The Time Keepers

Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7 Long Island, 1979

G RACE WATCHED AS THE BOY QUICKLY DEVOURED THE FRUIT. As he ate, relief washed over his aunt’s face.

Within seconds, Anh had walked over across the table and wrapped B?o tightly into her arms and rubbed her cheek against the crown of his hair. The boy, stiff and withdrawn at first, soon softened against her body. The air in the room shifted and eased. It was a scene that Grace only wished her own mother had been afforded years before, her stomach now twisted at the memory.

“We’ll just need to take a statement about where you found him. Then the two of you can be on your way and we can take it from there,” the police officer cut in.

“Of course,” she said quietly and followed him out the door.

In a separate room, the story of how Grace had found B?o on the corner tumbled forth. “My only concern was making sure he was returned home safely.” But she also felt compelled to mention the troubling scar on his arm.

The officer scribbled down his notes. “We’ll make some inquiries. But if it’s not a fresh wound, it could have happened a while ago.”

Graced reached for Tom’s hand. While she was grateful that B?o had been reunited with his aunt, she still felt a lingering concern over why he’d run away in the first place.

As a mother, she was no stranger to the dramatics of children. Her eldest, Katie, had threatened to run away on several occasions when she was around the same age. Grace recalled one particular episode when Katie had stuffed her pillowcase with what she believed to be her necessities: her prized sticker album, a copy of Teen Beat magazine (given to her by the babysitter), and some chewing gum, but she’d never gotten farther than the driveway.

“You mentioned B?o and his aunt were staying at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs,” Grace said.

“Yes. At the motherhouse. The Sisters sponsored a group of boat people.”

Grace flinched. She’d seen the photographs on the front page of the New York Times about the thousands of Vietnamese refugees who’d crowded onto tiny vessels trying to escape persecution after the fall of the South Vietnamese government. So many had perished at sea from starvation and capsized boats to even pirate attacks.

“It’s a good thing the Sisters have tried to help, though it’s not easy being new to a place as close-knit as Bellegrove,” Grace said. “It can feel a little like a country club, with the new people not permitted entry.”

Grace was pensive when she got into their old Pontiac wagon, and Tom started the engine. Outside, it began to rain.

“It’s interesting,” she said as she looked out the window, the melancholy returning to her as the pavement became speckled with drops. “When we came to the station, my only concern was about making sure the boy was okay. But now, I can’t help thinking about both him and his aunt.” She swallowed hard. “We don’t know what happened to his parents, either.”

“Anh seemed like a very compassionate young woman.” Tom’s voice was soothing. “You could see how worried she’d been.”

“Yes. But can you imagine arriving here not knowing the language, the customs.… It’s an entirely different world.” Her head leaned against the glass. “It was hard enough for me coming from Ireland. People used to tell me they couldn’t understand a word I said, with my accent.”

“It was part of your charm, Gracie.”

“You should have seen the way Adele looked at him. You’d think I was walking down the street with a criminal.”

“You know better than to suggest Adele is like everyone else in town.”

“I know.” Grace straightened and shuffled through her handbag for a mint. “It just feels like we left the police station too soon.”

“You worry too much,” Tom said as he reached for an eight-track tape of a Beatles album that Grace loved. The sound of the familiar tunes laced the space between them as they headed home.

When they reached the house on Morris Avenue, Tom pulled slowly into the driveway. He switched the car’s lights off and turned to Grace.

“I didn’t realize how late it is. The girls are going to be hungry.” His hands fell from the steering wheel to his lap. “Should I get us a pizza?”

Grace glanced at her watch. In the twilight, her face looked somber.

“I completely forgot it’s Sunday night. Jack’s supposed to have dinner with us.” A sinking feeling came over her. She had been on her way to get the groceries for a nice supper when she found B?o, and the meal with Jack had completely slipped her mind.

“I’m sure the kids told him what happened,” he reassured her. “He’ll understand. How often do you find a runaway?”

“Yes. But I still feel bad.” Her Irish guilt took over. She knew that Jack, who lived above their family store and kept mostly to himself, always looked forward to a home-cooked meal. “Please tell him I’m sorry when you see him.”

“Of course, but we did the right thing. B?o is back with his aunt. We can give Jack a rain check for another Sunday night.” He reached for her in the passenger seat and ran his finger over her forearm. The softness of her skin never ceased to surprise him. Grace always felt new to him.

But had they really done as much as they could? Grace wasn’t so sure. When she first arrived in Bellegrove, her experience had hardly been smooth. And Tom’s parents—the only Jews in the town—had also been considered outsiders. Treated politely for the most part, but hardly fully embraced.

Her fingers now reached beneath her neckline to touch the tiny amulet of Saint Thérèse resting against her skin. Delilah had given it to her after her sister’s funeral, and she still wore the necklace to this day.

Grace closed her eyes and remembered when Delilah shared how she was guided by the spirit of Saint Thérèse and her belief that small acts of empathy could change the world. The Irish in Grace sensed that B?o had come into her life for a reason. And perhaps now Anh, too. Her late mother-in-law had called it chesed , the moral obligation to always be kind.