Buried Secrets

Book 2: McKenna Mystery Series (10 books)

by Kate Anslinger

Genres: Supernatural suspense; Mystery; Police Procedurals; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

★★★★★ "I couldn't put it down!” - Reader Review
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A tortured woman, a drowning man, a frightened child.

When Detective Grace McKenna looks into a criminal's eyes she can see haunting images of victims who have been wronged.

In Buried Secrets, when Grace responds to a routine call, she meets Miriam Caverly, an older woman with a past that is less than mundane. Alongside her boyfriend and ex-cop, Mark Connolly, Grace is thrown into a tangle of town secrets that force her to step outside the town's boundaries for answers that she is scared to face.

A town drunk with a bitter past, a well-intentioned family strapped with the burden of a tragedy, and a lineup of memorable characters, make Buried Secrets an intense page-turner that follows The Gift in a perfectly aligned chain of events.

A must-read for fans of L.T. Ryan, Melinda Leigh, and Kendra Elliot!

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Release date: June 10, 2019

Publisher: Lighthouse Pen

Print pages: 226

Sample

GRACE

I was born with what some people call a gift. If a criminal makes eye contact with me, I am inundated with glimpses of their past
and pushed into a world of hate and violence. To me, it’s a curtain pulled back from a crime scene I don’t want to see. It’s a curse
that penetrates my every waking hour with an unfiltered lens, giving me a persistent need to track down those who’ve done wrong
and bring justice to the victims. To my mother, it is a gift, but to me, it is a constant battle I must fight.

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE HAD BEEN HUNCHED OVER FOR TWO HOURS, ENTHRALLED IN organizing past cases. She was preoccupied with moving
closed files into the completed and sealed-off cabinet that housed the many records of the Bridgeton Police Department.
The town of only 17,000 people was home to many minuscule crimes and very few notable ones, until recently. While
the paperwork chronicled that the case was closed, Grace never felt that anything was officially over in law
enforcement.
Mackenzie Waterford’s picture stared back at her, and for the last time, Grace looked back at the piercing, blue eyes of
the teen who once had it all. Thanks to the girl’s mother, Mackenzie would have another chance at life, but she’d never
be the same. Last she heard, the Waterford family had moved out of Bridgeton to somewhere in Western
Massachusetts after the mom was sentenced for murder. How could she blame them for wanting to escape the small-
town life and start fresh somewhere where no one knew them? The aftermath of the Waterford case turned the town
into a tsunami of rumors; Grace still wasn’t sure if the truth was anywhere out there. The story became twisted over
time, with added victims and false suspects, tied in with tidbits that seemed to morph every time the story traveled from
one person’s mouth to another.
Grace’s last vision was over six months ago, and that was perfectly fine with her. Without visions, Grace was more
clearheaded and able to focus on her own issues for once. She could deal with average small-town crimes like putting
the fear into underage smokers and dealing with the many complaints from the town’s most diehard residents. She
silently said goodbye to Mackenzie one last time before the radios’ beeping and static sprang to life, making her forget
about the blonde teen who had flipped her world upside down just six months ago.
“Looks like we have an accident on the corner of Jefferson and Pearson Street.” Lieutenant Sullivan’s gruff voice
sounded through the radio with the quintessential Boston dropped r’s Grace knew well.
Without missing a beat, Grace picked up the phone and dialed the control room.
“Hey, Grace, I got the owner of R & R Variety on the line. He says some guy just ran into a woman who was standing at
the bus stop or something. He claims he went up on the curb by accident, but it sounds more like he’s been hittin’ the
bottle. Not even two days into summer and we already got our first DUI.”
Just like that, Grace’s day of organizing files and attending a school event on safety was all discombobulated thanks to
another drunk driver. It was June sixteenth; school was expected to get out for the summer in just five days, which was
when things, in addition to the weather, got heated. The town was like one of those wind-up musical jewelry boxes,
and it took all winter to turn the key and get it going. By the time June rolled around every year, the music would be at
full blast. College kids were home for the summer, driving their parents’ cars too fast down the narrow one-way streets,
while the beaches were infiltrated by what the townies called ‘outsiders’—people who just wanted to visit a beach for
the day to escape the more congested city areas with no ocean air. Since Grace had been hired at the Bridgeton Police
Department ten years ago, she had seen the town morph into more than just a sleepy seaside community. Now, it was

