Saving Gracie
Page 5
QUINLAN
“Geez, Louise.” A familiar voice boomed from the row of nearby computers.
Quinlan turned to find Ruby sitting in one of the soft swivel chairs, her signature blue sunglasses pushed high on her forehead, her jaw working double-time on a wad of Juicy Fruit.
Slipping out of her chair, Quinlan moved toward the row of computers. She raised her eyes to the header at the top of Ruby’s computer screen, and felt the air leave her lungs.
“I don’t believe it,” she squealed.
“Me neither…and after sweeping the dang Orioles.” Ruby turned her head and sucked in air, realizing Quinlan stood behind her. The hefty woman bolted to her feet, using her body to shield the screen.
“You’re reading the Chicago Tribune.” Quinlan spat the words out, pointing to the monitor.
“Am not.”
“You are too. I saw you.” Quinlan felt her heart rate passing the speed limit. “You’re reading the sports page.”
“Okay, okay, keep your shorts on.” Ruby glanced around the library. “And hold it down, will ya?”
“How do you do that?” Quinlan asked. If she could squeeze this out of Ruby, she could check on Gracie.
“Do what?”
“You know. Find out what’s happening on….” Quinlan gestured a finger toward the screen.
“Earth?”
“Yes. You’ve got to tell me.” Quinlan tried not to sound as if she were begging, although she would if she had to. Stay calm, she warned herself.
“Why do you wanna know?” Ruby’s eyes narrowed.
“Because!” The word propelled out of Quinlan’s mouth before she could stop it. “I mean…it’s so….” She downshifted. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. It’s cool.” Smack. Ruby moved to the side of the monitor.
Teach me! Quinlan’s mind screamed. “So…can you…um…show me how it works?” She hoped whatever super Celestial powers Ruby possessed couldn’t hear her heart rattling in her rib cage.
“Sure. But then I’d have to kill ya,” Ruby snorted.
The color fell from Quinlan’s face. “Oh.”
Ruby waved dismissal. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
Quinlan’s heart rate picked back up. “So,” she said, tiptoeing through a mental mine field. “You could show me?” Short pause. “How to look up…things?”
“What kind of things?” One of Ruby’s eyebrows shot upward.
“Oh, you know.” Quinlan scrambled for a benign answer. “Recipes, crossword puzzles. That sort of thing. I used to do all that…back on…Earth.”
“I would if I could, but I can’t so I won’t. No—can—do.” Ruby shook her head. “Newcomers have to get clearance from a higher-up.”
Quinlan’s mind ran full-throttle. “Well, you can do that, can’t you?”
Ruby thought a minute, rolling the wad of gum from one cheek to the other. She slowly nodded as Quinlan’s words hit their intended target. Her chest ballooned outward. “Yeah, I could, couldn’t I?”
“Of course you can. You’re way up there.” Ego boosting seemed to work wonders with this…well, Ruby.
“I am moving in that direction,” Ruby lifted her chin.
“C’mon, you can do it.” Quinlan schmoozed. “Just crosswords, I promise,” she said, crossing her fingers behind her back. “And besides, you’re the smartest dude around.” Had she just said dude? Don’t push it, goof ball, she warned herself.
Luckily, Ruby didn’t seem to catch on to the suck-up routine. “Crossword puzzles, eh?” The larger woman surveyed the mostly empty library. Smack. Bubble. Pop. She sat back down.
“And recipes,” Quinlan quickly added, trying to think what else she could cross. How many little lies equal one big fat one?
“Okay. It’s like this,” Ruby began. “You take your CI card and swipe it here.” Ruby pointed to a small slot on the side of the hard drive.
“What’s a CI card?”
“Your CI card!” Ruby shot Quinlan a good-grief look. “The little plastic card in your welcome packet…looks like AMEX Platinum?”
“Oh, right.” And the hits just keep on coming. Quinlan mentally scratched her head. What in the heck had she done with her welcome packet?
“That’s your Celestial Internet card. After you swipe it, just do this.” Ruby typed www.earth-viewing.com in the box on the screen and hit enter. An atlas map of planet Earth appeared.
