Saving Gracie (19 page)

CHAPTER 29

QUINLAN AND ANGELA

For the next week Quinlan morphed into Angela’s shadow. Her first assignment: protect, comfort and guard.

“I’m starting with the easier ones—best to get those under your belt.” Angela led Quinlan to a busy intersection. “Here, you have two choices.” Angela moved to the middle of the crosswalk. “You hold up your arm with a commanding presence, like this.” Angela stuck her arm in the air with the fervor of an Amazon princess. “This protects those crossing the street.”

Quinlan scratched her head. “Wouldn’t a whistle help?”             

Angela’s posture stiffened. “Uh…no. This isn’t elementary school.”

Quinlan’s head sunk into her shoulders. “So what’s the other option?”

“Walk them across.” Angela ever so lightly placed an arm around the shoulder of a head-phoned teenager crossing the street. “Like this.”

She scribbled in her notebook. “Stop traffic or escort across.”

Angela stood in front of her, arms crossed, foot tapping. “You know, you don’t have to write
everything
down.”

Sticking her pen behind her ear, Quinlan stuffed the notepad in her pocket. “I always have lists.”

“Just because you’ve always done something one way doesn’t mean it’s the only way.” Pause. “Write
that
down?”

“Why?”

The ground patrol squinted, yanked a miniature iPad from
he
r pocket and made her own notation.

~~~

That afternoon Quinlan sat precariously perched on the hood of a car. “I feel like a hood ornament.”

“You
are
a hood ornament. It’s another way to protect, guard and comfort.”

“Are you sure I can protect this way?” Quinlan wiggled around on the Velcro mat attached to the hood of the car. “It’s not exactly what I expected.”

“Meaning what?” Angela asked.

“I don’t feel very…secure. Don’t I need a seat belt?”

“Just sit tight. There are straps to go across your ankles if you wish, but it’s not necessary.” Angela’s eyes held a twinkle of mischief.

Quinlan’s muscles tense, her posture rigid. A hood ornament? Really? “What about protection?”

“Like bumper pads?” Angela smirked. “
You
are the protection.”

Angela’s sarcastic laugh chilled Quinlan.

“Don’t be such a wuss.”

Easy for you to say, you’re not sitting on the hood of a car. “I just thought—”

“Be off!” The car leapt forward at the command. Quinlan grabbed the mat beneath her, the pen behind her ear flying off into the wild blue yonder.

~~~

Day two. Quinlan spent the morning on a school playground observing Angela comfort children suffering from scraped knees, bullies or other childhood boo-boos.

In the afternoon she practiced her compassion skills at a nursing home. The day ended at a hospice facility adjacent to the nursing home. She stood at the bedside of an elderly woman, her body ravaged by the ugliness of cancer, a subject Quinlan remembered well.

On Angela’s suggestion, Quinlan placed her hand over the woman’s. A few minutes passed. The dying woman opened her eyes and found Quinlan’s. Her lips parted in a brief smile.

“She can see me?” Quinlan asked, returning the smile.

“Yes,” Angela said. “Her physical journey is almost complete. She’s started the transition. She can see you because….” Angela paused. “It’s like when you saw Meghan. One foot has already crossed over. For this short time, she’s part of both worlds. As you were,” Angela added.

“Wow,” Quinlan said, exiting the nursing home. Her voice softened. “She looked so peaceful.”

“She is at peace,” Angela said. “Now she’s let go of her Earthly fears.”             

Quinlan grew thoughtful. “I never realized there’d be so much…awareness when someone dies.”

“Remember when you waited until Grace left the room before you took your last breath? You wanted to spare her, didn’t you?” Angela smiled, knowingly. “You had that awareness.”

Her skin tingled. “But, how did you….” Of course Angela knew. Pulling her trouble-shooting chart from her pocket, Quinlan fanned her face. “This is deep stuff.”

Angela bumped Quinlan’s arm. “Did you think you were going to jump right into your own agenda?”