2
known as a hidden gem. Even airplane traffic picked up the pace in the summertime, as more people vied to come to
the Boston area when the weather was bearable, and the streets weren’t filled with dirty snow and undesirable driving
conditions. Bridgeton, whose classification as ‘hidden gem’ slowly took on new nicknames, was frequently referred to as
‘up-and-coming’ or ‘developing.’ Some didn’t like the push for more stores, restaurants and living quarters, and they
were content with the staples that had been there for decades. But a whole new crop of younger families were moving
in from elsewhere for the affordable living, flourishing school district, and the possibility of a beach that would one day
be lined with store fronts in hopes of driving the town’s economic growth.
By the time Grace reached the scene of the accident, she suspected the driver was even more drunk than he had been
just moments before when running onto the curb. Officer Pinard was engaged in what was sure to be a fun
conversation with the drunk guy, who appeared to be struggling to stand.
“Good afternoon, Detective McKenna,” Officer Pinard said. Caleb Pinard stood with his hands slightly on his hips,
seemingly to take up less of a presence. While fairly new to the force, he lacked that normal cocky stance the younger
officers naturally wore just moments after they graduated from police training. He always had an abrupt answer and
spoke only when he had something truly important to say, which Grace felt would do wonders for his career.
“I’m guessing by the looks of it, you gave him a Breathalyzer?”
“Yes ma’am, we’ve got a BAC of .11 percent.”
“Caleb, what did I say about using the word ‘ma’am’ around me?”
Grace looked over at the drunk guy, who wasn’t making much effort to appear composed. His red nose alone was
enough to confirm that alcohol was a prevalent ingredient in his diet. He leaned against the brick wall of R & R Variety,
showing off a set of crossed eyes and a sway in his stature that he seemed accustomed to from years of overindulging in
the drink.
“Sorry, Grace. Habit. And Barb kinda beat it into me.”
Grace thought about Barb as the lifeline of the police department but also a source of unnecessary demands. Barb
tended to burn fear into the newer officers by demanding that they call her ‘ma’am,’ as if they didn’t naturally cower
when they walked past her. The woman was not just big in body build; she was also big in presence, like a brightly
colored floral shirt amidst a funeral.
“And the woman he allegedly hit?”
“Oh, she’s over there, doesn’t seem to want to chat much,” Caleb said, gesturing to a woman leaning against a tree that
overlooked a small patch of land in the circle of the town’s main stores: a coffee shop, hardware store, four hair salons, a
diner, and a deli.
“Not injured. Evidently, he missed hitting her by like a foot. She seems a bit shaken up but claims she’s fine and would
rather just go about her business.”
“I’ll start over here,” Grace said, approaching the man. “Can you keep her company for now?”
“Will do, Grace,” Caleb said with a slight smile that peeled across his lips, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.

