

So I faked it.

Then Rob climbed on top of me and pushed inside me, rocking and groaning his way to his own orgasm, which he didn’t have to fake.

Love you, Grace, he murmured into my hair.

Mmm. Love you, too.

I love my husband, I really do. But I was so tired. I think I was asleep before he even moved off me.

Chapter Two

Sunday morning was Michael’s turn to play hockey. Actually it was just a practice, and it wasn’t until nine o’clock, so we had more time because Kaley was up at seven. I made the kids pancakes for breakfast, shaping them into big Ms for Matt and Michael and a big K for Kaley. I loved their smiles when they saw the big letters, and something in my chest expanded, warm and soft.

I wanted to watch Michael practice, too, so we all went to the rink. Both boys are good little hockey players, and even though I worry about them getting hurt, a warm pride always fills me when I watch them. At that age there’s no body checking, but still, accidents happen. I heard in the news about a boy who got hit in the chest with a puck and his heart stopped. It just stopped. And he died. Unbelievable. Then there was the kid whose throat got sliced by a skate blade when he was down on the ice. It’s really a dangerous sport. So the practices are more fun for me to watch than actual games.

We sat there in the chilly rink, inhaling the scent of sweat and frost along with the steaming coffee from the paper cups clasped in our mittened hands, scarves wrapped up under our chins. The scratch of skate blades on the ice mingled with the coach’s voice and the crack of wooden sticks on the puck, all echoing around the arena in a hollow medley.

Both boys get their athleticism from their father, who is good at pretty much every sport known to man. Hence the physical education career. Rob even still plays hockey in a league for old guys once a week in the winter.

*****

The first time I went to one of Rob’s hockey games, we’d been going out for about a month, and I really liked him. I mean, really liked him ― on the edge and starting to slide into love. We were both twenty-four, both in college at the time. He was graduating that year but I still had a year to go in law school. He was a big jock, but a smart jock, which appealed to me. He was so much fun to be with ― he loved playing around, laughing a lot, enjoying life.

When he asked me to come watch him play hockey one night, I was curious. I wasn’t prepared for how turned on I got watching Rob play.

I found it so incredibly sexy, so masculine, so physical. Rob is six feet tall and a big, muscular guy, but when he came to the boards to talk to me just before the game started, he seemed more like seven feet tall on his skate blades, and with all that padding and equipment, he was huge.

I watched him play with pride, wishing that everyone in the arena knew I was his girlfriend. He was one of the best players on the college team, the team captain. I was so impressed when he argued with the referee over a call, staying cool and controlled. Of course he didn’t convince the ref to change his mind, that doesn’t happen, but he did a good job of looking after his guys.

I almost burst when he scored a goal, jumping to my feet and cheering along with everyone else. Maybe it was at that moment that I fell over that edge from liking him to falling in love with him. Maybe that seems shallow, to fall in love with someone just because he’s a good hockey player. But it was more than that, although I don’t know if I can really explain it. It was seeing him do something he was so good at, so effortlessly talented, so graceful on his skates, so dominating on the ice. And, like I said, I was so turned on I couldn’t wait to be alone with him after the game.

Then Rob got in a fight. With my heart choking me in my throat, I watched him punching away at some goon on the other team, a huge guy who dropped his gloves and started hammering back at Rob. I sat there on the edge of my seat, afraid to breathe, until the ref split them up and sent them to the penalty boxes.

I watched in horror as the trainer helped Rob stop his nose from bleeding, and the rest of the game I sat twisting a strand of hair around my index finger over and over again. Maybe that was when I fell in love with him.

After the game, I waited for Rob at the front doors of the small arena. I smiled at three other girls waiting as well. Were they waiting for their boyfriends, too? Or were they groupies, puck bunnies, as I’d heard them referred to? I eyed them, hunched my shoulders into my puffy down jacket and shoved my hands into my pockets. They better not be waiting for my boyfriend.

When Rob came out with three other guys, they were all laughing and slapping him on the back, his dark brown hair still damp from his shower, his square-jawed face sporting a few marks, but also a huge grin. They’d even won the game, so he was in a great mood.

Once again I was turned on by the display of masculine camaraderie and physicality. The way his team mates looked up to him told me he wasn’t just a dumb jock, or a big kid playing a game. He was a leader. He was a man. I knew at that moment we were going to have sex that night, for the first time.

We went out for pizza and beer after the game. We sat in a booth and basically had foreplay for an hour. We held hands and played with each other’s fingers, leaned across the small table to kiss. I slipped off my shoe and put my foot on his crotch, feeling his hard-on with my toes, watching his face flush and his eyes grow hot. Then we went back to his dorm room.

Where’s Joey? I murmured as we walked into the room. Rob carefully shut the door behind him. Joey was his roommate.

Gone. He went home for the weekend. His eyes met mine steadily.

This was going to be the night we finally did it. Our make-out sessions had been heating up to the point of combustion, and after watching him play hockey, I was on fire for him, heat radiating from a tight, achy knot of need deep inside me.

The power emanating from his body, intensified tonight after having seen him all alpha and dominant, taking charge of his team and then beating the crap out of another guy, astonished me. I know, I know, shallow and sadistic of me. Believe me, it wasn’t the violence that turned me on,