“Not really.” A big fat lie. How much
does
she know?
Quinlan wondered.

“Remember: guard, protect and comfort.” Angela used her index finger for emphasis. “Very important.”

“I see that.” Quinlan two-stepped to keep up with her ground patrol’s pace. “It’s just… well, I didn’t know I’d have so much to learn.”

Angela quirked her eyebrows. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

What could be worse than being shot out of a cannon, or being a hood ornament? Dread filled her. Oh no….

Angela stopped in front of Quinlan’s living quarters and checked her watch. “It’s four o’clock now. Meet me back here at eight.”

“For?”

“Guard duty.”

~~~

Shortly after eight o’clock, Quinlan learned the meaning of guard duty—a far cry from school-crossing patrol; no stopping traffic, no walking kids across the street…no such luck. Guard duty had her and Angela perched high on a cornice board in the nursery of a sleeping rosy-cheeked baby boy. Framed prints of cartoon dump trucks and tractors hung on the sponge¬-painted cornflower walls. Soothing rain forest sounds whispered from the white noise machine.

Quinlan took deep breaths, smelling the freshly decorated room. “I don’t like this,” she moaned, both of her hands iron gripping the cornice board.

“What’s wrong now?” Angela asked.

“I’m afraid of heights.” She licked her dry lips.

“You’re afraid of heights.” Angela threw her hands up. “Well, I’ve heard it all now.”

“Please.” A thin bead of sweat lined her upper lip. “Don’t do that.”

“What. Like this?” Angela flailed her arms like a wave at a football game.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Quinlan wrestled one hand away from the vice-grip on the cornice board and covered her mouth. Her face paled.

Angela stopped mid-wave. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re supposed to have….” Angela shook her head, then made another notation on her iPad. She peered intently at Quinlan. “So the flight down must have been—”

“Surprisingly, not as terrifying as I thought.” Quinlan wiped her upper lip. “I’m still not sure how I managed that.”

“And the hood ornament exercise?”

“Terrifying.”

“Hmmm.” Angela nodded and returned the mini device to her pocket. “Would you be more comfortable on the floor?”

“Could we?”

“There’s no rule about being up here near the ceiling,” Angela said. “It’s just so boring on the floor.”

“I do boring,” Quinlan’s puppy dog expression pleaded.

With a snap of Angela’s fingers the two floated down to the Thomas the Train
floor mat near the baby’s crib.

“Better now?” Angela asked.

“Much. Thank you.” Quinlan glanced at the video baby monitor mounted on the wall. So far no alarms had sounded by the extracurricular activity in the nursery.

Grateful to be on the ground, she breathed and leaned back, her hand touching the tip of a pacifier on the Thomas mat. She returned the soother to the baby’s side and remained with Angela in guard position for the remainder of the night.

~~~

In the wee hours of the morning, Angela walked Quinlan to her sleeping quarters. Sunrise intensified by the minute, growing brighter and sharper, visibly improving as night cast off.

“Get some rest,” Angela ordered, advice she needed to heed as well. Watching a weary Quinlan enter the building, she pulled out her cell phone and headed to her office.

“Hi Maggie, how’s the café going?” Angela asked.

“Absolutely fabulous.” Maggie’s English accent soothed Angela’s worn nerves.

“Good. Glad to hear it. Listen. I’ve been working with this special assign—”

“Quinlan,” Maggie said.

“Yes, Quinlan—”

“She’s as rare as hen’s teeth, that one is,” Maggie said.

Angela laughed. “She’s special alright. So, what’s the deal with her and heights? That shouldn’t be—”

“Only completed forty-eight percent of the Veils of Self-Deception
procedure.”

Angela halted. “She what? Only forty-eight percent? You’re kidding.”

“Luvvy, why would I joke about that?”

The puzzle pieces connected. “Well, that explains a lot.” Angela rubbed her eyes.

“You didn’t pick up on that little tidbit in her profile?” Maggie asked.

