The Amazing Graces

By Darlene Shorey-Ensor

When your mother kills your father by running him over with her brand new Cadillac, it affects you for the rest of your life. It certainly shatters the lives of the "Amazing Graces" - Jacki, Jenny, Jules and Joey Grace. Their dad is dead, their mom goes to prison, the family home is sold and the girls are split up. Jacki, the eldest, is just sixteen. During their previous fun-filled existence, they never would have imagined that because of their mother's rage, their futures would include drug use, mental illness, sexual abuse, loss and betrayal. They blame their mother for it all, but scrape their way through and come out stronger. Only then are they ready to learn the ugly truth about their father and how strong their mother really is. The story is written in alternating first-person narratives by each of the sisters, and then, finally, their mother and is set against the back-drop of the San Francisco Bay Area during the turbulent 1960s. Similar to Harper's Lee "To Kill A Mockingbird, "The Amazing Graces" is a powerful and poignant story about children but it is not a children's story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darlene Shorey-Ensor
• Release date: Mar 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301170975

Book preview

The

Amazing Graces

A Novel by

Darlene Shorey-Ensor

Silverlining Press

Talent, Oregon

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781301170975

© Darlene Shorey-Ensor 2013

darleneshorey-ensor.com

This is a book of fiction. All characters, names and incidents are a either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance its characters may have to an actual person is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013932300

Cover Art & Book Design: Silverlining Designs

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgments

To the Haywire writing group of Ashland, Oregon, with special thanks to Leanne Zinkand and Cynthia Rogan, without whom this book would not have been possible (or is it who?).

And thanks to my parents, Bette and Wes Shorey, younger sister Deborah Roach and especially to my older sister, the poet and song-writer Deena Shorey, who wrote the wedding poem. Love you all.

1

Jennifer

On October 1, 1965, my mother plowed her brand new Cadillac into my father and his fiancée as they crossed the street in front of his office. Daddy died instantly. Leslie flew through the air, landed on her head, and passed away two days later.

My parents had split up a couple of years earlier, when I was 11. Dad found an apartment in town, near his law office. At first Mom said he just needed to be closer to work. But as the weeks passed, and she got more and more mad at Daddy, calling him a bastard all the time, my three sisters and I gradually figured out what was happening. A year later, he started dating a younger woman.

Leslie Tilson, who my mom called that skinny slut, was a paralegal in Dad’s office. In her late twenties, she was single but had a three-year-old son, Ben. When we first met her, the four of us vowed to rally against her and we snubbed her whenever we could. But the more we got to know Leslie, the more we began to like her, and we eventually came to adore her.

Mom had grown fat over the years. She always complained that she gained twenty pounds with each kid. But Les, who was slender, pretty and drove a little green MG seemed very chic to us. She and my dad were always fun to be around because they laughed a lot and never yelled at each other. We were much happier and had a lot more fun with them than at home with Mom. And Ben was the little brother we’d always wished for but never had. As his real dad was no longer in his life, we encouraged him to call our dad Pops which we found hilarious.

On the day my father died, they arrested Mom and charged her with murder. Dad and Leslie were well liked in the legal community, and people said they threw the book at Mom. Sentenced to twenty years in prison, she’d probably get out in ten, with good behavior.

So, there we were. Within a few short weeks, we lost our father, our mother was in prison, and we were four little girls, adrift.

* * *

When my father, Jeffrey Grace, married my mother, Janet, in 1948, they began popping out baby girls at the rate of one every three years. My older sister was named Jacqueline, which she was very proud of, because she thought it sounded sophisticated, like Jackie Kennedy. She looked nothing like the former First Lady, a fact I reminded her of repeatedly, just to make her mad. Usually, I called her Jacki, unless I was in the mood to bug her. Then I’d call her jack-off, an expression I heard from a kid at school. Of course that drove my parents up the wall, though I had no idea what it meant.

