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Grace Immeasurable

By Gina Holder

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Prologue

Seven Years Ago

Kylie Phillips gazed at the closed silver casket holding her dad's body and didn't cry.
A blustery wind rushed through the small crowd and shook the white tent covering the grave. Dark clouds cast shadows over the cemetery. Kylie pulled her jacket sleeves down, then tucked her hands under her arms and fidgeted on the cold metal chair.
Mom shifted and crossed one leg over the other. She removed her glasses and dabbed at the corner of her eye, then rested her hand on Kylie’s shoulder.
Was she crying? No. It must be the wind. She wouldn't want it to ruin her makeup.
Mom’s grip tightened. They made eye contact, and Mom directed Kylie's attention back to the minister with a jerk of her chin.
Kylie dropped her hands to her lap, then faced forward and tried to focus on the man’s rambling. What is he babbling about? I don't want to go to Heaven if Dad is there. Her fingers knotted like a chain link fence. One stuck out from the rest at an odd angle.
How much longer before she could strip off the starchy drab dress and ankle-breaking pumps? Her sneakers, favorite hoodie, and jeans waited to rescue her from this straitjacket. She picked at the sunset-orange polish on her fingernails. I’m not sad. Why should I pretend to be?
She felt free for the first time in her twelve years.
He couldn't hurt her anymore.
“Stupid. Worthless. You’ll never amount to a hill o’ beans, Kylie Michelle. It would have been better if you had never been born.”
He couldn't say those things to her anymore. Couldn’t hit her anymore.
He was dead.
A freak accident had ended his miserable existence.
Something warm ran down Kylie's cheek.
One tear. Not of sadness.
Relief.


10 Months Later

Cardboard cacti and a covered wagon decorated the school stage.
Kylie screamed as the coal train fast approached. "Help!" She raised her voice an octave and added a southern drawl. "Please, someone help me!"
"Fear not, fair maiden, for I will save you." Peter swept his white cape over his shoulder and raised a plastic dagger to slice the ropes that bound Kylie to the train tracks.
Michael twirled his black mustache and cackled with villainous laughter. "Not so fast. You'll never save her." He pulled a sword from his belt loop and lunged at Peter.
The dagger and sword clashed. Kylie squirmed against the ropes. Peter and Michael sparred, their weapons lashing in the space between them until Peter ran Michael through with the dagger.
"Oh," Michael cried, "You got me!" He twisted and staggered, then tumbled to the floor. With one final twitch and a groan, he lay still.
Peter spun on his boot, then slashed through the ropes holding Kylie hostage. He took her hand in his and lifted her to her feet. Kylie straightened her cotton prairie dress and clasped her hands together. "Oh, Lone Ranger, thank you for saving me. How can I ever repay your kindness?"
Peter raised his white cowboy hat and swept low, bending at the waist. "No thanks is necessary, ma'am."
"But I must. I know…" Kylie pecked Peter's cheek with a kiss. A pink blush crept up his neck. A moment passed. The rest of the world disappeared.
"Let us ride off…" the drama teacher prompted Peter's forgotten line.
Peter blinked, and his blush deepened. He faced the audience. "Let us ride off into the sunset, my love, and live happily ever after." Taking her hand, he led her to his horse—a broomstick with a wooden head attached to one end. They mounted their noble steed and galloped off stage.
They dismounted backstage. After a quick set change, Peter would chase down the bandits and reclaim the townspeople's money.
Kylie touched her hair. In the hijinks of being kidnapped and tied to the train tracks, her bun had slipped down her neck. She had time to fix it before the curtain went up. She scurried down the hall and entered the dressing room, closing the door behind her. Facing the mirror, she pulled bobby pins from her updo.
The door opened, then closed. A lock clicked. Bobby Nichols’ reflection filled the mirror.
"Bobby, what are you doing in here?"
He closed the distance between them and ran his dirty palm over her head until his fingers caught in her hair. An odd look burned in his eyes.
"Leave me alone!" Kylie screamed. He pushed her backward against the dressing table, crushing her beneath his sweaty shirt. She grappled for balance, knocking makeup and hairpins to the floor. "Stop!" She tried to scream again, but he clasped his hand over her mouth. No! Let me go. Please!
She squirmed and managed another scream. Bobby’s lips puckered. She jerked sideways. His lips mashed her cheek. "Please. Let me go." His hands pinned her arm. He leaned forward. His hot, sour breath turned her stomach.
The dressing room door swung open, splinters flying from the broken frame. Like a superhero, Peter dashed inside, grabbed Bobby's shoulder, and spun him around. His other fist connected with Bobby's nose. Blood spurted. Bobby swung at Peter's head, but Peter ducked and Bobby stumbled off balance.
Curious faces filled the doorway as students gathered. "Fight! Fight!" they chanted.
Seconds later, the crowd parted, and the principal entered the room with the drama teacher close at his heels.
“That’s enough!” the principal roared. He grabbed hold of Peter’s shoulder. The drama teacher wrestled Bobby in a bear hug until he stopped struggling.
Bobby wiped his nose on his forearm, leaving a smear of blood. Peter’s eyes flashed and his lip curled. The two boys breathed heavily, costumes wrinkled and torn.
“What’s this all about?” the principal demanded. His face looked like a tomato, with veins sticking out of his neck.
Bobby squirmed. “Nothing.”
Peter jerked out of the principal’s hold and raised his fist. “He attacked Kylie. I was defending her.”
“Is this true, Kylie?”
“Yes sir, I…”
The principal glared at the two boys. "Fighting is against school policy. You're both suspended for a week."
"But…" Kylie protested, touching her cheek. Her stomach knotted. Goosebumps rose on her arms, and she shivered.
Kylie’s friends pushed their way through the other students. Stephanie wrapped her sweater over Kylie's shoulders. “Are you okay?”
Kylie pulled the sweater tighter. “I’m okay. Thanks to Peter. He’s a hero. How did he know I was here?”
Lauren hugged Kylie’s arm. “We all heard you scream. Peter ran off the stage midscene.”
Kylie smiled at Peter. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, leaning close to his ear.
He returned her grin. “I’ll always be there to rescue you.”

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