“The case summary arrived last week. I’ve spent so much time with her I haven’t had a chance to read it.”

“You must do it at once. It’s an interesting read.” Maggie chuckled.

Angela yawned. “I’ll read it tonight. I’m beat.”

“It’s a pity you have to take her through the entire required training,” Maggie said. “Her being a special assignment and all.”

“I know,” Angela said. “It’s a bummer.”

“Mary explained the reasoning behind their decision. Want to hear it?”

“Enlighten me.” Angela twirled a curl around her finger.

“Mary and George decided it imperative she have the full training for her own safety…and everyone else’s, I imagine.” Maggie’s jovial tone turned serious. “If she managed to slip through the system and left to her own devices…well, I don’t
even
want to go there….” Maggie’s voice trailed off.

“Good point,” Angela said. “She’s already an accident waiting to happen.”

“Where are you in the training module?” Maggie asked.

“We’ve finished guard, protect and comfort. The rest of the week will be assist, support and intercede.

“Well, well,” Maggie said. “I’d say you’re in for an interesting next couple of days.”

“Yes, I agree.” Angela said. “Thanks Maggie. Take care.”

Angela flipped her phone closed. “Geez, and I thought Edward was a mess.” She ran her fingers through her loose curls. “It’s going to be a long week.”

CHAPTER 30

QUINLAN

“What we’ll work on for the rest of the week is assist, support, and intercede, which involves the power of suggestion,” Angela said.

Quinlan sat in Angela’s office, bored.

“You need to pay close attention.” Angela said. “This part can get tricky.”

Tricky? How much more had she signed up for? She’d been shot out of a cannon with a parachute strapped to her back, posed as a hood ornament on a speeding car, and performed a balance-beam routine on a cornice board.

“We’ll be working with seven mediums. There’re more, but I want to start with the most common. By using these seven, we work on offering strategic suggestions and messages.”

“What’s a medium?” Quinlan looked up after scribbling in her notepad.

Angela poised her index finger at the corner of her mouth. “A medium is a means by which something is expressed, communicated, transmitted or achieved.” She rattled off the response like a vocal Wikipedia. “The first one is media. It includes television, movies, and commercials. The other mediums are songs, inspired thoughts, bumper stickers, street signs, billboards, and finally, dreams.

“Media…songs,” Quinlan wrote. “Ooh…inspired thoughts.”

“Put the notebook down.”

Wincing at the command, Quinlan obeyed; submission…not her favorite thing.

Angela turned to her laptop and with swift, accurate moves found a media scenario. She swiveled the small computer around. “Example…let’s take this person here.”

Quinlan viewed a man slumped deep in a recliner, the remote white-knuckled in his hand. From another room she could hear a female crying. “Who’s that?”

“His wife,” Angela said.

The man flipped through channels with eyes cold, hard and flinty.

“Why’s he mad?”

“An argument.” Angela continued. “They do that a lot. She gets upset, he gets angry.” Pause. “Look.”

The man’s channel surfing landed on an oldies reunion of the Country Music Channel.

“He hates country music,” Angela explained. “But watch.”

The music video playing was from the early 90’s. The signature box in the lower corner of the screen showed the name of the group.

“Who the hell is Diamond Rio?” Through a focused stare, he aimed the remote at the television. For whatever reason, he lowered his pointed arm.

“Why didn’t he change it?” Quinlan asked.

Angela nodded toward the video.

I’d start walking your way

You’d start walking mine.

We’d meet in the middle

‘Neath that old Georgia pine.

We’d gain a lot of ground

Cause we’d both give a little.

There ain’t no road too long

When we meet…in the middle.

The man’s stare softened. He rubbed his eyes, then his face. He blew out a motorboat sigh and loosened the grip on the remote. Kicking down the recliner footrest, he walked to the other room.

“Hey, honey….”

Angela sat back in her chair. “See? Power of suggestion. With a little assistance from us, the remote lands on a particular channel. What he does with the information is up to him. In this case, he chose to act on the suggestion. It’s his free will.”