I showed up in 1952, three years after Jacki, and was named Jennifer, usually shortened to Jenny, or Jen. After three more years, Julie came along. Most of the time we called her Jules, or Ju, which sounded like Jew so, of course, we’d get yelled at if we called her that in public. Jules became the very bane of my existence, and after I heard that expression, whenever she provoked me, I called her Bane, which always made Daddy smile. The youngest of my sisters, Johanna, arrived three years after Julie. Johanna was a long name for a baby, so we just called her Joey, which irritated my mother to no end. The folks around our neighborhood referred to us as Jacki, Jen, Jules and Joey, or the Grace girls. We liked to call ourselves The Amazing Graces.

My dad, a successful tax attorney, worked in a law office in San Jose, California. We lived in a large, rambling house out in the country, in an area south of San Jose called New Almaden. My mom’s younger brother, Joe, and his wife, Sally—both school teachers—and their three sons lived twenty miles south of us, in Morgan Hill. Kevin was my age, and the twins, Michael and Matthew, were the same age as Joey. Our only cousins, we spent most holidays, vacations and weekends together, the seven of us splashing around in the pool in our backyard, laughing, yelling, fighting, singing and generally being silly.

The only problem I remember back then was the fighting between Mom and Dad, usually over money. My mom loved shopping. Like her younger brother, she’d been a schoolteacher before she started making babies, but quit her job to raise us kids. My father earned a good income, but complained a lot that he couldn’t keep up with Mom’s spending. We shopped for school clothes in the most expensive stores. Mom took us to Hawaii on vacation a couple of times, even though my dad had to work and couldn’t join us. And she went all-out on our birthdays and Christmas. We took tap and ballet classes, swimming and piano lessons, and got to go to a horseback riding camp over the summer. My girlfriends complained that my sisters and I were spoiled rotten.

* * *

The day of the accident, a Friday, I sat in my eighth grade English class, looking forward to the weekend because my best friend Sharon and I planned to go horseback riding at the local stable. As I focused on writing a book report, my teacher approached my desk, leaned down and whispered to me that I needed to report to the principal’s office, where my Uncle Joe was waiting. A short, bald man with broad shoulders, we used to tease him that he looked like the guy from the Mr. Clean commercials. He always wore a white T-shirt and white pants. That day, he didn’t seem too happy. In fact, my uncle wouldn’t even look at me.

I need to talk to you, Jennifer, he said softly. Let’s go sit in my car.

We walked out to his old, yellow Studebaker. On the way, I frantically tried to recall what I’d done that was so awful Uncle Joe would come to my school. Why not Mom or Dad?

We climbed into his car and sat in silence for a few minutes. I looked out the window and watched as gold and orange leaves swirled down from the trees, blown about by the wind. I started biting my fingernails which I did a lot back then. When he finally spoke, my uncle’s voice was crackly.

There’s been an accident, he said. I thought maybe Joey had fallen off the monkey bars again. She’d broken her arm the year before.

Your dad. He and Leslie were hit by a car earlier today. He didn’t make it…I’m sorry, honey, to have to tell you this. Your dad died this morning.

Daddy died? Those two words don’t even go together! Daddies don’t die. Your cats die. They get run over in the driveway all the time. You come out in the morning and find your pet lying stiff as a board on the cold ground. But your dad doesn’t get run over.

You’re joking, right? I asked.

No, I wish I were, Jen. And there’s one more thing. I don’t know any other way to say this. But… it was your mom. She hit them with her car… His voice trailed off into a sob. I’d never seen my uncle cry before. We sat there for a while, neither of us saying anything. Then he started the engine and we drove away slowly.

My mom hit my dad with the car? This can’t be real!

He continued: I didn’t want you to hear about it at school. Or on the radio. I’m taking you to our house. Jacki’s already there. Sal’s picking up the little ones. You’ll be staying with us for now.

There’s no room at your house, was all I could think to say. Uncle Joe and Aunt Sally lived in a small, three-bedroom house, barely big enough for the five of them. Where would we sleep?