Grace never liked talking to drunks but doing so was a big part of the job description. In a town with more liquor stores
than convenience stores, it was inevitable that she would run into at least one drunk during her daily day of detective
work. The man was hunched over now, and she was unsure whether he would vomit or fall asleep. She’d seen both
things happen when presented with this situation and neither were good. She was in no mood to try removing a 300-
pound man from the streets before the kids at the nearby elementary school got out for the day.
“Sir.” She approached cautiously, not knowing what kind of drunk he was. No reaction.
“Sir,” she said with a grip on his arm. After what seemed like several minutes, he looked up, bloodshot eyes appearing to
look to an imaginary place beyond her.
“Hellllooooooo, Gracie,” he slurred as he reached to grab her hand, attempting to shake like they were old colleagues.
“Michael...” she pulled her hand back, recognizing the man from a previous arrest. He looked as if he’d gained at least 70
pounds since she’d last arrested him, his face so swollen and puffy that his round, blue eyes were like tiny slits lost
amongst billowy, red pillows.
A strand of greasy, dark hair fell across his forehead as he stabbed his pockets with his hands, missing twice before he
was finally able to get them in. His eyes gazed to the side slowly as his face followed, a delayed reaction to someone
exiting the nearby coffee shop. He displayed a strong profile hidden beneath days of toxin-induced binges and for the
first time Grace thought he may have once been a looker. Maybe he held a real job, wore a suit and tie and didn’t waste
away his days in a drunken stupor. And in a sadder realization, maybe he had a wife and kids he’d left behind to pick up
the pieces without him.
“Nice dayyyyy out, righhhht?” more words slurred from his mouth. Knowing that she would get nowhere with him, she
called for backup to bring him to the drunk tank. Trusting that he was in no state to move, Grace walked toward Caleb,
who was standing silently beside the victim.
“Caleb, can you call for backup to get this guy—Michael—to a holding cell? He’s too drunk to talk right now.”
“Will do.” Caleb, ever efficient, was already calling into his radio. Grace imagined he was a good kid for his parents. He
was so easy‐ going and unaffected by normal police personality traits that involved ego and he never questioned
authority, although that could be the result of his military training. Caleb was one of the few officers the department
had hired right after serving four years in the Marine Corps, as special forces. Surely this was a cake walk compared to
what he saw when he was deployed to Iraq.
“I’ll handle...”
“Miriam...Miriam Haskell,” he responded, two steps ahead. “Thanks, Caleb,” Grace said, writing the name down on a
pad before she looked up to take in the woman’s face for the first time. Miriam looked toward the nearby hardware
shop as if she was looking out over a vast sea, her face in a dream-like state.
“Miriam, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Grace spoke to the side of her face as she looked off in the distance,
distracted. “Miriam?”
“Oh yeah, um, sorry.” The woman turned her head to face Grace, revealing two blue eyes and a barrage of images that
took over Grace’s steady demeanor. A man with tangled light brown hair and eyes so many shades of green they look
like speckled gems, pulls her from reality as if he is begging her to save him. His lips turn blue and his eyes go from
passionate distress to that of stunned relief. Ocean water washes over his face, slowly making him disappear like he was
just a stranger who passed through her thoughts.

But Grace knew better than that. She was going to be haunted by this man who was somehow harmed by Miriam. It
had been just over six months since Grace saw her last vision in the eyes of a criminal and she was hoping that maybe,
somehow, her gift was gone, and she no longer had to be on the receiving end of such horrific crimes.
“Sure, that’s okay,” Miriam said as she looked down at a watch that was fastened to her shaking wrist. “I...ah...just have
to get to a meeting by 2:00.”
“Meeting? What type of meeting are you headed to?” Grace asked as if she was making a friendly conversation. Instead,
she was inquiring about a case that she was going to have to investigate on her own, without the help of her fellow
officers.
“It’s a school fundraiser meeting,” she said, focusing her eyes on everything around her except Grace, who was trying to
assess the woman’s age. She clearly looked like she was too old to have a kid in the school district. She could possibly be
a teacher who was on the verge of retiring but even that would be pushing it.
“Are you a teacher or a volunteer?”
“No, I...um...I have a grandchild in preschool,” she continued but stopped before offering any more information. Grace’s
aggravation started to grow as she realized that getting answers from this woman was going to be like pulling teeth.
“Okay, Miriam. I’ll try to be fast so you can get to your meeting. Want to sit down for a minute?” Grace gestured toward
a lonely bench that sat on the other side of the grassy area under a tree that had seen better days.
“Sure.”
Miriam headed toward the bench, gripping a canvas bag that said “Greatest Grandma” in hot pink, puffy paint. While
her body appeared small and frail, she walked with a purpose and even had a bounce in her step as if she was walking on
her toes. She lowered herself on the bench, sitting so close to the edge Grace was afraid she might actually slide off.
“So, you were walking to your meeting when the driver attempted to turn the corner but went up on the curb and
almost hit you. Is that correct?”
“Yeah...yes, I’m fine, he didn’t hit me,” Miriam said, staring straight ahead at the cluster of old men seated outside of the
Bridgeton Diner, a town staple. Her eyes darted left to right as if she was looking for an escape.
“Miriam...Miss Haskell, Michael over there is extremely intoxicated. He could’ve hurt you badly.”
“But, I’m fine, really, I’m fine. I’d like to just let him get on with his day,” she said, clearly unaware that Michael’s day
was gone. He’d made the decision to give his day up when he took the first sip from his bottle of booze.
“Okay, Miss Haskell, Miriam... I understand you are in a hurry, but had it been any different, Michael could’ve killed
someone. It could’ve been a small child...”
As if Miriam was just alerted to the most enlightening thing in the world, her eyes transformed from being void of
expression to being framed with heightened eyebrows and direct eye contact with Grace. That’s when Grace was
overcome with a smattering of images that came at her like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit. A pair of crushed black-
rimmed glasses and a flash of a massive fish tank with a sea turtle gliding from wall to wall splashed across her vision
before they were washed away by the green, speckled eyes again.

