Saving Gracie (25 page)

“
Right
.” Grace put an arm around her daughter and pulled her in for a hug. “Right,” she whispered, catching another faint whiff of her mother’s perfume. It didn’t shock her as much this time.

CHAPTER 40

QUINLAN AND GRACE

Quinlan and Angela sat on top of the big screen TV in the game room watching Grace and Hannah finish sorting through the third box.

Angela crossed her legs. “Is this too high for you?”

She shook her head and blew her nose, again. Her eyes were puffy and her nose felt raw. She was down to her last Kleenex.

“So, what’s going through your mind?” Angela asked. “Why the tears?”

Quinlan pointed to the middle of the room where Grace hugged Hannah. “Just look at them.” She blew into the last Kleenex. “It’s so emotional.” Taking off her Catwoman glasses she used the edge of her jacket to wipe her watery eyes. “And the notebook….” A fresh round of tears surfaced.

“You’re back on Earth now,” Angela began. “You’ve had your life, for better or for worse. And even though you’re no longer in your physical body you’re tapping into all the human emotions. Good and bad, happy and sad…the full spectrum.”

Quinlan blew out air, hoping to lessen the knot in her throat. “Does everyone have this much difficulty?”

Angela rubbed her chin before she answered. “You mean the ones we send back?” Angela paused. “No.”

“No?” Quinlan watched Grace and Hannah place the shell-filled apothecary jars around the game room.

“In fact, hardly ever.” Angela said.

“Then…why?” Quinlan asked. None of this made sense.

“You’re on,” Angela paused, “you know…special assignment, remember?”

“But how am I going to help Gracie if I’m the one who’s an emotional wreck?”

“Good question.” Angela smiled. “What do you think?”

Quinlan scanned the game room. “I think that’s a bad place to put those shells.”

Angela snapped her fingers and they glided down to the floor.

“In fact, they really need to be washed and set out in the sun for at least….” Quinlan turned and realized she was talking to an empty room. Angela had disappeared and Gracie and Hannah were heading down the stairs.

“Now that’s just wrong,” Quinlan huffed, hands planted on her hips. “I didn’t raise my daughter to walk away from me like that.”

Angela’s voice piped through Quinlan’s earpieces. “Meet me tomorrow at one o’clock. The Commons area.”

“Meet here, do this, report to Ruby, blah-blah-blah.” She tapped her chest with her finger. “I’ve got questions of my own, you know,” she grumbled. “And I’m not getting any answers.” She had moved downstairs to address Grace’s mess of a centerpiece.

“Not altogether true.” A man’s voice seeped into her head through the earpieces.

Quinlan’s spine straightened. “I beg your pardon?”             

Silence.

“I
beg
your pardon?” Quinlan repeated, irritated.

Still silence.

