Saving Gracie (17 page)

The lunch sack covering her face, Quinlan sat lifeless for several minutes before feeling the panic subside as air moved in and out of her lungs. Her heart slowed to a low roar. She pushed the makeshift mask away, her eyes locking in on the blue duffle bag. She grabbed the lunch sack and slapped it back across her face.

CHAPTER 25

QUINLAN

“It’s stupid to be afraid of a silly carnival ride,” her mother yelled loud enough to shame her in front of her sister Ruth, her dad, and anyone else within shouting distance.

“Please don’t make me do it.” Kathryn’s seven-year-old tearful pleas resulted in a stone-cold glare from her mother.

Her father walked her up the scaffolding ramp to one of the cars then slid in beside her. He pulled down the rail across their lap, locking them into place.

“It’ll be okay.” His eyes were sad.

Shortly, the ride began; forward, then upward. The front car reached the top much too quickly, tipping and pulling the trailers downward toward the ground.

Kathryn hated the free-falling effect…it made her feel sick. Her iron grip on the security rail across her lap did nothing to squelch her ear-piercing shriek. She’d heard people scream purely for the thrill of riding a roller coaster: not her. She hated, hated, hated roller coasters…more than liver and onions.

The ride ended. Her throat burned. She felt dizzy. Her father raised the bar from their laps, stepped to the scaffold, and helped her out. Approaching the exit platform, her lunch projectiled, soiling the front of her dress and splattering bits of hot dog on her father’s shoes.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, her father wiped her mouth and, as best he could, her dress.

“It’s okay, Sweet Pea,” he whispered.

Kathryn’s watery eyes scanned the crowd and found her mother pulling Ruth away from the roller coaster. Although only seven, Kathryn had seen that walk before. Disappointment would have been bearable. Disgust made her want to throw up again.

Quinlan awoke. Her hand shook as she placed it over her heart. A chill washed over her. It was a trip down memory lane she had no interest in taking. She hated that dream. For decades she’d successfully suppressed the awful memory from her mental library.

Why resurface now? she wondered.

The rest of the night Quinlan laid awake, fearful that sleep would lull her back to the nagging dream featuring horrible memories of her mother.

Dressed at an ungodly early hour, Quinlan sat at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers, still disturbed by the dream. At 6:00 the messenger arrived for her belongings, and Ruby had her delivered to the transport station with fifteen minutes to spare.

“Hey Eddie!” Ruby yelled through Juicy Fruit chomps.

The blare of Ruby’s voice coursed through Quinlan like an electric charge. Her nerves were shot, her panic button nonfunctional from overuse.

“Quinlan, meet Eddie,” Ruby said. “Your travel escort.”

The young man nodded, “Ma’am,” his affect flat.

Eddie, clearly a no nonsense, strictly business type of guy, sported spiked, bleached white hair, a stark contrast to his thick-rimmed black Clark Kent glasses. The badge on his travel vest read
Eddie-Escort of the Friendly Skies.

“Hello,” Quinlan said, although Eddie had already turned his attention elsewhere. She glanced at Ruby.

The hefty woman eyed Eddie. Her Juicy Fruit chomps increased to full throttle. “Yeah, well.” Ruby waved him off. “He’ll be fine. C’mon.”

Quinlan’s swallow felt like a golf ball inching down her throat.

Stopping at the transport gate, Ruby pointed to the “blue” gold card and ID bracelet Quinlan held. “Show her those.”

The woman in uniform ran both under a blue light before waving them through.

“Okay, that’s done.” Ruby patted down her cargo pants as they moved through the gate. “What else? I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

Quinlan pulled her silver cell phone from her jacket. “I guess I won’t need this.”

“That’s it!” Ruby retrieved a cell phone from her vest pocket. Cobalt blue. “Here ya go.”

“It’s blue.” Quinlan said.

“Uh—yeah,” Ruby duh-answered.

“Why is everything blue?”

Ruby shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Do I even need this?” Quinlan examined the phone in her hand.

“As a matter of fact, yeah, you do.” Ruby beamed, her chest puffed. “Got a call last night from the Ice Prince….” Ruby’s jaw dropped open. She snapped it shut and cracked her knuckles. “I mean, Mary called last night and said I’ll be your weekly contact.”

“She did?” Quinlan’s eyes widened. “That makes me feel so much better.” Emotions getting the better of her, she pulled a Kleenex from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “You’ll be a familiar voice.”

“Ah, come on now. Don’t do that.” Ruby’s chin quivered. In one swift motion, she swooped Quinlan up in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground.

The vice grip around Quinlan’s body deflated her lungs. “Ruby…I…can’t…breathe.”

“Sorry.” Ruby replaced Quinlan and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Did I ever tell you you’re my first assignment?”