“Yes, yes...I understand that,” Miriam pulled Grace out of the world that she was just thrown into. She adjusted her bag
repeatedly, a nervous tick, and appeared to be focusing on everything around her other than Grace’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I
was just a bit startled and I hate to be late for meetings.”
“Can you just reiterate what happened, so I have a valid report?”
In most cases an officer would send a victim on her way, but Grace had been corrupted by this woman’s past, so she was
forced to press her for information. She wished she could walk away, arrest big Michael and go about her business, but
according to her visions Michael was far more innocent than this alleged do-gooder grandmother.
“Sure...I...was walking on the sidewalk and I suddenly heard a loud noise,” she said, continuously running her index
finger along the strap of her bag. “And that car, that car over there was up on the curb...just a bit behind where I was
standing.”
“So, you’re saying that the car could’ve hit you, had it been just a tad closer to where you were walking?”
“Well, yes...I suppose so,” Miriam finally admitted to being in a possibly tragic situation.
“And you weren’t waiting at the bus stop, instead you were actually walking by it?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Miriam’s eyes darted side to side like they were in a fierce game of Ping Pong.
“Okay, well, thank you Miss Haskell. Now, can I offer you a lift to the school? I’m assuming your meeting is at the
school.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you, though. Thank you,” Miriam turned to walk away, giving Grace a chance to
take her in. Knee-length shorts hung off her lower body, revealing a pair of legs that were so thin that Grace wondered
how she managed to walk the hilly streets that flanked the town. Strappy sandals barely clung to her feet, and gently
clapped on the sidewalk that led to one of the main streets. Her hair was more grey than brown and several pieces of
frizz erupted from a loose bun that was held together at the nape of her neck with a green scrunchie.
“Miss Haskell...I have one more question for you?”
The woman didn’t turn around and Grace wasn’t sure if that was because she was nervous or if she was losing her
hearing.
“Miss Haskell?” She raised her voice a notch, this time managing to reach her, evoking her to turn around. “What’s the
fundraiser for?”
“Oh, it’s for the 4th of July parade.” Miriam allowed a tiny smile to display some humanity within her firm and steady
facial expression.
“Great. I hope to see you there,” Grace said, knowing she had all she needed to find out more information on the
woman. The town’s 4th of July parade was like the Super Bowl for football fans. Every year on the 4th, starting at 9:00
in the morning, several generations lined the streets dressed in red, white and blue as they applauded the few floats that
managed to get constructed. While the majority of the floats were the same year to year, some newbies tried to push the
limit and throw in something new every now and then, which always ended up causing an uproar with the longtime
locals. Last year’s talked-about float showcased a flock of vegetarians tossing out fruit and veggies to the disgruntled