“Pretty easy, huh?” she beamed, looking smug.
Bingo, Quinlan thought, scribbling furious mental notes. “Then what?”
“Anything you want.”
“You are brilliant.” Quinlan’s mental hard-drive downloaded at top speed.
“Watch this.” Ruby clicked on the United States. Then, Illinois. Chicago. Then, U.S. Cellular Field. From there, she edged the cursor to the corner of the screen and clicked an icon.
Quinlan swallowed hard. A live baseball game displayed on the screen. Pay dirt. Ruby had not only let her guard down, she’d kicked it clean to the curb.
“I don’t believe it.” Quinlan worked hard to keep her voice even.
“Yep, sad but true,” Ruby answered.
“What do you mean?”
“The Sox are getting their butts kicked.” Ruby shook her head and watched the last White Sox batter strike out to end the game. She logged off the computer. “I’m depressed. Let’s get outta here.”
“Unbelievable.” Quinlan exited the library behind Ruby, her mind reeling.
“I know.” Ruby dropped blue-tinted sunglasses on her nose. “They got creamed. At least they weren’t playing Detroit.”
“What’s wrong with Detroit?”
“Nothing, if you’re Mr. George,” Ruby said. “That’s his team.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Mr. George.” Quinlan shaded her eyes against the sun.
“You will.”
Quinlan hid a smile, not giving Mr. George a second thought.
CHAPTER 9
QUINLAN
Leaving Ruby at the curb chewing her Juicy Fruit, Quinlan waved a quick goodbye and took off for Moon Shell Drive, nearly popping a lung racing back to the cottage. She needed time before Meghan returned.
She threw her book bag across the bed and dove into a pile of plastic bags and open boxes at the bottom of her closet. With wild-woman determination, Quinlan tore through the pile until she found an unopened 9" x 12" manila envelope with the magic words on the front, Welcome Packet.
Quinlan ripped open the envelope, dumping the contents on the floor. She pawed through the items until her hand touched smooth plastic coating. Her heart pounding, she clasped at the laminated card.
“Yes. Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.” Quinlan jumped to her feet, doing her version of a victory dance. All she needed was a hula-hoop.
“What’s going on?”
Quinlan jumped. “Meghan!” She slipped the CI card into the pocket of her blouse.
“Good grief.” Meghan surveyed the mess around Quinlan. “What are you doing?”
“Um…cleaning my closet?”
Meghan shook her head. “And you were thanking…?”
“You?”
“For what?”
Quinlan paused. “For…giving me this room?” She ran and hugged a pillow.
“Yeah, thank me and hug a pillow. And why are your answers questions?” Meghan asked.
“Are they?”
“You’re acting weird.” Meghan turned and left the bedroom.
Quinlan blew out relief. That was close. She tried to calm the banging of her heart. It wasn’t like she was hiding the CI card. Everybody got one. She just needed to keep this to herself…for a while.
~~~
Outside Angela’s Café, Quinlan and Meghan sat at a small wrought iron table overshadowed by a Venetian umbrella. A loaded silver-tiered dessert tray rested in the middle of the table, teasing their taste buds.
Meghan couldn’t resist and grabbed a large slice of baklava, cutting it in two. “Your half.” She dropped half of t
he gooey Greek pastry in front of Quinlan.
Quinlan didn’t respond and stared blankly into space.
“Helllooo? Anybody home?” Meghan waved a hand in front of her face.
Quinlan jumped. “What? Did you say something?”
“What’s wrong with you lately?” Meghan licked honey off her fingers. “You’ve got your head stuck in la-la land again, haven’t you?” Meghan reached for the porcelain teapot and refilled her cup.
Quinlan’s remained untouched, cold and lonely. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She slouched forwarded, resting her head on her hand.
“Really. I hadn’t noticed.”
Quinlan picked up a copy of The Guardian in front of her and pretended to read. Minutes passed. She lowered the paper half an inch, enough to see Meghan’s eyes still on her. “What?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Meghan repeated.
Quinlan folded the paper and dropped her hands to her lap.