We drove the twenty miles to Morgan Hill without speaking. I kept thinking any minute he was going to say April Fool! even though it was October. At thirteen, I knew he wouldn’t come to school to play a joke on me, but I kept hoping he was kidding.

When we got to the house, I walked through the front door and into the kitchen. Aunt Sally was making something on the stove. I smelled the rich scent of garlic bread in the oven. To this day, that smell still makes me sick. Julie, Joey and the twins all sat around the table, eating spaghetti. Everyone was quiet, watching me.

Where’s Jacki? I asked.

In Kevin’s room, Aunt Sally answered, her eyes red and swollen.

I walked down the hallway and opened the door. Jacki, lying face down on Kevin’s twin bed, turned over and sat up, wiping her eyes. Used Kleenex lay scattered all over the bed.

That bitch! she said.

Who? I asked, momentarily confused. Jacki almost never swore.

Mom, of course, you ninny! she said, blowing her nose into a tissue. She ran Daddy over with her car!

"Well, it must have been on accident, I protested. Maybe her foot slipped off the brake. She wouldn’t do it on purpose!"

Don’t be a spaz, Jen. Of course she did it on purpose. She’s already in jail!

Whenever Jacki was upset, she had a tendency to take it out on me. But seeing her in tears set me off. I started wailing. I don’t think I even understood the enormity of the situation, but seeing my older sister cry was too much. We held each other close and wept.

We cried a lot over the next couple of days, and even more when the news came that Leslie had died. Jules, always hysterical about everything, would sometimes be laughing and then burst into tears. She kept saying, We’re almost orphans now! Joey cried when she saw us crying, but at seven, she was just happy with all of us being together. She kept asking when Mom was coming home from jail, until Jules socked her hard on the arm and she stopped. I thought constantly about little Ben. Would he even remember his mother?

For the first few days, we stayed home from school. It was kind of an adventure, sleeping on mattresses shoved together in the family room. I wanted to tell my friends everything that was going on, but Aunt Sally made me stay off the phone because a lot of people were calling the house. I worried about our cat, Pookey, who was still at home, alone. They said our neighbors were feeding her.

One afternoon, while sitting alone in the living room, desperately wishing I had my cat there to comfort me, I started weeping. Aunt Sally saw me and asked, What’s wrong, honey?

I miss Pookey, I sobbed.

Oh, for crying out loud! she said. He’s just a damn cat!

I know now that my normally sweet aunt must have been feeling overwhelmed at that time to say such a mean thing to me, but I resented that remark for years.

At night, after everyone was asleep, I lay on my mattress, thinking about Mom being in jail. I really missed her a lot. I tried to imagine what it was like in jail. I wondered if she was missing us. I tried not to think about Daddy, but images of him lying in the road kept creeping into my mind. What’s it feel like, to get run over by a car? Did he know it was Mom who hit him? I thought a lot about Leslie, too. And sobbed myself to sleep.

It was hard with all of us living in my uncle’s house. My Aunt Sally, a short, chubby woman with prematurely graying hair, was usually pretty cheerful and used to make us laugh a lot. And she’d do this thing where, when she laughed, she inhaled through her nose, causing her to snort like a pig. Every time she’d do it, we’d all start laughing and imitating her. That would embarrass her and make her snort even more. One time, she actually laughed so hard she peed, right there on the kitchen floor.

But during the weeks after my father’s death, she wasn’t in a very good mood. One afternoon, Matt was fighting with Joey over a yo-yo when Jacki snatched it out of his hand and gave it to Joey. He stormed off, mad, and called back to us, So what? Your dad’s dead and your mom’s in jail!

As he walked by, I shoved him hard, knocking him into the wall. He ran crying to his mother, his little face distorted with rage. She came out of the kitchen, yelling at me.

I pushed him because he was talking bad about my mom! I defended myself.

I don’t want you pushing him! Aunt Sally yelled at me.

I didn’t! I shot back.

She stormed into the kitchen and was angry all night, not speaking to anyone.