“Really?” Quinlan checked her eyeglasses to ensure they hadn’t crushed under the pressure of the monster squeeze.

“Yeah. And I thought I’d blown it for sure with the CI card thing.” Ruby rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”

Ruby waved a hand. “Ah, that’s okay.” Her Juicy Fruit chewing slowed to normal chomp mode. “We must be doing something right. I mean, they’re sending you back on special assignment and I haven’t been demoted.” Ruby cleared her throat. “Yet.”

“I hope you’re right.” Quinlan felt doubt creeping in.

A voice crackled through a nearby loudspeaker.

“Hey, they’re calling your name. Have a safe trip. I’ll be in touch,” were Ruby’s last words before disappearing from the platform.

~~~

With the parachute strapped to her back and a headset equipped with microphone securely fastened, Quinlan followed Eddie and two attendants to a launch pad with separate but adjacent module-like capsules. Quinlan fought the urge to wave to the crowd like an astronaut before a shuttle launch. She’d always wanted to do that.

She slipped into the compartment. “It is like a space shuttle.” Quinlan breathed relief. “The parachute must be a safety device, right? Like life jackets under airplane seats?” She caught the attendants exchanging glances. Eddie remained quiet. The door to her compartment closed. A bolt slid into place.

“This isn’t so bad.” Feeling a sense of safety, her body relaxed for the first time in, well…a while. “I’m finally on my way.” She tucked her eyeglasses into a side pocket of her bag and nestled down as best she could with a parachute tied to her back. Her eyes moved up the walls of the capsule.

“Now, isn’t that clever. Someone’s painted a sky-scape on the ceiling. There’s clouds and….” Quinlan’s eyebrows drew together when several birds flew by.

“All clear,” she heard through the headset.

Her heart dropped.

“Ten, nine, eight….” As each number ticked down, the module tilted a notch. Quinlan death-gripped sweaty palms to her blue parachute straps. “Oh shit.”

“Zero.”

POOF!

A humongous thrust propelled Quinlan into the morning sky.

After a few very long moments, a loud pop forced one of Quinlan’s tightly squeezed eyes to open. Clouds of cobalt blue nylon unfurled around her. The bold-colored swirls caught the wind and yanked her upward. Her stomach lurched then she settled into a descent. At least it’s a descent…she hoped.

Surprisingly, Quinlan experienced none of the free-falling terror she feared. She found if she focused anywhere but down, the descent seemed…bearable. She did a quick sneaky-peek out to her right and saw her travel escort some thirty feet away. Unlike hers, Eddie’s parachute beamed canary yellow.

~~~

Later, Quinlan would be forever grateful for three things.

One. She wore slacks instead of a dress. How embarrassing would that have been?

Two. Wind didn’t seem to be a factor in the descent. How? She didn’t know or care as long as she didn’t have to fret about her hair being a mess. She seemed to be inside a protective invisible bubble, which suited her just fine.

Three. She had learned absolutely zilch, zip, zero about the parachute procedure ahead of time. If she had, this whole trip could easily have been scrubbed.

Luckily, the launch off the transport platform only made her hands and feet tingle, and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, was nothing like her free falling roller coaster nightmare.

The parachute seat, surprisingly comfortable, allowed her to twist sideways and access her travel bag. After several attempts Quinlan managed to prop her sparkly-blue Catwoman glasses on her nose. She pulled the map from her travel packet and rotated it several times, having no idea the direction she was headed to or parachuted from. She doubted Newton’s gravity theory applied here. She shrugged and replaced the map, pulling out the trouble-shooting chart. Her eyes widened as she read. This could come in handy, Quinlan thought and decided to have it laminated.

Saying goodbye to Meghan that morning had been difficult. Meghan tried to be supportive, but trepidation shone clearly in her eyes.

“The two of you never agreed on anything.” Meghan’s words that day at Angela’s settled about as well as five rotund people in a smart car. But Meghan didn’t know what she knew about Gracie’s predicament. Since being granted the return trip, Quinlan hadn’t been allowed to discuss the particulars with anyone, even Meghan. And to complicate matters, her CI card had been confiscated.

Quinlan checked the time on her ID bracelet, which had already been programmed to Earth time. She calculated about thirty more minutes remained before landing. She reached for her notepad and flipped to a clean sheet. Lists, her mental anchor, always made her feel better… and in control.

~To Do~

Check in at station building

Laminate trouble-shooting chart

Report to…

“What’s the ground patrol’s name?” Quinlan twisted around and pulled out the Upon Arrival pamphlet and flipped to the yellow highlighted line on page two. “Angela.” She blew out relief and filled in the name.