“Now that’s rude.” Quinlan pulled the iPod out of her pocket and flipped the off switch. “There.” She said and then remembered. She turned the switch back on, got herself back to her living quarters, then switched the dang thing off. Again.

~~~

Everyone had gone to bed early, including Grace. She no longer needed romance novels or crochet squares to fill up time and space at the end of her day. Tonight she surrounded herself with her calendar and the two books she and Hannah had uncovered this afternoon. She penciled in “Cherry” on the calendar for Tuesday, having agreed to volunteer an extra day this coming week. She was anxious to try a new behavioral modification technique she had learned in her Special Needs class. Both the school counselor and Cherry’s teacher welcomed Grace’s initiative.

Making a few quick notations on her calendar, she reached for her mother’s
Gift From The Sea
. The copy looked just as frayed and yellowed as hers. She thumbed through the book and smiled. Her mother had highlighted many of the same quotes. Once again, she held the book to her chest…no tears tonight.

Next, she picked up the spiral notebook. The first two pages were family trees from both sides of the family, tracing back nearly four generations. The third page contained short paragraphs of historical information acquired over the years—date of births and deaths. Grace flipped to the middle of the notebook and read a page.

“What is this?” She scanned the pages for dates. None surfaced. She turned back to the beginning of the handwritten entries and read for the next hour and a half.

“My God,” she whispered. “Who
was
this woman?” Why her mother had written this, she had no idea. What she did discover, however, was that almost every entry contained information and stories she’d never heard before.

Closing the book, Grace pulled a pillow tightly across her stomach. The pages explained why her mother pushed her so hard to become a teacher, her mother’s own desire to teach, and why that never happened.

“No wonder I never knew my grandmother.” Bitterness filled her mouth. “The woman sounded like a bitch.” Grace drummed her fingers on her chin and thought of the “darkness” her mother referred to in her notes. “Guess that explains the control issues.”

In some ways the words she read made her mother seem more real…fallible, but certainly more human. Grace flipped the switch on the bedside lamp and eased down into the covers. Tears filled her eyes and rolled onto the pillow as she thought of the sadness and pain her mother had kept to herself for so long. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really am. I wish I’d known.” So much for no tears tonight.

CHAPTER 41

QUINLAN AND MARY

“I’m so frustrated!” And drained. She’d spent most of the afternoon depleting her Kleenex supply.

“How could she have found my journal?” Quinlan felt nauseous when she thought back on Gracie pulling the spiral notebook from the box. “She was
never
supposed to see that.” Quinlan sat at the desk in her living quarters, her fists at her temples. She felt like pulling her hair, so she did; didn’t help. “I threw that away years ago.”

Dropping her head into her hands, she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to refocus. Her breathing slowed after a few moments, quieting her mind. She flipped to a clean page in her notebook and wrote
Questions & Comments
in big bold letters across the top.

Where’s Adam?

Why is Gracie going back to school?

Who is Cherry?

Hannah is too young to have a boyfriend

Why can’t I fix the dining room centerpiece?

Gracie needs to do something with her hair

Gracie needs to start planning her Thanksgiving meal (a month away)

Quinlan eased the pencil eraser along the edge of the notebook and read back over the list. Her pocket buzzed. She fished out her phone and saw she had a text message. Ruby had given her Cliffs Notes lessons on texting. Quinlan pushed the icon.

how r u? btw, rain 2mro. thot ud wnt 2 no… ltr, r

Quinlan stared at the cryptic message. She figured out the how
r u
, didn’t have a clue about the
btw
, and
2mro
required three rounds of phonetics. Having no patience or interest in the rest, she snapped the phone shut and shook her head. Ruby.

The next day Quinlan arrived at the Commons a little after noon. She sat at one of the wrought iron tables, her fingers drumming the notebook in her lap.

At one o’clock Angela strolled in. “Waiting long?”

“No, not at all.” Seemed like forever.

Angela’s blonde curls were pulled back away from her face and clasped at the nape of her neck with a gold barrette. Her attire was winter white linen slacks and matching silk blouse. Her cheeks, brushed with faint peach highlights, blended well with the deep coral wide belt around her waist.

Impeccable taste, Quinlan thought. Her eyes moved to Angela’s hands.
And
a fresh French manicure. She thought of her own nails and stuffed her fists into her jacket pockets.

Angela took a seat and pointed to the notebook. “What is that?”

A flush moved up Quinlan’s neck and onto her face. She pulled her hands from her pockets to cover the notebook, feeling less adamant than when she hammered out the list the night before. She shrugged. “Just some things I wrote down, that’s all.”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” Angela asked.

Quinlan hesitated and then placed the notebook on the table.

Angela rotated the tablet and read the list. She raised her eyes to Quinlan. A long, uncomfortable moment passed. “Let me ask you,” Angela said. “Why are you here?”

Quinlan’s throat felt like a dry creek bed. “Beg your pardon?”

Angela pursed her lips together, tapping them with her finger. “Why did you come back?”

Her eyes gazed upward to the clouds for an answer. “To save Gracie?”

“From what, exactly?” Angela’s tone was smooth and calm, but direct.

