At Last (The Idle Point, Maine Stories)(36)
Her son and Mona's daughter. The thought made her dizzy and she rested her forehead against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. This couldn't be happening. Out of all the combinations possible, that those two young people should find each other was the most terrible joke of all.
There was no future for them. Surely they must know that. Simon wouldn't allow it and, she was certain, neither would Ben Taylor. There was too much history between the families. Those two children were doomed before they even started. She should get out of her car right this minute, march over to them, and tell them it had to stop before someone got hurt. Love had fangs and sharp claws. She was sure they didn't know that yet but they would in time.
Ruth's eyes filled as she remembered Gracie as a little girl, the tiny hand placed so trustingly in hers, the look of joy on Gracie's face when she saw her Christmas sweater. Ruth would never forget that moment. The sweater was such a small gift in the greater scheme of things; that it could give a child so much pleasure caused Ruth physical pain. She had loved having Gracie at their house every afternoon and she had been very angry with Simon for a very long time after he put a stop to it. The child had never been any trouble at all. So much had been denied Gracie—and so much of it had been Ruth's own fault.
Gracie was a hard-working young woman. Ruth kept up with her academic awards through beauty shop gossip. Noah could benefit from being around someone as disciplined and motivated as Gracie. Summer was almost over. In a few weeks Noah would be back in Portsmouth at St. Luke's and Gracie would be engrossed in her studies. Their romance would be nothing but a sweet memory.
Once long ago Ruth had bent fate to suit her own purposes and the results had been tragic. She wouldn't make that mistake again.
Chapter Seven
The gods were kind for the next few years and they watched out for Noah and Gracie. What started out as a summer romance grew into something much deeper and infinitely more important than either had expected or maybe even wanted but it happened just the same.
There was nothing Gracie couldn't say to Noah, no thought too dark or too silly to share with him. She even shared her worries and they were considerable. Noah took life as it came but Gracie was a worrier by nature. She worried about Gramma Del, about her father, about every animal—big or small—that came under her care. She worried that she would be a failure as a vet. She worried that her emotions would keep elbowing their way into situations where they didn't belong and cloud her judgment. She had been penalized harshly by one of her professors for weeping during a particularly difficult consultation. Gracie had apologized and promised to keep her emotions under tighter control but sometimes she worried that she was sacrificing humanity for efficiency. Noah teased her sometimes and said that worrying was her hobby. She never laughed when he said that because she suspected he might be right.
Gracie was Noah's anchor, his home in all the ways that mattered. He never told her that, though. At least, not with words. His feelings for Gracie ran so deep that he couldn't begin to gather them together in any one portion of his heart. Nothing that happened to him had any meaning until he shared it with her. He fell asleep at night thinking about her. She was his first morning thought. Gracie was strong where he was uncertain. She knew the where and when and how of her life; all he knew was that he loved her. She was all that he needed. He loved that she was so serious. Making Gracie laugh made him feel like he had conquered Everest and Denali both on a single day.
He called Gracie at Penn State a few times a week. Her voice, her laughter, carried him through. He would have chucked everything—school and family and all of his dreams—to be with her in Philly if she'd given him the slightest encouragement, but she never did. Not his Gracie.
He blew off his studies and spent much of his time skiing or surfing out on the Cape. He couldn't remember the last time he'd handed in a paper or shown up for a test. The stack of letters from various department heads were probably meant to enlighten him on that score. He didn't know why he kept f*cking up, what made him throw roadblocks in his own way. A counselor had told Noah that it was his way of striking out at Simon, that denying his father's dreams was Noah's way of gaining control, but the whole idea had made Noah angry and he'd walked out with twenty minutes left in the session. He was good at walking out on conversations that got under his skin. Why the hell did they believe that his every move reflected his relationship with Simon? He was more than his father's son. A hell of a lot more.