Saving Gracie Part 29

"Yes sir?" Eddie Urkel reincarnate.

"Have you finished your landing report?" Thomas spoke to Eddie, though his gaze remained on Quinlan.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Pause. "I see your new gla.s.ses haven't arrived." Thomas winked at Quinlan. Eddie studied the floor. "No sir."

Is it getting warm in here? Quinlan felt bead-sweat on her upper lip. How unattractive.

Thomas took Quinlan's hand and planted an ever so soft kiss. "And, Ms. Quinlan. How are you today?"

"I...well...I'm fine...Mr...Thomas." The over-powering scent of sweet confection whipped candy scrambled her brain. "Thank you...for asking." She felt another flush start when she realized her hand still hung in the air where it had been touched by his lips.

"I see you've met Edward." Thomas folded oversized biceps across his wide chest. Today's jumpsuit-a dreamy navy blue.

Quinlan bobble-head nodded. "My travel escort. I was just asking...." Quinlan bit her lip, not wanting Eddie in any more trouble. "How Eddie...I mean, Edward has been." Navy blue, her new favorite color.

"I believe this fellow is making progress." Thomas placed a rea.s.suring hand on Eddie's shoulder.

The young escort jumped as if he'd grabbed a live electrical wire.

Quinlan could relate.

"Chill, my man," Thomas said. "Come on, relax."

Eddie dropped his shoulders, rolled his head in a circular motion and jogged briefly in place.

"That's better," Thomas said. "And now, Ms. Quinlan. Can I help you with anything?"

Quinlan dove straight into the depths of handsome Mr. Clean's brown eyes and couldn't for the life of her remember why she was at the station building.

"Ms. Quinlan," Thomas said, a smile playing around his mouth. "Are you alright?"

The fluffy cloud surrounding her brain popped, breaking the lovely daydream her mind conjured. She fumbled through her pocket and pulled out her ID bracelet. "Third floor. Blue computer." Quinlan dangled the bracelet. "Blue."

"Very well," Thomas said and then turned to Edward. "I'll see if I can speed things up a bit with your gla.s.ses."

Eddie pushed the safety goggles up on his nose. "Thank you, sir." He took a step back, tripped over nothing in particular, and then exited the building.

Poor thing, Quinlan thought.

"Now, where were we?" Thomas asked.

Quinlan's mind immediately reverted to her soap opera dream scene.

"Ah, yes. Third floor." Thomas's Shaq hand closed around her elbow and led her to the front desk. "Melody can help you from here." He gave Quinlan's elbow a slight squeeze and then walked away.

Entranced, Melody and Quinlan's gaze followed the navy jumpsuit until it disappeared around a corner.

"Does he always smell like cotton candy?" Quinlan asked.

"It's different with every woman I know." Dreamy-eyed, Melody shook her head. "It's Snickers for me." She sighed. "Just sign here and you'll be on your way. Elevators are around the corner."

She pushed cotton candy and the navy jumpsuit out of her head and concentrated on the beaming floor indicator. It seemed to take forever for the glowing red three to ding. The doors parted and Quinlan shot through like a thoroughbred out of the gate at Belmont. Unlike the patina-splashed lobby, the third floor hallway was lined with thick red carpet. The rich dark-chocolate paneling eased her astigmatism-fear of plowing into a wall. An engraved placard mounted across from the elevator directed her to the library.

"h.e.l.lo. You must be Quinlan." A gentle-looking woman with beginning laugh-lines welcomed her at the library entrance.

Her Gracie urgency back intact, Quinlan grabbed the woman's arm. "Blue, I need a blue computer."

"I'm Bridget," she said, patting Quinlan's hand and then pried her fingers loose. "Follow me."

Three computers, all different colors, lined the back wall of the library. Bridget walked to the blue computer and pulled out a swivel chair. "What do you think?"

"I think the blue-thing is way over-done." The keyboard, hard-drive, monitor...even the swivel chair were the same cobalt blue. "What does it mean?"

Bridget hesitated then ran a finger over the back of the chair. "Blue is for...special a.s.signments."

Sounds lame, but...whatever. With ID bracelet clutched in her hand, Quinlan slipped into the chair and swirled around, poking the bracelet at the hard drive. "Where does this plug in?"

"First, remove the cap." Bridget reached for the bracelet. "Here, I'll help."