townies on the sidelines while they held picket signs that demanded that everyone stop eating meat. This didn’t go over
well for the parade-goers who stood in long lines to get the free hot dogs donated by the town officials.
“SO, HOW WAS IT?” Lt. Sullivan said in greeting as Grace pushed her way through the main entrance of the station.
“Oh, you know, the usual...just another town drunk trying to clear the curb.”
“Yep, good old Michael. You’d never believe me if I showed you a picture of that guy when he was in his prime. He was
a heartthrob. The ladies lined up to get a date with him.”
“Really? What happened?” Grace leaned on the counter that joined the control room with the entryway, always eager to
hear some history from the man who was a true townie. Everyone called him Sully, but Grace stuck with Lieutenant,
because it just seemed to fit his knowledge and connectivity to the town.
“He lost his wife to cancer about two years ago. Hasn’t been the same since.” He used his index fingers to wipe under his
eyes. Because Lt. Sullivan had lost his own wife just a few years ago, Grace imagined the topic drummed up some of his
own feelings. “His wife was a doll too. Always active in the community. She used to make meals for high school
students. She was the mom that had all her kids’ friends over for pool parties and gatherings.”
“He has kids too?”
“Yeah, boy and a girl. I think one of them still lives around here.” He used his fingers to massage his forehead as if to
pull a memory to the surface. “Yeah, it’s the daughter...she works over at one of those salons down in the town center.
It’s hard not to recognize her...she looks just like Michael, minus the added weight and red face.”
“And the slur?”
“Yeah, that too. Good-lookin’ girl. She’s at the salon that has those painted rocks in front of it.”
How could Grace forget the painted rocks? Every time she walked by those rocks she felt a sense of peace. Words of
inspiration were scrawled across the brightly colored rocks painted by a few locals. Love. Dream big. Be Kind. It was
like a rainbow reminder of how to behave. Unfortunately, not everyone followed those rules.
“Pinard should be bringing Michael in to sober up for a bit,” Grace said as she smoothed the counter top with her hands,
her bracelet charm hitting the surface and making a light tapping noise. Mark gave it to her last Christmas, just a couple
of weeks after they had been dating. Grace wasn’t much of a jewelry girl, but this specific piece managed to find a place
in her heart, much in the same way that Mark did. The bracelet was simple, made of a thin braided brown leather band.
The word “brave” was engraved on the silver rectangle that sat in the middle. After Mark had learned about Grace’s ‘gift’
of being able to see into the eyes of criminals, he didn’t laugh at her or accuse her of lying. Instead, he had listened
intently, and always called her brave for using her gift to help others. “I’m going to head over to the school for a quick
meeting.”
“Okay, girl,” Lt. Sullivan went back to focusing on the Bridgeton Press splayed out on the desk in front of him.
Normally Grace wouldn’t be partial to someone calling her “girl,” but Lt. Sullivan was different. He was the exception to
the rule, kind of like the father she never had.

Like most things in the town of Bridgeton, the police department was walking distance from the elementary school
where the fundraiser meeting was being held, so Grace decided to get some steps in and walk. For early June, the sun
was exceptionally hot, and she could feel the heat on her fingertips when she adjusted the sunglasses on her head. She
walked past the middle school and took note of some underage smokers hanging out on the side of the building. A few
moms pushed strollers by her in a single line while maintaining their conversation about a yoga class they had taken in
town. Grace couldn’t imagine herself being a mother, but she still envied those mothers who had an instant bond with
one another because they had done the unfathomable with their bodies and created another human being. It was no
surprise that mothers joined together like they were in a secret club. She was afraid it was a club she would never be a
part of and that always tugged at her heart strings. As she approached the parking lot to the elementary school, she
could see a few stragglers entering the building carrying oversized cardboard signs. She held the door for one woman
balancing an overstuffed box of decorations. Various rolls of different-colored crepe paper sat on top, looking like they
were on the verge of unraveling in a matter of seconds.
“You need some help with that?” Grace asked.
“Oh, I think I got it,” the woman managed to take her eyes off the box and greet Grace with a smile. “Thank you though.
This is perfect timing.” She gestured to the door that Grace was holding open for her.
“You’re welcome. I assume you are going to the parade meeting?”
“Yes, I am.” The woman stopped for a minute, taking Grace in with her sparkling, brown eyes. “Hey, you’re that girl
detective. Is it McKenna?”
“That’s me,” Grace said, used to being defined by her gender. She got it; it was a rarity in the police world.
“My older daughter went to school with Mackenzie... Waterford,” she said as if they were simply discussing their
favorite type of music. Grace was used to people bringing up the Waterford case. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, and
considering Grace was the only female cop in the town until just a month prior, she stuck out like a sore thumb. People
remembered the cases she covered and the Waterford one was memorable.
“So, you have a younger one at the elementary school too?” Grace diverted the conversation as she let the woman
unknowingly lead her to the meeting room.
“Yeah, Mason is my younger one...we had him several years after the girls. A bit of a ‘whoops’ moment but you didn’t
hear that from me,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” Grace leaned in to shake the woman’s hand but stopped herself when she
remembered her hands were full with the overstuffed box.
“I’m Dina. Dina Woodward,” the woman said, just seconds before she was surrounded by a gaggle of other moms her
age. They all started to remove the box’s content like seagulls pecking away at snacks left over on the beach. The women
immediately engaged in witty banter amongst themselves as an older man hammered away at a wooden rowboat in the
corner of the room, accompanied by a group of older ladies telling him what to do. As soon as Grace saw Miriam, she
was overcome with a feeling of accomplishment and fear at the same time. Accomplishment for tracking her down so
quickly and fear for knowing what no one else knew—that this woman, who appeared innocent on the outside, was
quite possibly the murderer of some man whose identity Grace needed to figure out. Miriam was in a deep conversation
with a middle-aged woman, her hands resting easily on her hips and her head nodding along. She looked at her watch
and suddenly transformed into a different person.