"You’re such a little ratfink!’ Jacki said to Matt.

The memorial service for my father was held four days later. My aunt and uncle decided against an open casket because it would be too hard on us kids. Uncle Joe suggested we pick out a song to sing during the service, because Daddy loved it when the four of us sang together. Jacki had started playing the guitar a few years earlier, and she strummed along as we sang. Sometimes, the four of us stood in front of the big mirror in my parents’ bedroom, singing folk songs. We liked to pretend we were on the Ed Sullivan show.

Jules thought about it for a while and then offered up, What about ‘Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley’?

You moron! I yelled. That’s about a guy getting hanged for killing someone. How could you even suggest it? Everyone will think we’re singing about Mom!

Oh, she said.

I know! I know! Joey broke in. Can we sing the song from the Beverly Hillbillies? It was her favorite song. She started singing, Come and listen to the story ’bout a man named Jed…

You’re a bunch of retards! Jacki yelled. We eventually decided to sing ‘Kumbaya,’ except Jules kept singing it her way: Someone’s farting, Lord, kumbaya, and we decided to drop the whole idea.

I don’t remember much about the funeral except riding in the limo, which was fun. Lots of people I didn’t know came up to talk to us about what a fine man Daddy was. Afterward, his law partner, Norman Green, and wife Deena invited everyone to a gathering at their home, where a huge buffet of food sat waiting for us. It seemed silly to me.

Isn’t it ironical? I whispered to Jacki. Everyone brings food at a time when you’re not hungry at all. ‘Uncle Pete died? Okay, have a tamale!’

That night, after everyone was asleep, Jacki and I laid on our mattresses, talking about the funeral. She suddenly said, I wonder if we should have sung the Beverly Hillbillies song. Somehow it struck both of us as funny and we started giggling, and then laughing, louder and louder. Finally, Uncle Joe had to get up and tell us to quiet down. I’m still amazed that sometimes, in the midst of overwhelming grief, we could find something to laugh about.

The days following the service were hectic, with Uncle Joe making arrangements for Mom’s legal defense and Aunt Sally trying to manage us kids. They both took a short leave of absence from work. Jacki, angry and in tears a lot, upset the younger kids and got them crying, so she went to stay with our Aunt Mimi, a friend of Mom’s from college. I think she spent a couple of weeks there. I overheard my aunt and uncle talking in low tones about having her seeing some kind of doctor, a psychiatrist, I guess, but eventually she came back and seemed better, although quiet and sad most of the time. And absolutely determined she’d have nothing to do with my mother.

You go see her if you want to, she said to me one day. I don’t care what you do. But I’m never going to talk to her again. She can rot in hell, for all I care!

My feelings were mixed. I sometimes raged at Mom and hated her for what she did. But I also wanted her home, taking care of us. I wanted us all back together again. She ruined everything with her lousy temper. But even surrounded by all my siblings and cousins, something big was missing. It was my mom, and I needed her.

2

My parents met in college at San Jose State. They say opposites attract, which was definitely true for them. My dad was tall, slender, and handsome, but a little on the serious side. His own father died when Dad was four and his younger brother, Kenny, was still an infant. When Dad was ten, his mother married an alcoholic, and soon she started drinking, too. Their stormy marriage lasted only a couple of years before his stepfather died of a heart attack. Daddy graduated from high school and attended San Jose State, majoring in law. His mother still drank a lot and developed diabetes. She died while he was in college. Kenny moved up to San Francisco and he started drinking heavily and we never heard from him much.

Daddy met Mom at a party one night. He told me once, She absolutely knocked my socks off!

Janet Sutherlin was a beautiful blonde bombshell, Dad said. Highly energetic, outgoing and vivacious are words people used to describe my mother. She and Uncle Joe came from a wealthy family and wanted for nothing, my grandparents having made money from real estate. Headstrong and determined, when she met my dad, she decided right away that she would marry him. They dated off and on during college and broke up several times because he was too serious for her. Mom wanted to party and have fun and wasn’t interested in studying. She planned to marry a rich guy and didn’t see that she’d be using her college degree in the future.

