Grace (Aaron)

Description

In the Jimmy Rogers Chronicles, Book  2 – “It’s Impossible”, Aaron Rizzer, the proprietor of Professor Remembers Roadhouse & Bakery Cafe develops an unconditional love for the young hostess that joined his staff at the end of “Can’t Stop It”, the first episode in the Jimmy Rogers Chronicles.

The song “Grace” relates to what Aaron is experiencing in Chapter 3 of “It’s Impossible”. Here’s an excerpt from that chapter:

I buttoned up my blazer and rolled up the collar as I stepped out of Remember’s back door into the crisp afternoon air. The lot behind the café was unusually quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic. I needed a breath of fresh air from the endless tasks of running a successful eatery.

That’s when I saw her.

Belle, my new hostess was standing by the open trunk of her car, her back toward me. Her shoulders slightly hunched as she was shifting a couple of mismatched boxes. Her motions were slow and deliberate, as though each lift took more energy than she had to spare. Her hunter green dress clung to her as the wind picked up, catching strands of her black hair.
The sight stopped me in my tracks. Something seemed wrong.

Belle always moved with long determined, poised strides of someone who knew exactly where she was headed. But today, her usually confident demeanor seemed to flicker, as if she were fighting to hold herself together.

Suddenly it was as if I was gripped in a massive vice that was pushing on me from all sides. There was a darkness, a weight clinging to her like a shadow, I wanted so much to lift it from her.

What should I do? I felt an overwhelming desire to help her with whatever it was that was digging at her. But what right do I have to intrude on her private life? She looks like she needs space, I thought, but my feet carried me toward her almost involuntarily.

“Belle,” I called softly.

When she turned, she was filled with such sadness I wasn’t sure it was Belle. The look in her eyes commanded something within me to take her in my arms and just hold her, protect her from whatever had done this to her. It took everything I had not to.

The composure Belle wore so well, the armor that made her seem unshakable, had cracked. Her eyes, dark and glossy, betrayed a storm of tears had barely passed. She moved her head back almost imperceptibly surprised she was not alone. She quickly attempted to straighten and offer a smile.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Rizzer,” she said, looking in my eyes her voice steady but fragile.

I could barely raise my hand to wave, my heart crushed to see the effort it took for her to project the Belle that I met a few weeks ago. “Everything okay?” I asked gently, keeping my tone light, though I knew everything definitely was not “alright”.
Belle glanced at the boxes in her trunk, then back at me, her smile faltering. “Just moving some stuff. Nothing major.”
I looked at the boxes as I said: “Moving can be rough, need a hand?”

She shook her head quickly. “No, no I’m fine. Really, just another ‘regular, degular, shmegular’ day.” The words were firm, but her body betrayed her. She gripped the edge of the trunk like it was the only thing holding her up.

I wanted to say something, anything, but the right words evaded me. I was stabbed with a pang of helplessness, sadness as I searched my mind for something to say or do that would erase whatever was burdening her. I stepped closer and spoke softly. “Belle, it’s okay not to be fine.”

She turned her head quickly toward me and I thought for a moment she was going to argue my point, but then, something shifted. Her shoulders sagged, and she exhaled shakily, as if releasing a breath, she’d been holding for far too long.

“I’m moving in with my Sister in Charlotte,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t….it’s… so much right now.”

That started my mind racing. I heard the defeat in her words, I saw the weight she was carrying. The urge to protect her surged through me, but “boundaries” I thought. Respect her privacy.

“That’s a big decision,” I said. “Sometimes it’s hard knowing when to let go and when to push through.”
She blinked, as though surprised by the genuineness in my voice and words. “Yeah,” Belle murmured, with a hint of gratitude in her voice.

It was all I could do to resist the instinct to reach out, to gather her into my arms and remind her God is with her, everything would be okay.

But I held back, sensing that such a gesture might convey I did not see the strength and independent spirit Belle clearly possessed. I respected her too much to risk implying I thought she couldn’t ably make her own decisions and take care of herself.

There was a time I might have pushed past that boundary, convinced myself it was kindness, not control. But something in me whispered: love mercy, act justly, walk humbly. And maybe for the first time, I actually listened.

“If you ever need someone to talk to,” I said, “I’m here. No strings attached.”

Belle’s eyes softened, and for the first time, she let the mask slip. “Thanks, Mr. Rizzer,” she said quietly and sincerely.
There was a level of honesty in her eyes, the way she looked at me, something impossible to describe. As if she was wondering, assessing, measuring if I truly cared.

“Anytime,” I said trying not to make too much of it.

As Belle turned her eyes back to her car, I took a step back, giving her space. Yet, as I walked into Remember’s, I couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, fragile but resolute, burdened but unbroken. She wasn’t just moving boxes; she was moving pain, disappointment, a thousand unshed tears packed tightly into cardboard.

And for the first time, helping her didn’t feel like a performance. It didn’t feel like one of my grand gestures that masked some deeper hunger for validation. I’m not sure, but I wondered is this what is known as “grace”.

I stood just inside the doorway, heart pounding in the stillness. There were so many things I’ve gotten wrong in this life, ambitions that cost me people I loved, choices I justified until there was no one left to convince.

But standing there, watching Belle bear her struggle with such quiet strength, I felt something shift. Not pride. Not ego. Just this aching desire to do something with no expectation of return.

Maybe that’s what reverence is, knowing you may never be invited closer, and still choosing to stay near. Sometimes silence is the only way to honor something you know you may never fully hold.

A part of me wondered if this moment was more than a passing flicker of compassion. Maybe it was the beginning of something different for me. Not Belle being my “second chance”, but the first real step toward saving what’s left of the man I was meant to be.

Because the truth is, I’ve got more years behind me than ahead.

I know salvation isn’t earned by good deeds, grace doesn’t work that way. But maybe, just maybe, while I’m still here, I can give something back.

Not to earn favor. Not to cancel out mistakes. But to honor the blessings I’ve been given by giving blessings to whomever is placed in my life.