There were a thousand things she had once thought Gracie couldn’t do for herself. Now Quinlan asked herself the same question. She had yet to come up with an answer. Her eyes fell to her lap.

“Okay,” Angela began. “Let’s look at what you’ve written.” She scanned back over the list, causing Quinlan to squirm. “I see several items here that were addressed in the synopsis on the computer.”

“Really?” Quinlan asked, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t…I guess I didn’t…read that far.”

“And these other…comments,” Angela continued. “Is that what you call them?”

Quinlan cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“The centerpiece, Grace’s hair….” Angela moved to the bottom of the list. “A Thanksgiving meal?”

“She needs to start planning now.” Her voice gained momentum. “She’s as slow as molasses and, well, it just won’t get done….” Quinlan’s voice drifted off.

“Let’s put the list away.” Angela closed the notebook and passed it back to Quinlan. “Now. Remember the painful memories you tapped into the other night?”

Her brows came together. “How did you know that?”

Angela ignored Quinlan’s question. “Remember what came up for you? Concentrate.”

She didn’t need to concentrate. The memory still burned inside of her. It wouldn’t go away and served no purpose except to bring up the pain she buried a long time ago. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Tell me what you’ve learned,” Angela’s voice gentle.

Quinlan sat for long seconds, thinking how much she hated those words. Her throat tightened. Tears threatened. “Do we have to do this now?”

Angela reached across and covered Quinlan’s hand with hers. “I think it’s time.” Her smile was reassuring. “Go ahead.”

She took a slow deep breath. “I just wanted to make things easy for her.”

“And how’d that work for you?” Angela asked.

“I thought, well,” Quinlan said. “Until….”

“Until when?”

“Now.” Quinlan’s lower lip trembled. “Nothing I’ve tried works. She won’t listen to me. I don’t know what else I can do.” She pulled out fresh Kleenex and blew her nose. “You know what I’ve been going through. Why does it
hurt
so much?”

Angela sat back and folded her hands in her lap.

“They tricked me.” Quinlan huffed a few times and then sat up straight, her face reddened, nostrils flaring. “That’s what they did.”

“Who?” Angela asked.

“The Advisory Council.” Her voice cracked. “That’s why they let me come back. They knew I’d fail.” Even in her highly agitated state Quinlan controlled the flaring nostrils. She still had some dignity, if only a thread.

Angela ran a hand through wavy blonde curls.

“What do
you
want from me?” Quinlan glared at Angela. “What do
they
want?”

Angela sighed deeply and shook her head ever so slightly. “Oh my.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “Quinlan,” she said. “All your life, what did you want to do more than anything else?”

Crossing her arms Quinlan leaned back and studied the near perfect Cover Girl. A long moment passed. “Be a teacher.”

“That’s right.” Angela said. “Now, tell me.” She used her index finger for emphasis. “What do teachers do?”

She raised her eyebrows to a
duh
height, wondering what heavy drug Angela had mixed with her morning coffee. “Teach.”

“And, do teachers do things for their students, or do they teach them how to do things themselves?”

Where’s she going with this? Quinlan wondered.

“A teacher prepares a student to think, evaluate, take risks, fall down, re-evaluate, and learn. And then…move forward.” Angela paused. “Parents are teachers too.”

The impact of Angela’s words seeped to the depths of her soul. Her eyes rounded and filled with tears. She dropped her head in her hands, sobs erupting from the pit of her stomach. “I failed at that too.”

Angela placed an arm around Quinlan’s shoulder. “It’s not about failing. You did the best you could,” she said. “You held on to a lot of pain during your life.”

“I have nothing to offer—my whole life has been a failure,” Quinlan choked out, blinded by new shards stabbing old pain.

“Listen to me. The greatest gift a mother bird gives her babies is to teach them to fly,” Angela said. “She pushes them out of the nest.” Angela hugged Quinlan tighter. “She doesn’t clip their wings.”

Quinlan fumbled for fresh Kleenex.

“You held on so tight, not for her…but for you,” Angela said. “She eased
your
pain.”

Quinlan felt like a lump. A frumpy lump, huddled next to Angela. “What do I do now?”

“You free her. Say goodbye to the physical need you have to keep her close; time to push her out of the nest, let her fly.”

“She really doesn’t need me?” Quinlan felt like an empty box, the kind that once held large appliances.

“Of course she needs you,” Angela said, “but not in the physical sense to do things she can do for herself.”

“Then what? What can I possibly give her?” The tears ebbed, but the nose still dripped like a leaky faucet.

“What she needs, what anyone needs, is love—the unconditional kind; support, encouragement. Be her cheerleader.” Angela held out her fist. “Rah, rah, rah.” She stood. “It’s not too late. Your intent was always in the right place.” She placed a hand on Quinlan’s shoulder. “When you’re up to it, go back to the blue computer” she said. “Take your time and be more thorough. Look for the bigger picture.” She then walked away, leaving Quinlan alone with her thoughts.

Quinlan remained seated for a long time, her mind reverberating Angela’s words, “It’s not too late.” Her world revolved so tightly around what she didn’t want for Gracie she failed to recognize the helplessness she had created in her own daughter. Somewhere deep inside she must have known Gracie’s low sense of self stemmed from her own need to control. Over the years, even Tom had allowed her to have reign over his life. He hadn’t necessarily agreed with her demands…what were the words he used to say? The path of least resistance.

