Grounded Read Online Free PDF Page B

wool coat, dropped it on the piano bench, and dragged the carry-on down the hall to her bedroom, half-hoping to see her black-and-white cat curled up on the end of the bed. But Oreo was still at Meeow Chicago, the premier boarding home for cats—the only place she ever left Oreo after that fiasco boarding him at the vet, where they’d basically kept him in a cage for six weeks. Never again!
    Never, never again …
    Never set foot in an airport again, either, that was for sure. In fact,
never
sounded like manna from heaven. Never make a fool of herself like she’d done Saturday night, hyping her purity message, telling hormone-crazy teenagers “you’re worth waiting for,” when obviously, Roger had decided
she
wasn’t worth waiting for.
    Maybe she should quit singing.
    Never do another tour.
    Why not? That was Roger’s beef, wasn’t it? That she was gone so much? At least, that was what he’d said. But was there more … things not said? Things she’d never talked about, but maybe—
    Stop it, Grace
. Couldn’t think about that. Her throat was sore, her head ached. She was so tired …
    Pushing aside the temptation to just crawl into bed, clothes and all, Grace stumbled into the bathroom. A hot shower … that’s what she needed. Wash away the dirty feeling she’d had ever since that … that awful man had touched her. Places even Roger had never touched her.
    The tears started once more.
    Standing in the shower, breathing in the steam and letting hot water run over her head, plastering the long, thick strands of hair to her back, Grace felt her muscles start to relax for the first time in two days. She lathered her hair, then her whole body. But for some reason she kept her eyes closed, as if afraid to see herself naked … as if she were still standing in that glass cage, being stared at like an animal in a zoo.
    She turned off the water, toweled herself dry, covered herself quickly in her cozy fleece robe, and padded to the kitchen to make a mug of lemon tea with honey to soothe her throat.
    Finally crawling exhausted between the sheets under her mother’s heirloom quilt, the mug of tea and honey only half drunk on the bedside table, Grace stared into the darkness. The silence of coming home alone was loud in her ears. No fans clamoring for her attention, wanting to share their life stories or asking for her autograph. No Samantha to check on her, making sure she had everything she needed. No call from Roger, whispering sweet nothings into her ear. Not even the comforting weight of Oreo, curled up on her feet.
    She had never felt so utterly alone.

    Music … what? Don’t want music … want to sleep …
    The muscular notes of “All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name” finally throbbed into Grace’s consciousness …
uhhh
. Her cell phoneringtone. Eyes still closed, she fumbled for the offending noise, pressed the Off button, and burrowed deeper under the quilt.
    Hugging her pillow, she willed herself into oblivion again, but sleep didn’t come. Her mouth felt dry and her throat was still sore. The room was light in spite of the closed venetian blinds. Rising up on one elbow, she blinked blearily at the digital alarm clock. 2:13. Two in the
afternoon
? Grace sat up. Oh no. She’d slept right around the clock! But she had to go get Oreo or it’d be another day before she could pick him up.
    Sliding out of bed, Grace wearily pulled on her robe and slippers, shuffled out to the kitchen—stopping just long enough in the living room to wind the schoolhouse clock—and started coffee. She peeked over the café curtains covering half the kitchen window at the thermometer just outside. Twenty-two degrees and cloudy. She shivered in spite of herself and glanced up and down the street. No one about.
Monday
… Kids still in school. Everybody else at work.
    Oh, wait … there was the old woman who