“I keep thinking about Gracie.” There, she said it. “Something’s not right, I know it.” Her Earth on-line research had uncovered something she couldn’t discuss until she figured out what to do.
“Yeah, probably the same thing that’s happening with everyone there; it’s called life.”
Quinlan ignored her. “I think Gracie and Adam might be having problems.”
“So? Couples do, you know.” Meghan reached for a second baklava and cut it in two, fudging a bit on the halfway point.
“This is Gracie, your niece.” Quinlan’s voice rose. "The child who can’t decide what color socks to wear.”
“Oh, get over it.” Meghan shook her head and took a large bite, bits of flakey pastry sticking to her chin. “She’s not eight anymore.”
“But nothing’s changed!” Quinlan insisted.
“Yes it has. She’s grown. She’s married, and a mother.”
“Sure, but I’ve always done everything for her.” Quinlan tapped her chest, self-serving.
“And where’s that gotten her?”
Quinlan took a sip of her cold tea and made a face. “I’m worried.”
“She’s fine.” Meghan finished the Greek pastry and proceeded to a chocolate Amaretto petit fours.
“Afternoon, ladies,” came a deep, lazy voice.
“George.” Meghan responded, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Nice to see you.”
Quinlan froze like an ice sculpture. The Mr. George Ruby mentioned? She turned to see the face belonging to the voice.
“It’s nice to be seen.” Deep lines mapped his face, framing a smile that hinted at an unknown secret. He touched the tip of his baseball cap with his walking cane and continued on his way.
Quinlan’s mind thawed slightly. She leaned across the table. “Who’s George?” An eerie sensation slithered up her spine.
“Hmm?” Meghan asked.
“Who is that guy?”
“Oh, George?” Meghan responded. “He’s a nice guy.” Meghan eyed the remaining pastries and settled on a ladyfinger. “Big baseball fan. Detroit.”
“Do you think he heard anything?” Quinlan asked.
“About what?”
“About Gracie.”
“Who cares?” Meghan broke the ladyfinger in half.
Quinlan shrugged. “Just wondering,” she said, feigning indifference.
“What is it?” Meghan eyed Quinlan with sisterly concern. “You’ve been acting like a weirdo lately.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m catching a cold.” Quinlan touched her forehead. “Or the flu. Can I get a flu shot around here?”
“No need.” Meghan polished off the ladyfinger.
“Why?”
Meghan motioned for Quinlan to move in closer. Their heads met in the middle of the table. Meghan took her time and enunciated each word. “Because-we-don’t-get-sick-here.”
“Oh…yeah.” Quinlan mentally cringed. “I forgot.”
“I really want to know what’s going on.” Meghan eyed her sister. “You’re so jumpy. And all this worrying over Gracie should have been taken care of during your intake,” Meghan said.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Maybe we should call Maggie,” Meghan said. “You know, just to make sure—”
“No!” Quinlan spouted, much quicker than intended.
“…everything’s okay,” Meghan finished.
“I mean…no. I’m tired, that’s all.”
“You’re at the library a lot these days,” Meghan commented. “What’s that about?
What is this, twenty questions? “You know…just studying for my herb class mostly.” Quick pause. “So, how long has George been here?”
“Since the universe started kindergarten is what I hear.” Meghan chuckled. “He’s strange looking, isn’t he?”
An understatement, Quinlan thought. If George’s body could be ironed out, he’d probably be over six feet tall. Either age, bad posture, or both had caused a pronounced slouch, reducing his stature to more of a question mark.
“Does he always dress like that?” Quinlan asked, referring to the odd combination of rumpled khakis, windbreaker and Converse tennis shoes.
“Yep,” Meghan said. “And he’s never without that faded Detroit baseball cap or walking cane. He’s on the Advisory Council, you know.” Meghan wiped powdered sugar from her mouth with a napkin.
“He’s not!” Quinlan spat, grateful her mouth wasn’t full, otherwise she’d be picking bits of pastry out of Meghan’s hair.
“Yes he is,” Meghan said. “It’s like his fifth term or something. Maybe sixth.”
“Do you think he’s a scout?” Quinlan’s voice dropped to a whisper.