~~~

She spent several hours at the library thoroughly reading the synopsis on the blue computer. She returned to her living quarters, overwhelmed by what she had learned.

Gracie thought Adam was having an affair. Turns out he had been sent to Beijing for six months, leaving Gracie in charge. Her Gracie. The daughter she had convinced herself couldn’t survive a day on her own. And here she is making adult decisions, running a household, going to school, and even volunteering.

Gracie’s summer volunteer assignment introduced her to Cherry, a young deaf child. Her ability to interact with the little girl had even resulted in an award for her efforts. Now she volunteered in the girl’s class once a week. Quinlan had to smile, remembering her own days as an attendance clerk and the students who worked for her.

Hannah’s girlfriend/boyfriend thing seemed pretty harmless at this point. And as expected, she didn’t find any answers to help rearrange the centerpiece or whether Gracie had even thought about Thanksgiving.

She lay on her bed fully clothed. Surely this had been the longest day in her recorded history. Her eyes closed. What have I learned?
She drifted off.

~~~

She looked around. She sat in a lone straight back chair on the floor of a large gallery, the entire Advisory Council before her.

“So tell the Council, if you please, what you have learned.” The address came from a woman standing before her.

A prosecutor? What is this? A trial? Just as she opened her mouth to speak she felt a warmth in the middle of her chest, unlike the achy coldness she held for most of her Kathryn life. It spread around her like a heated cloak. She straightened in her chair and pushed her shoulders back. A sense of peace moved through her.

“What I have learned is….”

~~~

Quinlan opened her eyes and sat up. Morning sunlight filtered through the sole window in her living quarters. She stiffly got to her feet and winced at the wrinkled clothes she had slept in.

She quickly bathed and changed into a fresh outfit. Grabbing her ID bracelet and another wad of Kleenex she stared at the blue media device.

“Worthless, that’s what you are.” She headed to the door, paused, and wheeled around. “Oh, what the heck.” She pushed the ear buds into place and dropped the device in her pocket.

“It’s quite a handy gadget if used correctly,” came a man’s smooth, deep voice through the earpieces.

Quinlan hadn’t realized she’d turned the dang thing back on. She found the on/off switch and stopped. It
was
off.

“May I ask who this is?” she asked.

“You may.”

Quinlan waited. Silence. “Well?”

“I’m waiting for you to ask,” the voice said.

Something had shifted in Quinlan during the night. Her impatience, irritability and sense of urgency had been squelched. Was it a dream?
Even the man’s voice booming uninvited through her earpieces didn’t rattle her. Quinlan smiled and cleared her throat.
“With whom am I speaking?” she calmly asked.

“George, madam.”

Quinlan’s eyes rounded. Advisory Council George? she thought, unsure what to say. Fortunately, he supplied the next line.

“You’ve gone through a much-needed transformation during the night,” he said. “Pay heed. To understand your heart...to give back, you must learn to be a good listener.”