Post by GRACE HOLLADAY on May 13, 2013 17:24:50 GMT -5
So, this is some character development for Grace. It was going to happen and I needed to write it down because it's going to lead to her awakening and I hope it'll help get her muse juices flowing...and everyone else's.
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In the corner of the airport, a pretty young blonde was sitting in a chair, wringing out her hands. Passersby could read the fear and anxiety written on her normally cheerful face. Cheeks that were normally filled with the natural blush of a girl in love were now flushed of all color, leaving behind a pasty, almost clammy, white. A compassionate looking man, no older than twentyfour, paused and looked her over. His eyebrows were furrowed with obvious concern, because at that moment the petite blonde looked just like his little sister had the day their father died. The man's fiance didn't see concern, though. To her, the ghost of the girl looked like she had one of those faces that could either be fifteen or twenty six and she did not want her fiance looking at anyone but her.
"Scott. Come on." She tugged Scott away from the small, hopeless girl and her personal rain cloud.
Grace Holladay didn't notice this interaction, or anyone else in the airport. All she saw was the dinky watch she had thrifted that now hung around her wrist.
Ten minutes.
Normally, Grace would have at least gotten the watch adjusted (or found a much better watch), but money was tight, and for some reason her employer didn't agree with Grace taking a day off to see her dying mother.
Six minutes.
The plane had already been delayed, and Grace was beginning to feel her joints stiffen up from being locked in the same position for so long. She knew that if she broker her stance, though, she would bolt. From what her father had told her, Grace's mother looked...rough, to put it nicely. The last time Grace had seen her was the night of the masquerade ball, and Grace could tell she was sick. Mrs. Holladay refused to Skype since she told Grace about the cancer over the phone, though. Grace was somewhat happy, because she knew her mother's condition was steadily worsening. Grace believed her "mummy" had a chance, though. Every night and every morning, she prayed and prayed. God was good, and could get them through this, right?
One minute.
Grace shot up from her chair, wincing as her knees and elbows popped in protest. Drawing in a deep breath, Grace began walking to the terminal where, yes, her parents' plane had finally landed. Grace's heart thudded anxiously as her stomach took residence in her throat. The young girl was borth excited and terrifiied; she hadn't seen her parents in nearly a year, and her mother had had breast cancer for several months now. Grace knew it would be bad, there was no avoiding that. She had always had high hopes though, and imagined her parents staying for a month or so. Jackson could meet them right away, especially her mother. Grace couldn't help but let out a bittersweet giggle as she remembered how her mother reacted to Jackson being Jewish. Missionary parents always had funny reactions. Then she could introduce her parents to her new extended family at Baum, like Addie and Andie and Ozzie and everyone. It would be great, Grace knew it.
People were streaming out around her; businessmen furiously checking phones, college students running to parents, and families taking vacations. Grace craned her head, looking for the two familair faces. Where were they? Grace hugged herself, biting her lip againsst the tears that started to pile up. "Any day now..." she muttered. Finally, she saw her father emerge as the crowd began to trickle down. Grace's heart lept, then shuddered to a stop as she realized her mother wasn't there. Did she maybe have to stop at the bathroom? Grace caught her father's eyes though, and immediately knew something was wrong. They were red, and puffy, and were easily read like his daughter's. Grace didn't move; instead, she stood planed to the ground and waited for her dad to come to her, like a bad omen she couldn't escape.
"Daddy?" Grace's voice barely scratched a whisper. She didn't move as her dad just came and wrapped his slender arms around her, as he leaned down to talk to her. "Grace, she...she couldn't make it to see you."
Just those words, and Grace couldn't help but feel a little bubble of hope. "So she's just at home in Scotland...sick?" Grace looked at her father, pleading for that to be the answer. Mr. Holladay just shook his head. Like a sun collapsing in on itself, Grace fell to floor in a ball and began shaking with tears. Her mother, mummy, the person she went to for any any and everything, was gone. Grace stayed there as her father sat on the floor next to her, holding his daughter close. Grace was both angry and devastated; why hadn't he told her until now? It was wrong to tell someone over the phone but her hopes had been so high, and now they were crushed. Why couldn't he have thought of that before coming? And why had God let this happen? Grace immediately drew in on herself; God wasn't supposed to let things like this happen. Not her mother; she was a good person, who spread His word. On the ground of the airport, Grace felt trapped, like she was under a giant weight of grief that was almost tangible. Her throat had swelled shut and her eyes were blurry with tears. "Why couldn't you tell me?" Grace spat at her father, anger, real anger, flowing through her voice. He jerked back, surprised that his sweet, caring daughter was capable of holding so much venom in one phrase. It felt good, though, Grace thought, to get all the hate out. Never before had Grace ever expressed her anger, and that was mainly because she had never really been in a situation that called for a negative reaction. But it felt great to let it out, like a train blowing steam or a tea pot hissing and whistling on a stove. Just like that, Grace's anger came rushing out as she feebly hit at the ground with tiny fists. "You should have told me, not get my hopes up! I believed she was going to be getting off that plane, not...not lying in a morgue somewhere!" Grace choked on her last words as her imagination sprang up and rendered an image of her mom dead with a toe tag in some dank, grey room in Scotland.
"Grace, honey, we need to get up." Her father softly tugged at her arm as he began to stand. Grace numbly complied; what point was there in resisting now? It had been a lame attempt but throwing all that anger at her father had just left Grace with a hole in her chest. Like a hollow chocolate rabbit on Easter, Grace would always be nice and decorated on the outside, but now empty inside. "Just...tell me." Her voice was scratchy and weak, but Grace got her point across. She wanted to hear about her mother's last moments, and get a reason for why she was just now finding out. She was too devastated and weak to protest. "Let's go to my rental and we can talk about everything in there." Mr. Holladay hugged his daughter and took her by the hand, trying to be strong for Grace, who at that moment had never seemed weaker. Grace followed her dad, preparing herself to begin to accept that she would never see her mother again.