Quinlan looked at Eddie. He seemed so serious, pounding numbers on an oversized calculator. She pushed the button on her mike. “Calculating wind velocity.” Eddie glanced briefly toward her bright blue parachute then returned to his number crunching.
Zero
sense of humor. She checked her watch again. “We should be getting—”

Her scream was lost by the sound of crashing through what appeared to be tree limbs. After coming to an abrupt halt she blinked hard several times and gazed upward at the billowy shreds of blue nylon. Peeking down she estimated she hung about twenty feet from the ground, suspended from a large oak tree. Spanish moss framed her face like a Raggedy Ann doll, draping down around her shoulders and dangling from her glasses, which now hung from one ear. She spit out a mouthful of moss.

Several trees over, Eddie straddled the rather large limb of a pine tree.
Ouch
. His Clark Kent’s had disappeared and his calculator lay smashed in electronic shrapnel on the ground below. Eddie’s eyes were squeezed shut, his arms and legs extended outward as stiffly as his spiked hair…an ideal scene for a cartoonist.

CHAPTER 26

GRACE

Grace and Adam argued twice before the Chicago trip. The first dispute actually was the Chicago trip. Grace started it. She couldn’t help herself. Adam happened to mention Jared wouldn’t be going this time, just Adam and the contract specialist, Lindsay Durham. The Melissa McCarthy-Jennifer Aniston panic issue resurfaced full-blown. Adam’s unusual defensiveness fueled her fears.

Why is he being defensive? What’s he hiding? Where’s #2? Grace chewed her fingernails to the quick. Her mind had turned to mush. How was she supposed to handle this?

No matter how much Adam attempted reassurance, she still felt threatened. He even suggested the two women meet, which Grace considered, but backed out. Besides looking ridiculous, what if this woman was a Jennifer Aniston? Then what? Best not find out.

What I don’t know can’t hurt me, right?

The second argument involved her going to school. Every sound reason Adam threw into the ring, Grace batted down with a one-two punch.

“What is it?” Adam’s frustration was evident. “Why won’t you even try? Do you think you’ll fail? Or, maybe, just maybe, you’ll succeed. What are you so damn afraid of?”

Shit. She hadn’t thought much about failing
or
succeeding…just being a whiney-ass-scaredy-cat, to coin #2. And she hated when Adam got mad at her. Adam didn’t get mad. Ever.

They went to bed not speaking. Luckily, by the next morning both arguments had died. Adam reassured her for the thousandth time he had no interest in Lindsay Durham and Grace agreed to seriously consider school.

The company limo waited outside and he gave her a quick kiss and hug. She stood at the front door and watched him walk down the driveway. With the limousine windows darkened Grace had no idea if Lindsay waited inside. She’d been afraid to ask.

~~~

Later that night, Grace Googled
Texas Gulf Coast Sea Shells
and sifted through hundreds of online photos, anything to keep her mind off Chicago. The strange kidney-shaped sea treasure resting beside the monitor intrigued her. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen on the beach. She zeroed in on one of the photos and clicked, enlarging the image.

“Aha!”

With a hard outer covering and internal air pockets, sea beans can drift great distances by ocean currents until they wash up on a beach. Some may travel thousands of miles from their origin.

Picking up the sea bean, she rubbed her thumb over its smooth surface, remembering her mother’s collection of sea shells boxed away in the attic. “So little guy, where have you been?” This tiny sea bean had seen so much more of life than she had. “Will you be my good luck charm?”

She set the sea treasure aside, glanced behind her, and hunched up her shoulders as if she could hide the screen. She Googled Master’s Degree Programs, University of Houston.

“What’s with the shoulders? You running a spy mission?” #2 asked.

“Checking programs. Take a hike.” She clicked on U of H Post Graduate Degrees. At least seventy categories appeared on the screen.

“Ah shit,” they said in unison.

She rubbed a finger over the tip of her nose. “How do I decide what I want to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know…think like a grown-up?”

Grace thought how nice it would feel, just once, to slap the shit out of #2.

“I heard that.”

Raising an eyebrow, she muttered, “Good.”

“Look, you’ve got to decide what your intention is. Remember the book? In-ten-tion?” #2 drew out each syllable. “You’ve got to have a reason for getting your masters. It’s going to take a lot of work. You need to know why.”

Damn. Even alter egos made sense. “You’re right. People my age don’t go back to school for grins. If anyone asks, I need to have an answer.”

#2 sighed. “Not exactly my point.” Pause. “You know, if you want something you’ve never had, you’re gonna have to do something you’ve never done. Like…step out there, give it a try. The only way to fail is if you don’t try.”

Grace’s eyebrows came together. She shut the top on the laptop, grabbed her sea bean, and headed downstairs.

“Were we finished?” #2 asked.

“You are.” Grace climbed into bed and pulled her notebook from the bedside table. Surrounded by her menagerie of pillows, she flipped to a clean sheet.

I’m going back to school because….

With the sea bean clutched in her hand, she closed her eyes and focused on her intention.

Fifteen minutes later she wrote:

I want to be someone…

I want to make a difference…

I want to do something useful…

I want to….

Her thought process had the speed of straining molasses through a straw.

I want to….

“Think of Cherry,” #2 whispered.

“Work with deaf children.” The words slipped from her mouth as easily as water over a dam.

She stopped, pen in mid-air. “Hah!” She completed the sentence.

I want to work with deaf children.

“Now that’s an answer,” #2 remarked. “If anyone asks, that is.”

Grace shook her head. “Just when I think you’re trying to be halfway decent you come out with something really shitty.”

Silence from the alter ego. Grace waited.

“I know, I know.” #2 paused briefly. “This nice crap is a bitch.”

Tired of the verbal combat with #2, she remained still, mentally replaying her new-found intention.

“So. You gonna do it or what?”

“I don’t know,” Grace hedged.

“Yes. You do.”

Grace reached over and switched off the lamp. She scooted down into her nest of faux woobie pillows and closed her eyes. “I’ll register tomorrow.”

“Good girl.”