Daddy must have had some reservations about marrying her, because they obviously had nothing common. But she was beautiful and sexy, even if she was quite a handful, as he described her later. They got married after he graduated from law school and, a year later, Jacki was born.

My oldest sister takes after my mother physically, more than the rest of us. She inherited Mom’s thick blonde hair, big blue eyes and curvy body. People used to say my sister looked like the actress Tuesday Weld. Even as young girl, I noticed that everywhere we went, guys looked at Jacki and commented on how pretty she was. She always turned a lot of heads. But she had Daddy’s personality—quiet, introspective, and serious.

I used to complain that I got the leftovers. Skinny like Daddy was when he was young, I also ended up with his, thin, mousy brown hair. I did inherit his green eyes and his intelligence, but the boys didn’t care about that. As the only sister who wore glasses, and the only one with braces on my teeth, I often felt that life wasn’t fair.

My sister Jules was the exotic-looking one. With her light brown, curly hair and sharp features, I would often hear her described as alluring. I asked Mom one day, So who’s Julie’s father, anyway? and she just laughed. Jules is the one who ended up with my mother’s personality. Short-tempered, always flying off the handle, and a total pain in the butt. It seems like I spent my entire childhood either trying to irritate her or trying to get away from her.

And Johanna, the baby, was the only one who seemed to inherit parts of both my parents. Pretty, like Mom, her soft features, fair skin and golden blond hair always made her look younger than she was. Unlike the rest of us, she had a tendency toward plumpness. But her gentleness and good-nature came directly from Dad. I was six when she was born, and even though I was bitterly disappointed she was a girl when I desperately wanted a baby brother, I loved her instantly and tried to mother her. It was me who started calling her Joey, against my mother’s wishes, but everyone liked it, and the name stuck. I fiercely protected her, and when I thought Jules was picking on her in any way, I jumped in and pounded her into the ground. Then one of my parents or Jacki would have to pull me off, and we’d both get grounded.

Never one to be intentionally cruel, my dad, as a young parent, didn’t realize how sticking labels on his kids could hurt. He referred to Jacki as The Pretty One, he called me his Smart Girl, Jules was the Rebel, and Joey was The Sweet One, or his Sunshine Girl. I hated those references. I never told him, but I always wished I could be the Pretty One, or the Sunshine Girl.

In spite of the labels, I knew both my parents loved me, but I always had a special relationship with my dad. He introduced me to reading, and gave me my favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird. After I read it, I decided I’d name my first child Scout, after the main character.

When I was only ten, I read Lord of the Flies and was deeply disturbed by it. I remember sitting in the den with Daddy, talking to him about the book.

I don’t understand the part where the pig’s head is talking, I complained. Pigs don’t talk. Especially if their head is stuck on top of a stick.

Well, Daddy said, I think he was talking symbolically.

I thought for a moment. Then I still don’t get it. I think I’ll write to the author and ask him about it. Do you know where I could get his address?

My father smiled and said he’d help me find it. He always encouraged me to write and said I could be a famous writer when I grew up if I wanted. I said I hoped to be a lawyer because I thought he’d like to hear that. But it was a lie. I really wanted to be a jockey or a cowboy.

Daddy also taught me to play chess, although I didn’t really enjoy it that much. I preferred checkers or Candyland, but I loved spending time alone with him when we played. He was a busy man, with a thriving law practice, a demanding wife, even more demanding daughters and an occasional round of golf—so any time I got alone with him was special. I was good in school, mainly because I knew it pleased him. Being with him meant a lot to me, and I loved the times when I could make him laugh.

My mom was unpredictable. At times, my girlfriends thought she was the perfect mother. Generous and fun-loving, she’d pick us up after school, take us clothes shopping, and buy us candy and records. Every year, on our birthdays, she’d allow my sisters and I to completely redecorate our bedrooms. One year, I did my room in a cowboy theme, with pictures of horses on the wall. Jules picked poodles, Joey’s room had ballerinas, and Jacki chose butterflies.

