Broken Grace by E.C. Diskin Read Free Book Online

closed, gripping the railing tightly with both hands, slowly moving her foot toward the spindles, mimicking a kick, and she heard it: the heavy weight of thick-soled boots pounding up the stairs, stomping each tread, smashing the spindles like thunderclaps. The force buckled her strength. She fell back against the wall, sitting hard on the stair. It felt as if her mind were a damaged circuit board and she’d been messing with the wires, trying to connect pathways but causing only sparks and shocks and damage.
    She returned to her bed and lay there with her eyes closed for what felt like years, wishing for sleep that wouldn’t come, trying to think good thoughts—but what came instead were questions, one after the other. She played with them, sorting and reordering as though faced with a crossword puzzle, unsure which answers were needed most, which might give clues to answer other questions, what she might learn from this house. Finally, with exhaustion came sleep.

FIVE
    I T WAS NINE FORTY-FIVE WHEN G RACE GOT UP. Lisa’s door was shut, but she could hear the muffled sounds of music, of Lisa singing along inside. Grace opened the door and the full blast of the song filled the entire second floor. Lisa was bouncing around, flicking paint at the walls. Specks covered the floor and ceiling. When Lisa turned to work on the area toward the door, she jumped.
    “Damn, you scared me,” she said. “Good morning! What do you think of my masterpiece?” The four walls were all bright turquoise now, but Lisa’s large brush was covered in black paint. Splatters of black covered random bits of the walls. Bright-eyed and covered with paint flecks herself, she smiled with pride at her creation.
    Grace had no words for the chaos. It felt a little like a nightclub without the black lights.
    “How’d you sleep?” Lisa asked before launching another splatter at one of the walls.
    Grace envied her energy; Lisa seemed the embodiment of her polar opposite. “I don’t know. I was up a lot. I wandered around a bit.”
    “Really? I didn’t hear that. I’ve been up for ages. I’m good to go on, like, five hours.”
    Had she wandered, or was that a dream? “I’m a little foggy.”
    “Remember anything?” Lisa asked without stopping.
    “I remember coming here yesterday.”
    Lisa turned to her and almost chuckled. “Do you remember the police coming here?”
    “Police,” Grace repeated, scanning her brain for the details.
    Lisa stopped and came over, her tone softening. “Do you remember what they told us about Michael?”
    Grace struggled to reach through the fog.
    “Your ex-boyfriend?”
    There were pieces there, she could see them, and yet . . .
    “He’s dead,” Lisa said, like it was old news.
    “Right.” Grace nodded, relieved. “Right, yes, that’s right. You made soup.”
    “That’s right.” Lisa smiled at her oddly, then turned back to her work.
    “Please.” Grace reached out and grabbed her arm, feeling a rush of panic. “Help me.”
    Lisa looked at her arm, turning red under Grace’s grip. “Let go,” she said, her voice clipped.
    Grace withdrew immediately and watched Lisa’s pinched expression shift back to the concerned look she’d worn at the hospital. “Of course I’ll help you, Grace.”
    “I’m sorry. I need to know who I was. I need a history.”
    Lisa pulled her in for a hug, but it felt like a stage direction that made them both uncomfortable. She patted Grace’s back softly. “It’s okay. Go get some coffee and cereal. I bought your favorite. I need to clean up the brushes. I’ll be right there.” She guided Grace to the doorway and nudged her in the right direction.
    Grace cautiously took the stairs down to the kitchen and let the aroma of roasting coffee beans guide her. After pouring herself a cup, she walked to the upper cabinet to the right of the stove for the cereal. She looked around the room then. “Right there,” she murmured before walking directly to another cabinet