~~~

She sipped coffee early the next morning and pulled a notepad and calendar in front of her, the sea bean nearby. With summer winding down and the kid’s school starting in two weeks, she needed a new to-do list. She jotted down a few things then paused, suddenly realizing she’d picked up her mother’s habit of making lists. “Wow.” Distracted, she slurped a good portion of coffee, the hot liquid scalding her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Ouch.

She fanned her mouth and refocused. Josh started middle school this year: a big deal…to Grace, a big deal. Josh seemed totally unconcerned about moving to a much larger school, or changing classes, or finding his locker and remembering the combination, or dealing with the whole PE thing. Grace agonized at the thought of her youngest child facing the lurking evils of middle school. Josh, on the other hand, focused on cramming as much daylight into every waking minute left of summer. So un-Grace-like.

She studied the calendar and drummed her fingers on the countertop. She stopped. August. An emotion tangled in her throat; a year since her mother’s surgery.

“Which means….” Grace calculated, ticking the months off on her fingers. “Four?” Had it only been four months since her mother’s death? Her eyes switched back to the sea bean. Four months. The pain hadn’t killed her. She had survived.

Grace refilled her coffee mug and thought about Cherry…and then the child’s mother.

“I wonder what
that
woman’s back-to-school list looks like?” She squirmed on the barstool, the silence around her unsettling. Deafness was a disability, but a manageable one if addressed properly. If no one speaks up for deaf children who can’t speak for themselves, then who will?

Picking up her pen and with a ram's-horn furrow of determination between her eyes, she added two words to her list.

Register for school – Me

~~~

By day’s end Grace had completed the online application for admission to the MSW program.
She decided
—an unfamiliar word in her daily vocabulary—becoming a social worker would give her needed skills to work with the Cherrys of the world. She hoped.

Before leaving the study that night she checked emails. Four new messages; three forwards from people who never sent anything but forwards. Delete, delete, and delete. She clicked on the fourth.

Mrs. Brookfield:

As you know, school will be starting in a couple of weeks. Are you still interested in volunteering for the first and second grade Deaf Ed class?

Please let me know at your earliest convenience. I hope to hear from you soon.

Elena Parker, Counselor, Sedgwick Elementary School

Pinching her lower lip with her fingers, Grace stared at the screen. The email didn’t surprise her as much as the stirring in her stomach. She wanted to see Cherry. She didn’t know what she could do for the child, but she had to try. Right? Isn’t that what #2 said? She hit reply, shaking her head at the thought of quoting an alter ego.

Mrs. Parker,

I will be taking classes at U of H on Mondays and Wednesdays.

However, I’m still interested in volunteering.

I will contact you the week after Labor Day, if that is okay.

Thank you, Grace Brookfield

She spell-checked and reread twice, almost deleting the “if that is okay”; still asking for permission. Grace shrugged and pushed send, watching the message disappear into cyberspace.

Lying in bed, she brushed her hand across the empty pillow beside her. Adam had called tonight. He called every night. She knew she monopolized the conversations with stupid chatter like, “I had to replace the light bulb in the half-bath” or “Riley did the funniest thing today….” Stupid, stupid, stupid. She wanted to hear his voice but only offered brief intervals for him to speak. Dead air time scared her. So did details about Chicago.

Turning away from his side of the bed, she willed her mind to switch subjects. College….

Her fortieth birthday had slipped by a couple of weeks before her mother died. There was no celebration. Turning forty hadn’t seemed important. It did now. How long had it been since she’d listened to lectures…other than her mother’s? Or read chapters? Or written papers? Or studied for exams?

“Remember your intention.” She startled herself to hear her own voice instead of #2’s. Could she be growing up? Nah, being a grownup still sucked. She yawned and closed her eyes. For once, the mute button on the thoughts and music channel in her head worked.

Ahh…silence.