Quinlan s.n.a.t.c.hed the bracelet out of Bridget's grasp and clutched it to her chest. "No!" she barked, her heart accelerating. In mere moments she could gain access to Gracie. "I mean...I forgot about the end cap. I don't mean to be...rude." Her shoulders slumped. "I'm just a little nervous."

"I can see that." Bridget cleared her throat and pointed at a small blue box to the right of the monitor. "This is the USB port."

"For the jump drive thingy?"

"Yes." Bridget blinked hard. "The...jump drive thingy."

"But how do I-?"

"Type the name in the text box on the screen."

"Got it." Quinlan rubbed her hands together.

"Now, open the drawer to your right," Bridget said.

It took all of Quinlan's dwindling supply of self-control not to yell "Stop with all the instructions...can't you see I'm busy?" She ceased the hand rubbing and followed the order. A sleek, thin device the size of a credit card gleamed from inside the drawer, a set of dual ear buds attached. Of course, blue. "What's this?"

"Your media instructional device." Bridget said. "To send and receive messages, and access mediums."

"Mediums?" The word pin-balled inside Quinlan's brain.

Bridget tilted her head, her eyes narrowed. "Angela did teach you about mediums, right?"

"Oh. Those mediums. Yes, of course."

Bridget breathed relief. "On the side of the device is a power switch."

Quinlan flipped the almost concealed b.u.t.ton.

"After you put in your ear pieces, follow the instructions on the screen. It's self-explanatory." Bridget's smile turned serious. "And remember, it's vital to only use this computer." Bridget held up a slim finger for emphasis. "Vital." Her smile returned. "If you need help, just speak my name." She placed a hand on Quinlan's shoulder. "And good luck with Grace."

Wiping her hands on the chair cus.h.i.+on Quinlan inserted the ear buds and then freeze-framed. How did she know Gracie's name? She turned to ask, but Bridget had disappeared. Quinlan shrugged and swirled back toward the computer and plugged in the jump drive. The screen burst to life with 3-D vibrant-colored vortexes bouncing around the screen. A nice change from the perpetual blue, but enough whirling movement to add motion sickness to her list of physical discomforts.

CHAPTER 34.

GRACE.

Grace sat on a barstool early Friday afternoon, tapping a pencil on her notepad. Adam's parents would arrive in a couple of hours and she was a wreck.

It's just Ben and Lydia, she kept repeating. The words did nothing to calm her nerves. She hadn't 'entertained' without her mother's supervision since...ever. Chewing the pencil eraser, she checked the list. s.h.i.+t! Grace bolted from the barstool and took the stairs three at a time, only to find she'd already set out a fresh bar of soap upstairs. Returning to the kitchen at a slower pace, she checked off the item.

__X__ Change sheets - guest bedroom __X__ Clean bathroom upstairs __X__ New bar soap - upstairs __X__ Guest toiletries she'd spent an hour at Target, then another arranging an "essentials" basket for the upstairs guest bathroom __X__ Mop floors - check __X__ Vacuum check _____ Change A/C filters _____ Menu Menu. She flipped to the next page and studied her meal venue. Adam came through with Astros tickets, so tonight's cuisine would be ala Minute Maid Park. Sat.u.r.day, continental breakfast stuff. Adam and his dad had a nine o'clock tee time. She planned on taking Lydia shopping, then lunch at La Madeline's. For Sat.u.r.day's dinner, King Ranch Chicken, prepared and waiting silently in the refrigerator, next to the breakfast ca.s.serole for Sunday morning.

Earlier this morning, while attempting to get a filled-to-the-brim Pyrex dish to the refrigerator, her foot had slipped on the freshly mopped and still wet kitchen floor. The breakfast ca.s.serole had slipped from her hands and belly-flopped, hosing down the cabinets and clean floor with raw scrambled eggs and Jimmy Dean sausage...a minor two-hour setback. Then, she had to dig out an old Spanish-to-English dictionary to decipher the Spanish version of King Ranch Chicken...residual effects of her mother's attempt to learn Spanish.

Grace flipped back to the previous page.

Menu-check.

As she finished changing the A/C filters, Adam came through the door.

Dropping his iPhone and keys on the counter, he gave her a tight smile, kissed her cheek and opened the refrigerator. He grabbed a beer and pointed to the foil-covered dishes on the top shelf. "You do this?"

