Free Devlin's Grace by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy Page B

with open air cars running along a narrow gauge track, ranked as
one of her childhood favorites.   The ride
through the forest and back through parts of the park made a fun
excursion.   Somewhere in the middle, the
train always got robbed.   The comic
routine hadn’t changed much over the years. It was corny and country.
    Until
the end of the skit, she thought Devlin enjoyed it, too.   They sat side by side on a wide bench at the
rear of the last car watching the show.   Late in the season, there were more adults than kids on board the train,
but people of all ages laughed at the antics.   Gracie forgot the skit always ended when the conductor from the train
showed up with a shotgun loaded with blanks and fired into the air after the
fleeing would-be bandits.   Seconds before
the end, she remembered and started to warn Devlin, but by then it was too
late.
    When
the shot fired, he reacted.   Devlin
grabbed her and took her to the floor, covering her body with his.   “Stay down,” he said in a serious voice, a
tone she’d never heard before.  
    Applause
broke out from the other passengers and some whooped their appreciation.   At the sound, Devlin realized what he’d done
and helped her up.   His face turned
ashen, paler than she’d been earlier, and his expression shifted from joy to
despair.   Gracie noticed how his hands
trembled. They sat still and silent as the train headed back to the
station.   She put her right hand over his
left and leaned until her head rested on his shoulder.
    “It’s
okay,” she whispered.   He said nothing,
even after they got off at the train station and merged into the crowds.   Devlin walked with brisk steps over to a
bench as far away from everyone as he could and sat down.   He buried his face in his hands.  
    Gracie
bent over and put her hand on his back.   “Devlin?”
    “Jesus
Christ!” He spat out the words with force, with self-disgust. “I’m sorry for
being so fucking pathetic, babe.”
    “You’re
not.” Gracie stroked his back, hoping to soothe him. “I should’ve remembered
about the shot.   Don’t beat yourself up
about it.   It’s a natural reaction for
someone who’s been in combat, nothing to be ashamed about.”
    His
head popped up. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
    “Don’t
say such things.   You’re my Devlin,” she said.
“I need you.”
    Admitting
it took gumption, more than she’d had before she met him.   Gracie didn’t know what to call him –
boyfriend, lover, best friend or buddy? He was all that and more to her.
    “Why?
I’m no use to anyone, just a fucked up pain in the ass embarrassment.” He put
down his hands and glared at her. If she couldn’t shut down his reaction now,
the rest of the day would be shattered. Everything could crash and she refused
to let it happen.
    Until
now, she’d saved the three words, kept them back for a special occasion or a
rainy day.   Her old lack of self-esteem
and nerves prevented her from speaking them aloud because Gracie feared
rejection.   She spoke them now, hoping
they would matter, throwing out her heart into the fray to be mangled or
destroyed if they didn’t.   “I love you.”
    Devlin
went still, the way everything does just before a storm.   Gracie waited.   He didn’t twitch or move and the wind didn’t
seem to ruffle his hair.    If he drew
breath, it wasn’t apparent.   He just sat
- a virtual human statue.  
    A
few seconds passed, but he failed to move or speak.   Moments became minutes without change.   His expression remained solemn and
bland.   She began to tremble as a
floodtide of emotional pain erupted and swept through her so powerful her knees
knocked together.   With every ounce of
inner strength she possessed, Gracie willed herself not to cry and wondered if
she could succeed because this hurt ventured far beyond tears.   She prepared to surrender, to walk away when he
said her name.
    “Gracie.”
His voice resonated with tenderness, soft