Seven Days of Grace

By Alicia Howie

The most pressing issue in Kathryn's life is her husband's new girlfriend. The last thing she wants to do in the middle of her divorce is go to her hometown to confront family skeletons. But, this particular skeleton has a name, Grace, and Grace is the only living person who has the answer to a question that has haunted Kathryn for nearly her entire life. Why are her parents dead? Why did Grace murder them? It’s been nearly 40 years since that fateful night. Kathryn has never met Grace, and now time is running out. Grace is dying and Kathryn has only a few days to get her answer. She comes face to face with the murderer to ask the question, “Why?”

The revelations will forever change her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alicia Howie
• Release date: Nov 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310020513

Alicia Howie

Alicia Howie is from Danville, Illinois. While enrolled in a Fantasy and Mythology course at Danville Area Community College, a few wayward characters rooted into her psyche and the only way to get them out was to tell their story. She’s been writing ever since, a passion that continues to send her on interesting adventures, including a trip to Brazil. Alicia currently lives in Colorado Springs surrounded by her many friends. Of course, her family and friends in Danville are forever in her heart and never far from her thoughts. ∞

Book preview

Seven Days of Grace

Alicia Howie

Copyright 2014 Alicia Howie

Smashwords Edition

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 and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book, its contents, and its characters are the sole property of Alicia Howie. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without written, express permission from the author. To do so without permission is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Cover Image by JC Davis Photo

Cover Design by Davis Creative

Interior Design by Ian Thomas Healy

This book is dedicated to my Grandparents

Gramms, Grandpa Phil, Grandma Shirley, Grandpa Billy, and Grandma Sheila

Also for all those I’ve loved and lost

to their next great adventure.

∞

"Go Confidently in the direction of your dreams!

Live the life you’ve imagined."

–Henry David Thoreau

At the start of every writing adventure, I transcribe

the above quote. It’s only fitting that it be here for my first published work.

May you too live the life you’ve imagined.

A Special Thanks to:

My Family

Especially Mom, Dad, Kalie, Kelsey, and Phillip

Scott Summerville, Matt Sautter, Hillary Gale, and Ross Willard for their friendship and confidence in me.

Becky, Jon, and Corey Davis for their combined efforts to help me wrap my words in a beautiful cover.

Eileen and Jackie for offering their home for the cover shoot and ordering pizza and making an evening of it.

Kelly Cunningham for always asking me what happens next and inspiring me to keep writing.

Dawn Smit Miller for editing, proofing, and assisting in polishing up this second edition.

To all those who have read my stories and offered opinions and encouragement. I write for all of you. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Finally, a very special thanks to

Christopher Andy Williams

The man who inspired the term getaway sticks.

Thanks for the memories. You are missed.

Table of Contents

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

Monday

I was in the middle of pouring my morning shot of cranberry juice when Alanis Morisette belted You Oughta Know out of my cell phone. Yeah, angry scorned women like to listen to music for angry scorned women. That ringtone was so popular with me at the time that it was the same no matter who called.

Hello?

Good morning, Kathryn. My uncle Tony didn’t sound his normal cheery self.

What’s wrong? I asked, expecting something ordinary. Like, I have a bit of a cold. Unfortunately, I wasn’t that lucky.

It’s Grace, he said. She’s dying.

No prelude, just the straight shit. The words dropped into my stomach, and an instant rush of anxiety flooded my chest. I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The entire world suddenly wrapped around my body like a python, constricting and suffocating me.

She’s been released, Uncle Tony said. We have her here at the house.

Silence. I didn’t know what to say.

Kat?

It was a moment before I could squeeze out one little word. Yeah?

She wants to see you.

Son of a bitch. Why would she want to see me? Why would I want to see that murderer?

I . . . I don’t know. The words came out at barely more than a whisper. A jumbled million thoughts, every question I had ever asked myself, rushed through my brain. Of course, they were questions for which there were no answers . . . or maybe there were answers. Yes, there were answers, and only one person in the entire world had them. The one. The murderer. Grace. And she was dying.

Tony broke the silence. I know it’s hard, Kat, but I had to let you know. I couldn’t make the decision for you.

I just need some time to think, I said. How long . . . I wasn’t sure how to ask when they thought she would die.

Uncle Tony knew my question and answered it anyway. Not long. Days, hours, anytime. Listen, I understand you need to think about it. It’s your call, Kat. I’m sorry to start your morning off like this.

It’s okay. Thanks for letting me know. I didn’t want him to worry about my state of mind, so I sounded as calm as possible as we said our goodbyes.

As I ended the call, the anxiety tsunami crashed over me again. I braced myself against the kitchen counter and took a deep breath, focusing on a square of sunlight next to the empty wine bottle from the night before. One thing was certain. It wasn’t going to be one of those routine days I would never remember, and so much for trying to reduce stress. I slammed the juice and dialed the number of my business partner and best friend, Tina. She answered without even saying hello.

Bad night?

How’d you know? I asked.

You’ve been laying off the caffeine. I usually don’t hear from you this early unless you need a coffee stop.

