Free Absence of Grace by Ann Warner Page A

it, the needles beginning to move in a slow rhythm.
     
    “I know, but I think I’ll enjoy it. For sure it means less stress, more leisure than I had at Pierpont and Potter.” He stretched his legs to soak up the warmth from the wood-burning stove. It was a typical Seattle winter day, damp and overcast, but this room was like a warm, beating heart.
     
    Jeannie looked up with a smile. “How about Pam? Are you still glad you called it off?”
     
    “Good God, yes. Would have been the biggest mistake of my life.”
     
    “It might get lonely, though.”
     
    “Are you lonely, Jeannie?”
     
    “Sometimes.” She gave him a quick glance. “Better off lonely than with the wrong person, I suppose.”
     
    “Amen to that.” They sat in companionable silence, while he tried to think of something he could say to make his sister feel better about either her situation or his. “Maybe we’re better off alone, we two. Getting too old to change, maybe.”
     
    Jeannie snorted. “Since when is thirty-seven and forty old?”
     
    “You have to admit, it’s getting there.”
     
    For a time she knitted in silence while he let his plotline simmer.
     
    “I have a friend who told me when it’s the right person, you just know,” she said.
     
    “Reassuring.” Although it hadn’t happened that way with Pam. Which would, of course, be a case in point.
     
    “I’d like to feel that way about someone,” she said. “Certain. No doubts.”
     
    Yeah. He’d like it, too. Didn’t seem like either he or his sister had a talent for it, however.
     
    The needles stopped moving, but Jeannie didn’t look up. “I asked Mum once how she knew Dad was the one.”
     
    “What did she say?”
     
    “He had the prettiest boat.”
     
    He smiled at Jeannie, wishing he had more comfort than that to offer her.
     
    Jeannie set her knitting down and stood. “Guess I better do something about dinner. It surely won’t cook itself.”
     

    The spring of his third year in Wrangell, Gerrum attended the Kiwanis salmon bake at Marian Jeffers’ insistence. He looked for John and Marian among the people sitting at the picnic tables scattered under tarps to hold off the inevitable rain. He spotted the Jeffers and walked over to take the empty spot across from John.
     
    “Have you two met?” Marian gestured to the woman he’d ended up next to.
     
    He hadn’t met her, but he’d heard the commentary. “Hailey Connelly, isn’t it?”
     
    She nodded, her eyes narrowing. “You know, I don’t recall you being among the lure-the-city-girl-up-the-Stikine crowd.”
     
    “Not after you told Del you were so allergic to hot springs he’d better be able to do a tracheotomy if he planned to get you near one.”
     
    “Does Del have black, brown, or blonde hair?” Hailey asked with a bright smile that was so insincere it made Gerrum grin and Marian stifle a chuckle.
     
    “Del’s as bald as a cue ball.”
     
    “Well, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” She lowered her eyes. In an attempt to play the demure Southern girl? But that ship had already sailed.
     
    “Del had to ask around to find out what a tracheotomy was,” Gerrum said.
     
    “Don’t doubt that one bit,” John said.
     
    Hailey and Marian resumed their conversation, and John asked Gerrum how the jet boat was doing.
     
    “Last season was good, but I’m hoping to top it this year.” While Gerrum continued to talk to John, he was aware of Hailey. Her voice had a touch of a Southern lilt, and although he couldn’t examine her closely from his position next to her, he’d seen enough to be able to vouch for one part of Rog Remington’s statement: “Girl’s pretty as a movie star.” He had yet to check out the second part: “…but up close she’s too damn snippy for a man to take any joy in the view.”
     
    Hailey didn’t strike him as snippy so much as a woman who didn’t suffer fools without remarking on it. An unusual trait in someone as young as she