“Alright everyone, let’s get started, no dilly-dallying today.” Miriam clapped her hands and everyone slid into the folding
chairs that were lined up in rows. Grace slipped to the back of the room, hoping to go unnoticed.
“So, does everyone have what they are supposed to have today?” Miriam took command of the room like she was a
dictator. Everyone looked at her eagerly as they held up their designated supplies, showing them off like they were
eager students trying to please their teacher.
For a moment, Grace was afraid she had entered the wrong room. Surely this wasn’t the same woman she had just
talked to in the town center. It was as if Miriam went from a hunched-over question mark to a bold exclamation point
in a matter of minutes. After she laid out the meeting agenda, she was bombarded by questions at the front of the room.
Everyone seemed to pine for Miriam’s approval. Her minions went to work setting up various stations geared toward
creating the float, and the room instantly transformed into a work‐ shop of little elves taping, gluing, and coloring
various pieces of card‐ board, connecting pieces together by way of crafty strings. Grace’s interest was piqued, so she
waltzed over to Dina and a cluster of women busy taking out the decorations one by one.
“I found these at the dollar store and I couldn’t pass them up,” said a woman with cropped blonde hair as she pulled a
few crowns out of her oversized purse. “You know the girls will love these, and maybe we can attach little sea life
creatures or something on them.”
Grace inserted herself into the gaggle of women. They were so consumed with building the perfect float that they failed
to even notice she was there.
“So, what exactly are you guys making?” she asked, trying to sound like she was one of them, when she was so clearly
not. As if she just gave them the most shocking news, they all suddenly looked up, tearing their eyes off the decorations,
and stared at her for much too long, like they had just realized there was an outsider in the room and were threatened
that news about their float would leak to the rest of the town.
“Hey, ladies, this is Grace, the girl detective in town.” Dina stepped in, her introduction acting as an approval for the
other ladies to have permission to talk to her. And just like that, they all shared wide grins and appeared to relax, falling
back into what they were doing. “We are doing an ‘Under the Sea’ theme, so we are gonna have everyone dressed as
different sea creatures, present company included,” Dina said proudly as the rest of the moms broke out in a fit of
laughter. Grace wondered if there was a secret language that only moms knew, because she was lost on the joke.
“Check this out; these are going to look so cute.” Dina pulled out a fishing line with several seashells and starfish
decorations hanging from them.
“So, who is in your group?”
“Well, it will be my two little ones, Jessie’s three girls, Beth’s twins, and of course Miriam’s granddaughter. We couldn’t
do this without Miriam; she’s like the force behind the float and the fundraiser. The woman is a godsend.”
“How do you guys know her? I mean... is she on the activity board or something?” Grace tried to sound casual.
“Oh gosh, no... she is Christie’s mother-in-law. Christie!?” Dina shouted, and suddenly a woman on the other side of the
room flipped a long, brown mane and shot a wide grin in their direction. She walked toward them, her hair bouncing
in all the right places and settling in a perfect frame around her face when she stopped in front of them.
“Hey ladies.” Deep brown eyes brightened in friendly recognition. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh, we don’t need your help, you just relax, mama,” Dina said, eyeing the small bump protruding from Christie’s belly.
“I was just bragging about Miriam to Detective...”
“McKenna,” Grace smiled, trying hard to not look at Christie’s belly. She always struggled with the appropriate things to
say to pregnant women.
“Nice to meet you, Detective,” Christie flashed another wide grin in Grace’s direction. This time Grace noticed her
