Tender Grace Read Online Free Page B

He’d smell the roses when we got where we were going. And the truth is, I liked the passenger seat, reading and dozing to my heart’s content. I would love to have that luxury again, at least the dozing part. But I have discovered that I can stay awake and both drive and navigate.
    How freaked Tom would be to learn I went only from Tulsa to Oklahoma City before stopping. He saw nothing in Oklahoma City on any trip we made in that direction, except possibly a convenience store. In his opinion we would have just gotten on the road.
    So I had not seen the Oklahoma City Memorial until today. It ended up being my only destination. I slept late, watched a movie, and e-mailed the kids, so I didn’t arrive until late afternoon. As it turned out, that was good, because when I had been there awhile, I knew I had to stay until dark.
    I really had no idea what to expect. When Rita’s son got married last year, one wedding and reception I had to attend, Rita put me at a table with two couples I knew from church and with some old friends of hers from Oklahoma City. I tried to be friendly to the couple none of us knew and pulled up all my reserves to ask one of my open-ended questions.
    “So,” I had asked the man whose name I’ve forgotten, “is the memorial nice?”
    “I guess,” he said.
    Then he looked at me as if I had no education, formal or otherwise, and added, “It’s a memorial !”
    Well, okay then.
    I flashed him a quick little smile instead of thanking him for the patronizingly obvious and returned to my chicken and steamed vegetables. The other two couples could make Rita’s friends feel comfortable. It was beyond me. At least he was.
    I’ll admit it wasn’t the most astute question, but had he been anything but a Neanderthal, he could have said something like, “It’s much more than nice. You really must see it.”
    I’m glad I did. The three-acre site is a stunning symbolic tribute to everyone involved in the horrific 1995 bombing. I now know why a committee could unanimously agree on one design out of 624 entries.
    I wanted to stay at the memorial until the lights came on to illuminate the Survivor Tree and the glass pedestals the granite chairs rest on, revealing the names of those who died. While I waited, a lady around my age arrived and sat down nearby. I looked over at her just as she looked at me. I almost turned away; instead I spoke, shocking myself and maybe her.
    “They’ve built something beautiful in this horrid place,” I said.
    She nodded and smiled. I thought she’d look away and sit in peace as I had intended to do, but she pointed at one of the memorial chairs. “My daughter,” she said.
    Amazingly enough, I kept eye contact, but I didn’t say anything. I had no adequate response. She seemed to see that in my eyes.
    August 13
    I slept so late I almost missed church. Fortunately I had located one on my way to the memorial yesterday, so I knew my way, knew the service started at eleven. I sat in the back row and was out of there with the amen of the benediction; nevertheless, I had met with others to worship. That seemed like a good and very responsible way to spend part of my morning.
    For lunch I picked up a hamburger and malt and took this fine meal back to the hotel. After I finished eating, I chewed two antacid tablets (small price to pay for grease and chocolate) and thought about taking myself to the botanical garden. But Sunday is the designated day of rest, so I decided to take a nap instead. A long one. Evidently yesterday wore me out.
    My encounter with the lady sitting near me by the Survivor Tree may have contributed to my weariness, which was more a heaviness of the heart. She said she comes to the memorial once a month or so. The year it opened she came every week. She was overwhelmed the first time she saw her daughter’s name glowing in the glass base of her granite chair.
    “I’ve wondered if I should quit coming so often,” she said. “But once a month isn’t