Well, unfortunately it’s not about coffee.

Everything okay with Drew and the kids? she asked.

Was everything okay with them? Sure. In fact, betrayal and impending divorce were suddenly the lesser of my worries.

They’re fine. Still on vacation in Wisconsin. Then I went straight for the punch. I just got a call from my uncle Tony. Grace is out of prison. She’s dying. Tina drew a breath.

She wants to see me, I continued. Tina gasped again, and somehow I felt a little voice of confidence begin to stir within me. I pulled at it, stoked it like a glowing fire, and let it answer Tina’s next question.

What are you going to do? Do you want to see her?

This will be my last chance for true closure on this, I said. Do I want to see her? No, not really, but I feel like it’s something I have to do. Something I probably should’ve already done. Maybe she’ll be able to answer some questions for me.

How long will you need? Tina asked, reflecting my sudden coolness.

I don’t know yet. You think you could manage a few days without me?

Of course! Don’t worry about your appointments. It’s not like we’re overbooked right now. I can handle your sessions, and if your clients don’t like that, then they can reschedule. Take what time you need.

Thanks.

Good luck, Tina said. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

I hung up the phone, trying to decide exactly what I was looking for. What would I say to the woman who just spent most of her life in prison for murdering my parents?

Grace was Uncle Tony’s and my mother’s sister. No one really knew what happened, and I was just a baby. My childhood was great growing up with Uncle Tony and his family. I accepted that I didn’t have my biological parents. I had to. It was just another part of my life. If anything, I only wanted one answer from Grace. Why? Why did she kill them?

There was only one way to find out. After packing my suitcase, I sat down on my bed and stared at my phone. I knew the number I had to dial next, but I didn’t want to hear the voice that would answer. I closed my eyes, hit the speed dial, and tried to breathe calmly as the rhythmic tone buzzed in my ear.

Morning, Kat.

The fact that he called me a casual Kat made me realize his girlfriend wasn’t around. Asshole, asshole, asshole, I thought. Then I swallowed my disgust, composed myself, and spoke like an adult.

Good morning.

You wanna talk to the kids?

Yeah, in a minute. You think we could have a quick word?

Sure, whatcha need?

Whatcha need? He made it sound so simple. I rolled my eyes and again reminded myself to be civil. I hated the fact that I was about to ask him for a favor.

Something’s come up, and I need to go to my mom and dad's for a while. I might need you to keep the kids for a few extra days after you get back. Does that work for you?

Sure. No problem. Everything okay with your family?

I didn’t feel like going into it with him, but he needed to know. They’ve released Grace. She’s dying, and she wants to see me.

Wow, Kat. You wanna go through with that?

Yeah, I think I do. There was silence on the phone for a moment. He was probably thinking of how having the kids for a few extra days would cut into his girlfriend time.

Well, don’t worry about the kids, he finally said. I’ll keep them as long as you need.

It actually pissed me off that he was being nice about everything. I had so much aggression built inside myself at that moment that a yelling match would have done me good. Instead, I had to swallow hard for the second time.

Thanks.

Sure, he said. Here’s Dylan.

Hi, Mom. My nine-year-old’s voice came over the phone and I immediately calmed, my heart melting at his words.

Hey, buddy. You having a good time?

Yeah. We went hiking and canoeing. The cabin is awesome and even has a hot tub.

Wow, that does sound like fun.

I wish you were here, Mom. His voice quieted as he spoke.

I know, baby. I wish I were too . . . Listen, I have to make a trip to Grandma and Grandpa’s, so I’m going to be gone when you guys get back. You’re going to stay at Dad’s for an extra day or two.

O-kay . . . I could tell he wasn’t happy.

You’ll have fun with Dad. It’ll only be a couple more days.

I know, Mom, but I miss you.

Oh, how I hated that part. It was like a knife in my chest every time.

I miss you too, baby. You know I love you. Always. Every second of every day.

I love you too, Mom.

I waited a little longer for my thirteen-year-old to get the phone.

Yeah? she answered.

Hey, Katie. You having fun with Dad?

Kate or Katelyn, Mother.

Ugh, teenager attitude. Okay, Katelyn, same question.

I guess. He keeps embarrassing me though.

How’s that?

There’s a boy staying in the cabin next to us, and Dad and Dylan keep saying I have a crush on him. Whenever he’s around they get all weird.

How old is this boy?

Mother, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him.

Well, why not? Is he cute?

Yeah, he’s way cute, her voice nearly whined. I just can’t talk to him. I want to, but I get this feeling in my stomach, and I’m afraid I’ll say something stupid.

You won’t say anything stupid. Just be yourself. Walk up to him and introduce yourself. The conversation will naturally pick up, and you’ll feel more comfortable. Try it.

Okay, but can you tell Dad and Dylan to stop embarrassing me?

I’ll try, honey.

Thanks. I’ll let you talk to Dad.

Drew came back on the phone, and I convinced him to give Katie some room on the boy issue. When the call ended, I fell back on the bed. I would have loved to stay there all day, but there was suddenly so much to do. I rolled over and caught sight of a letter I had written to my mother only a few hours before during nightmare-induced insomnia. I couldn’t help but reread my words.