perfectly colored lips and wondered if that was lipstick or the natural shade. “And I’m gonna take you up on your offer
to relax, I feel like I’m hefting a full-
grown toddler around in this big belly. I’m a cow! This baby is gonna be a beast.” She guided herself backward into one
of the folding chairs, let out a deep breath and extended her legs in front of her, revealing ten pink polished toenails.
Grace instantly felt insecure in front of her, as her toenails alone made Grace look like she just slapped herself together
in two seconds, which was partially true. She made a mental note to start putting more effort into her appearance or
Mark might leave her for one of these well-manicured moms.
While Grace didn’t know a whole lot about babies and pregnancy, she did know that this woman looked like anything
but a cow. She was either extremely humble or she was in complete denial that she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her little
bump, perfectly round, protruded just enough to make it clear that a baby was growing in there; however, the rest of
her body looked like it could be on the cover of a fashion magazine.
“Grammy!” The screeching voice of a little girl made several sets of eyes look up and away from the projects they were
focused on. A pint-sized girl with shiny, dark brown hair pulled back into two French braids came bounding into the
room darting for Miriam, who had yet to realize that Grace was in the room. She held her hands out as the little girl
barreled into her arms, her unicorn backpack fixed to her like a colorful shell on a tortoise.
“Kloe!” Miriam’s face remained lit up from the moment the little girl entered the room until she reached her arms.
“How was school today, my love?”
“I made a sun out of watercolor and Miss Stacey read my favorite book to the class...”
Suddenly a man approached Christie from behind and rested his hands on the back of her chair while leaning down to
kiss the top of her forehead.
“Hey, big guy,” Christie said looking up at his towering frame. Without knowing him, Grace felt as if this guy had no
trouble commanding a room’s attention. It wasn’t just his height but also the way he walked: with a purpose subtle
enough to not be misconstrued as arrogant but direct enough that everyone around knew he had direct intentions of
getting something done. Kloe ran over to them and inserted herself between the chair and her dad. The three of them
looked like they’d walked into a salon and chose the exact same hair color from one of those color swatches. Dark
brown with hints of natural highlights and a thickness that was rare for both men and women. Grace imagined they
were the envy of their friends with their powerful good looks. She fancied their Christmas cards as being the photos
that are used inside frames in gift shops, giving customers the feeling that they too could look like this perfect family if
they bought the frame and displayed it in their house.
“Did you give Grammy the painting you made for her?”
“Oops, I forgot.” Kloe hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Grammy!”

Like most girls her age, everything Kloe did and said was with a lot of excitement. The moment that Miriam turned
around, Grace could feel her eyes on her. She caught the woman off-guard, in her own element. Grace avoided eye
contact and instead kept her focus on the little girl.
“What did you make me?” Miriam knelt down so she was eye level with Kloe.
“Here, it is... somewhere,” Kloe dug through her backpack, retrieving a homemade book bound by yarn. “I wrote you a
story. My teachers helped, but they said I’m a neutral storyteller.”
“Natural honey, you’re a natural storyteller.” Christie corrected her with a voice as soothing as a lullaby.
“My smart girl.” Miriam took the book, using a delicate hand to turn the pages filled with childlike scrawl and artwork.
Beneath her calm demeanor as a leader and a picture-perfect grandmother, Grace could see just a slight shake of her
hand as she continued to flip through the pages.
Before Grace looked too suspicious, she decided to slip out of the room, leaving Miriam behind in presence, but not in
mind. ...