“You mean as in…boy?”
“No. I mean someone who snoops around, trying to dig up information.” She remembered seeing George a couple of times at the library. Was he spying on her?
“I don’t think it works like that.” Meghan laughed at her own joke. Quinlan’s seriousness made her stop. “Why? Do you have something to hide?”
“Not at all,” Quinlan squirmed.
“Well, I hope not.” Meghan reached for her purse. “We’d better get going. I’ve got my “Book of the Month” class tonight.”
The sun had already descended for the day by the time the sisters entered the front gate of the cottage. Late afternoon light bounced shards of reflected beams off the windows and down onto the front porch.
Meghan petted the side of the cottage as if it were a loyal companion. “Isn’t it nice here?”
“Yes. Very.” Quinlan opened the front door. Her mind drifted further and further away.
“Makes you never want to leave, doesn’t it?” Meghan tossed her purse on a small entry table.
“Uh-huh,” Quinlan dropped her eyes to the floor. Although perfecting the art of lying, she still felt uncomfortable when it came to her sister.
Meghan changed into a long denim skirt and white cotton shell top. She threw a lightweight jacket around her shoulders and grabbed her book bag. “Stay in tonight, Quin. Get some rest, okay?” Meghan, lighter and shorter, still pulled off the older sister tone of voice role without a hitch.
“Yes, Mom.”
Meghan rolled her eyes and left. Quinlan walked the inside perimeter of the living room. She straightened a lampshade and fluffed a throw pillow on the small-overstuffed couch. Convinced Meghan wouldn’t return for a forgotten item, Quinlan raced to her bedroom and closed the door.
The four-poster bed framed the far side of the room. She ran to the bed and pulled a hefty, leather-bound book from behind one of the flowered pillow shams. She plopped on the bed, lugged the super-sized book into her lap and traced the etched gold-leaf letters with her fingers. Rules of Return Engagement.
CHAPTER 10
GRACE
“Why Easter?” Josh asked.
Grace wondered the same thing. Easter would never be the same.
“Easter is special. So is Grandma.” Hannah produced the most sensible answer.
Rummaging through her closet, she ran across a book she’d been given by one of the hospice volunteers. At the time she’d readily tossed it aside knowing book reading, no matter how valuable the topic, was out of the question. But now her brain moved at a sludge-pace, making reading seem doable.
Sitting cross-legged on the floor of her closet, Grace studied the title, Final Gifts. She opened the book to the title page, scanned the table of contents and then flipped to chapter seven, “Being In the Presence Of Someone Not Alive.” After reading one short page, Grace suddenly knew and understood her mother’s sister, Aunt Ruth’s, reference before she died.
She finished the book in two days and wished, wished, wished, she had read it when the hospice volunteer first placed it in her hand.
“I think I know why the Easter baskets were so important to her.” Grace sat the book between her and Adam at the breakfast table. “She needed to get them done before she could let go.”
Adam raised his eyes from the sports page. “You got that from the book?”
“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She found it so easy to second-guess herself. She tapped the cover beside her. “According to this, there’s a lot to learn about people dying.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe they do have some sort of control over their actual death. Remember how long I stayed beside her bed at the Patient Care Center? The one time I left the room, she stopped breathing.” Her mother always had an agenda. The theory fit. “Sounds like Mom, doesn’t it? Calling the shots?”
“Then why Easter Sunday?” Adam asked.
“I know.” Grace ran a finger around the top of her coffee mug. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”
“What about the grief support group?”
“What about it?” Grace shot the retort back at Adam.
“Just thought it might help.”
Grace stared out the window. She hated when Adam made sense. Without her mother around to blame, Adam took all the nasty hits these days. “I’ll think about it.”
~~~
Grace reluctantly joined the hospice support group. However, the weekly bereavement meetings filled only a small portion of her week. The rest she spent in the secure darkness of her bed. A couple of times Janie, her close friend, forced her up for a late breakfast or early lunch. The meal depended how long it took her to get out the door. Aside from Janie’s motherly nudges and the brief attempts to put on a smiley face for Adam and the kids she could easily wallow away entire days in bed.