Dear Mother,

My mind is so naïve at night. It reverts to the childish state where logic does not exist and there are monsters in the closet and under the bed.

Is it the stillness? The darkness? The silence? I know, in fact, the sun will rise with morning and shine it all away, but even with that knowledge, I sometimes feel as if the earth has stopped turning, committing me to live in the shadows of fear forever.

I’ve had other nights like this. I remember after Uncle Tony first told me how you died. I could toss and turn for hours before finally leaving the coolness of my bedroom for the warmth of the couch and television to ease my mind. It happens less now. On the rare occasions I do awake to this phenomenon, I find it much easier to reassure myself and fall back asleep. No such luck this night. Bad dreams, okay, more like nightmares. Probably from stress. At least, that’s what a therapist would tell me.

The dream was just so real. Too real. I walked down a long hallway, watching the red and black carpet patterns zigzag beneath my feet. When the corridor ended, I looked up and pushed open one side of the dark oak double doors. I stepped inside and found myself in one of the places I dread most. I was alone except for the open casket at the other end of the room. My feet carried me down the aisle, between the rows of empty chairs. They didn’t care that I wanted to run the other way. Maybe it was that something inside me was curious to see the face of death’s victim.

I was almost to the casket, so close I could smell the flowers, or imagine how they’d smell. They were beautiful, yet already as dead as the faceless body in the coffin. I took the final step, but I never saw inside. Instead, I awoke to my heart practically thumping out of my chest. It scared me. Really scared me. It didn’t help that in my awakened state I proceeded to play out how the dream would end, picturing different loved ones forever committed to that death box.

I would say I’ve reached a whole new level of fucked up. I suppose the empty house isn’t helping me. Too quiet, too much time to think. I’d probably feel better if the kids were around, but right now they are with him. I just need to get through the next few days. Unfortunately, I don’t think it’s going to be easy.

I can’t help but wonder, as I always do, what you would say to comfort me.

Love, Kathryn

Reading it again made me cry. The last part meant even more than it did when I first wrote it. I just need to get through the next few days. I folded the paper and wrote the date on the outside. Then I reached under my bed and pulled out the wooden box where I kept all my other letters to her. I slipped the newest addition in, closed the box, and pushed it back before grabbing the orange Nike shoebox next to it. It was my survival kit, and inside were my Marlboros. My kids would have killed me if they had known, but it was necessary. I lit one and took a long drag, instantly feeling a bit better.

My kids were still on my mind as I lugged my suitcase down the hall. The photos along the wall reminded me of the happier times. They were all of Drew and the kids and rarely any of me, but being a photographer kept me behind the camera more than in front of it. I stopped at the 5’x7" that hung on the wall before the stairs. It was the last family photograph we had taken together. My eyes and thoughts lingered on the four perfect smiles. Two parents. Two kids. Fuck it. I lifted the picture off the wall, frame and all, and shoved it into my suitcase.

I was ready. I thought of calling Uncle Tony and telling him I was coming but decided against it. I didn’t want to make a big show of my arrival, and I didn’t want my Martha Stewartish aunt Charlotte to do any extra work to prepare for my visit.

My Dodge Journey waited for me in the garage. The metal door screeched open, allowing the sun to glitter off the dark blue paint. I opened the hatchback and slid my suitcase in next to my camera case. I made it into the driver’s seat, but the anxiety hit me again before I could even turn the ignition. What was I doing? I laid my forehead against the steering wheel. Part of me wanted to get out, drag my suitcase back up the stairs, crawl into bed, and forget Uncle Tony had ever called. No, I couldn’t. I took another deep breath and straightened up.

I’m going, I said aloud.

All I needed was a quick stop for gas . . . and coffee . . . and a donut. Hey, I needed it, and carbs are great for the morning brain. It wouldn’t have mattered, but after suddenly finding myself on the outs with my husband, my appearance had become very important again.

∞

I made it out of the stop-and-go traffic of the Chicago suburbs and onto the flowing interstate with the cruise control set to seventy-three. Still breaking the law in Illinois, but not breaking the law badly enough to get a ticket. That’s how I roll. Such a rebel. I flipped through radio station after radio station, but not one actually played music. I finally pushed in my Alanis Morissette CD and settled in for the long haul. Yes, more Alanis and her Jagged Little Pill. It’s great music for a woman pissed off at the world.

It didn’t take long for the neighborhoods and businesses to give way to the rural corn and soybean fields as I headed south. I put the window halfway down and enjoyed the fresh summer air, letting my mind escape into the music.

A couple hours later and I left southbound I-57 for eastbound I-74. The interstate cut through the thriving twin cities of Champaign–Urbana, and that was when reality hit me again. A sign for Danville forced me to accept that another thirty minutes and I would be back in my hometown. Normally, I am happy to think of my childhood home and my family, but this time I thought only of Grace. Shit. The woman murdered my parents!

Panic attack. I wanted to turn around