As we got older, our parents fought more and more over money. One day Jacki pulled me aside just before my eleventh birthday.

We should tell Mom we don’t want to change our rooms this year, she said.

But why? I argued. I’m tired of my room, I want unicorns next.

Because we can’t afford it. I heard Daddy say we’re up to our eyeballs in debt. Mom spends too much money.

Well this was news to me. I didn’t know anything about being in debt. But I grudgingly agreed to her plan. Later that year, when Jules changed her room to bunny rabbits, and Joey got bumblebees, I seethed with jealousy.

As I look back on it now, my mother was starting to have some pretty serious mood swings back then. One minute, she’d be laughing and planning a party or a vacation; the next, she’d be yelling and swearing. One time she went into Jacki’s room and broke all of her Beatles albums in half, not an easy thing to do. Another time, when she was mad at my dad, she picked up his suits from the cleaners and threw them in the pool. This only happened maybe once a month, although Jacki would tell you it was more often. You never knew when Mom was going to go off, but I think, as kids, we were relieved that most of her anger was focused on Daddy.

Growing up with parents who were constantly fighting didn’t seem unusual to us. I just assumed that was how families were. We were focused on so many other things; none of us spent much time dwelling on the constant bickering. We simply never realized the depth of Mom’s anger, especially after Daddy left and took up with Leslie.

But Jacki, the eldest, knew there was something wrong with Mom, and often called her crazy or psycho. One time Mom overheard Jacki call her that, and she stopped cooking for us for a week. The tension grew worse between Mom and Jacki after that, but it might have been because Jacki, being a teenager, was into dating boys, driving around with friends and wanting more freedom. She’d always been closer to Daddy anyway, which I think made Mom jealous. And Mom’s jealousy was a thing to be reckoned with.

* * *

After the tragic event, we stayed out of school for two weeks. My sisters and I constantly pestered Uncle Joe with questions. Where were we going to live until Mom came home? When were we going back to school? Who was feeding Pookey? When could we visit Mom? Finally he’d had enough and said he’d give all the information to Jacki, and she would share it with us. It was obvious we couldn’t stay out of school any longer.

Uncle Joe decided to move us back to our house in Almaden until after the trial. He and Aunt Mimi would take turns staying with us. Aunt Sal would be at her place with the boys. We couldn’t wait to go back home, not really thinking about whether it was a good plan or not. We just wanted to get back to our own house, sleep in our own rooms, and, hopefully, get back to normal.

But walking into the house for the first time since the accident felt funny. It was like everything had changed, and yet it looked exactly the same. Pookey was skinnier but he was happy to see us.

That night, Jacki and I stayed up late. I washed my hair and she set it in rollers for me so that it would look nice on my first day back at school.

Jacki, can I ask you something?

Sure.

Do you miss Mom?

She ignored the question for a while. Then she said, Well, of course I do. But I’m never going to forgive her. She ruined our lives, as far as I’m concerned. Just because she was jealous…

Jacki’s voice started to crack, so I let it drop for a moment. She continued to divide my wet hair with a comb, wrap up a section in the curler and hold it in place with a bobby pin.

Do you think they’ll really send her to prison? I asked.

Well, she did kill two people, dope. What do you think? she answered.

So we’ll end up living at Uncle Joe’s? Will we have to change schools?

I don’t think they want us there. There’s no room. Besides, they already have a family.

But where else would we go? I persisted.

Jeez, I don’t know. They called Uncle Kenny. He lives New York now, and it sounds like he can’t take us. Nana and Papa are in a nursing home. They’re both going senile and all their money’s gone, anyway. I don’t know…

I wonder what happened to Leslie’s car, I mused.

Yeah, that’s something we need to think about, she responded sarcastically. I really worry about little Ben. I wonder who’s taking care of him now.

"You know what scares