"Yeah." She eyed him, trying to decide if the raised eyebrows registered surprise or approval.

He closed the refrigerator and nodded a couple of times. "Good job." He twisted off the bottle cap and took a deep swallow.

And there it is, Grace thought. The huge silence that fills the room like a smoke bomb once superficial chitchat dies.

"How was work?" Her attempt at trivial bulls.h.i.+t.

"Fine. Busy," he said, almost absentmindedly. "I'm gonna change clothes." He lifted his beer toward her in a half-a.s.s "cheers" salute and left the kitchen.

She drummed her fingers on the countertop and stared at his cell phone. She bit the inside of her cheek and grabbed it, slid the arrow to the side and punched in four numbers. She sighed when the phone came to life. Good sign, he hadn't changed his pa.s.s code.

"What the h.e.l.l am I doing?" She clicked off the phone and pushed it away.

"You're checking up on him," #2 chimed in.

"He's never given me a reason to doubt him."

"Till now."

"But what if I find something? It'll ruin the whole weekend." Grace chewed a knuckle.

"Not to mention your life, but h.e.l.l, we can start with the weekend."

"I don't know." Grace's hesitancy weakened.

"If you're going to check his calls, you've got to do it fast. Do it."

Grace grabbed the phone, swore at #2 under her breath, and repeated the log-in. She tapped the "recents" icon at the bottom of the screen. All calls had been cleared.

"Check voice mail," #2 whispered.

She hit the voice mail icon, and the screen came up empty. All messages had been deleted.

Biggio came through with the winning RBI in the bottom of the ninth. Woo-hoo! Hot dogs, roasted peanuts and giant pretzels rounded out the evening's menu, and the traditional Friday night fireworks display sent everyone home all smiles.

Ben and Lydia, both genuinely interested in their grandchildren's lives, showered Hannah and Josh with much-needed loving affection over the weekend. Their rusty attempts at sign language left them all rolling on the floor during conversations with Hannah. Before they left on Monday, Hannah had a new regulation volleyball and Josh, his official #7 Astros jersey.

Raves from Ben and Lydia on her two prepared meals nudged Grace's self-esteem up closer to sea level, although both ca.s.seroles were a tad burned on the bottom. She sadly watched their mini-van pull away Monday morning. Without her in-laws as a distraction, she couldn't escape the strained silence between her and Adam. The loud and clear blip on her radar was deafening. Not one to confront, much less press an issue, Grace remained miserably quiet, adding to the growing wedge between them.

Ms. Parker's email scheduled the appointment for eleven o'clock Thursday morning. Grace sat in her SUV in the parking lot at Sedgwick Elementary, having no idea what to expect. Would she see Cherry? She pulled the visor mirror down, applied gloss, ran a comb through her hair and blew air. "Ready? Begin."

In the counselor's office, Ms. Parker introduced her to Carla Withers, the Deaf Ed teacher for first and second grade. Grace learned Cherry had already established herself as the child with the red boots. Big surprise.

Carla, having worked with hearing impaired kids for eight years, led Grace to the cla.s.sroom while bringing Grace up to date on Cherry's status. The CPS investigation had proved inconclusive, which meant Cherry was still in the home environment. All school personnel were on high alert for any suspicious markings on Cherry or abnormally bad behavior.

How bad does her abnormal behavior have to get? Grace thought. Heave a child through a window? Set the school on fire?

Before any further discussion the children filed into the room, followed by the teacher's aide. Grace returned smiles and waves from several students who recognized her from the summer program. Cherry had not returned with the group. The aide explained that she had hit one of the children during PE and had been taken, under protest, to the counselor's office.

Under protest? Imagine that.

Carla's eyebrows arched. She placed a hand on Grace's shoulder. "Good luck. You're up."

Grace stood outside the closed door to the counselor's office, her heart pounding in her ears. She pulled back her hair in a half-a.s.sed ponytail and secured it with a covered rubber band she ripped off her wrist. Blowing out her held breath, she knocked.

Ms. Parker opened the door and pointed to two chairs in the outer waiting area. A crease lined the counselor's forehead.

Grace sat, her palms sweaty.

"Second time this week," Ms. Parker said, then pointed to her inner office. "She's in there. I'll give you a few minutes with her."