Quinlan remained silent.

Angela leaned forward, her forearms resting on the desk. “You
have
heard of free will, haven’t you?”

“Well, of course I have.” Quinlan crossed her arms.

Angela raised her eyebrows then dropped them to their normal arch. “I look at different mediums as messengers of thoughts, words or ideas we can offer.”

I wonder what Gracie’s doing? Quinlan thought.

“Hello?” Angela waved a hand. “The song on the CMC?”

Quinlan snapped back. “Sorry. The song and the remote. Got it.”

“There’s one very important rule.” Angela pointed a slender finger at Quinlan’s notepad. “
This
one I suggest you write down.” She paused while Quinlan clicked her pen.

“We do not—I repeat, do not—force, control, or coerce.”

Quinlan scribbled the words. “Got it.”

“Good. Let’s move on. In the last scenario, we covered two mediums, media and songs.”

“Can we do inspired thoughts now?” Quinlan perked up, feeling more knowledgeable about making suggestions for others.

Angela rolled her eyes. “If you insist.”

Quinlan sat up straight, her eyes bright. “Good.”

“Pay attention.” Angela cleared her throat. “Okay, think back on a time when you came up with a great idea…completely brilliant. Or maybe…you suddenly remembered where to look for something you had misplaced.”

She scoured the corners of her mind. In less than a minute her eyes widened. “When I worked in the attendance office I thought of a great incentive to help the office workers complete their homework. The idea just popped into my head.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. I got a special award for that one.” Quinlan puffed out her chest. “And then….” she studied the ceiling. “Let’s see. I used to make these adorable macramé snowflakes for Christmas ornaments. Everyone loved them.”

Angela used her index finger motioning a forward circle like a hamster wheel.

“Well, I lost the damn…darn pattern instructions. I looked everywhere…in drawers, my sewing box, the—”

“Does this story have an end?” Angela tapped her fingernails on the desk.

Quinlan sunk back in her chair. “Yes.”

“Can I hear it?”

Feeling she’d had her hand slapped, Quinlan sucked in her cheeks. “One morning when I was getting dressed, I suddenly remembered an old shoe box on the top shelf of my closet.”

“Let me guess. You found the pattern instructions.”

Quinlan raised her chin. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Angela leaned forward, ready to proceed. “The idea for helping the kids and suddenly remembering the old shoe box…you think you had this remarkable insight all by yourself?”

The words sounded harsh but Angela’s tone wasn’t.

The implication sank in. “I didn’t?”

“You could have, it’s not unheard of.” Pause. “But there are so many on this side here to assist.” Quinlan’s expression was puzzled. Angela rubbed her forehead. “Okay, let’s break it down. Who taught you to make the snowflakes?”

“My mother-in-law,” Quinlan said. “She was much more of a mother to me than….” Quinlan’s eyes plunged. “We were very close.”

“And she’s crossed over, I imagine,” Angela said.

“Yes.”

“When someone crosses over, their energy frequency heightens and they’re able to assist by sending suggestions or messages.” Angela eyed Quinlan carefully. “Your mother-in-law could very possibly have helped you find your missing snowflake instructions that day. That’s how it works. Usually, that is.”

Quinlan remembered her botched attempts with the
How We Connect
exercises. She certainly didn’t have the hang of that down, but what if her mother-in-law helped her find the missing instructions?
That
she found comforting. Learning she may not be as brilliant as she thought—not so comforting. “You said usually?”

“Yeah, usually. Unless that someone gets bogged down in their own…how should I say…horse manure.” Angela’s eyes narrowed. “Are you with me?”

“Sure. Horse manure…go ahead.” Quinlan massaged her temples. A headache threatened.

“Our thoughts and inspirations can mix with those on Earth, which means
our
thoughts can be transformed into
their
thoughts.” Angela paused. “It’s like divine breath. Many times one receives assistance from others on this side, only they think it’s all their idea. On Earth, humans call it inspiration, much like the man deciding to talk to his wife. We offer the suggestion or message. He thinks it’s his idea.”

“So…we don’t get any credit?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I see.” Although Quinlan didn’t.

“On a slightly different note,” Angela said. “Have you ever heard of the Rule of Six?”

“No.” Quinlan fought the urge to pull out her emery board and file her nails. “Don’t think so.”

“It explains how humans form thoughts, opinions and perceptions of right and wrong.” Angela pointed a slim, well-manicured finger at Quinlan. “This is important, listen carefully. Humans have a natural ability to believe their own plausible explanations as absolute truths. They confuse truths with opinions. What may be true for one, may not be true for another. Am I going too fast?”

Quinlan’s eyebrows came together.

“Lost?”

She nodded like a bobble head.             

“Not surprised,” Angela responded. “There’s often trouble with this concept.”

“So, are you saying the truth may not be
the
truth?” And can boredom cause headaches?

“I’m saying that looking at other explanations of a situation allows the mind and heart to open to other possibilities.”

“I see.”

“Really?” Angela asked. “Because you keep saying that.”

Quinlan shrugged.

Angela continued. “We offer humans the chance to view situations with a more open mind. As I said, we offer, not force. The hope is to help with more understanding and less judgment. Here’s an example.” Angela leaned back again in her chair. “Try this out. Suppose a teenage girl walks in the house after school. Her mother casually asks, ‘How was your day?’ The teenager explodes and says very hurtful, hateful things to her mother.” Angela paused. “Why do you think she responded that way? Come on, first thing that comes to mind.”

“She’s disrespectful,” Quinlan shot back, her boredom pushed aside for the moment. She could spot disrespect at thirty paces: no need thinking twice about that one.

“Okay, that’s one. What’s another?”

“What do you mean?”

“Another reason why she may have reacted like that.”

Quinlan pushed out her lower lip, thinking. A long moment passed. “Maybe…she got a bad grade on a test?”

“Good. What else?”

“She had an argument with her girlfriend?” Quinlan’s posture straightened.

“Possibly.”

“Her boyfriend?” Quinlan leaned forward.

“Perhaps.” Angela seemed relieved. “You’re getting the picture.”

“Or maybe she left her English book at school and can’t do her homework.”

Angela’s hand went up. “Hold on, that’s enough.”

“But I’m just getting started.” Quinlan’s eyes rounded, her mind seesawing to alert status again. “There could be a dozen reasons.”

“Good. Remember that. Now let’s get back to your first response.” Angela cleared her throat. “At first, you were sure the teenager was being disrespectful to her mother.”

“Yes.” Quinlan drew out the reply.

“But once you expanded your thought process, your heart kicked in and allowed you to consider other possibilities. There are usually many explanations why something is the way it appears.” Angela brushed a wavy curl out of her face. “But often humans get stuck in their own thought patterns and only see things one way.” Angela paused and looked at Quinlan.

Quinlan watched Angela watching her.

“Follow me?”

She felt dumb, and she
hated
feeling dumb. Her hard-drive timed out. She had followed Angela with the teenager example, but got bogged down around stuck and thought patterns.              

“Anyway, my point is, the power of suggestion is like twisting a kaleidoscope. Each turn presents a different view of a situation. The Rule of Six can be extremely helpful when we offer suggestions and messages.”

A few dots connected, but Quinlan couldn’t see how any of this could help her deal with Gracie.

“Hey! Are you with me?”

“What? Yes. Of course.” I so want to be somewhere else. Maybe at Angela’s with a nice Chardonnay. “I think I’ve got this. Can I lie down for a bit?”

“Trying to avoid the lesson?”

“No, not at all. I’ve just got a headache.” An itty, bitty one…not a complete lie.

“Okay. I’ll cut you some slack. Meet me here at ten o’clock in the morning. Tomorrow we’ll go through the other mediums.”

Quinlan waved and headed to her living quarters. Only a couple more days and she’d be finished with Angela. And on to Gracie.