Grace's Heart - Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

      "There it is!" Grace said, "God, I love this place."

      Ellen had been gazing up at the canopy of trees, watching as the sunlight sparkled through the leaves, and now looked down to where Grace was pointing excitedly.  All she saw was a small house that looked to be made of logs.  It was surrounded by bushes which, as they drove closer, turned out to be raspberries.  Lots and lots of raspberries.

      The bushes had flowered, and were beginning to push out the tart, sweet red composite fruit.  Ellen assumed no one had been here for awhile, as the basal shoots had burrowed their way underground and were now beginning to curl up toward window screens, around the mailbox and over the stairs leading up to the front door.

      Grace gave Ellen a sidelong glance. "Invasive little buggers, aren't they?"

      Ellen laughed, "And what were you saying about my house?"

      "We don't get out here as often as we would like," Grace said sheepishly, "and when we do, we don't usually spend our weekends cutting back raspberries.  Jamie refuses to get any help from gardeners or cleaning people.  He likes it rustic."  She surveyed the house fondly,  "Truth be told, so do I."

      After driving over some of the longer shoots across the semicircular gravel driveway, she turned off the engine.  "They make great jam, though.  The raspberries?  And over vanilla ice cream in the late summer?  Ummm."  Grace closed her eyes, tasting it.

      For a few moments, both women sat in silence, feeling the light breeze ruffle the mussed hairs around their faces.  Far up in the trees, the leaves whispered in the stronger winds, and birdsong surrounded them.  The raspberry canes that had been crushed under the car released their pungent scent, which wafted gently up and over their heads.

      Ellen turned to Grace, letting the astringent smell of the leaves fill her senses.  "Thank you, Grace."

      Grace laughed. "Don't thank me yet, I don't know what the inside of the house looks like."

      Ellen was serious. "I'm not talking about this.  I'm talking about everything.  About believing me.  About helping me.  I think I would feel very alone right now if it weren't for you."  She reached over and squeezed Grace's hand. "So thank you."

      Grace turned serious too, and squeezed back. "Well, thank you for choosing to save me and those I love.  My son and my brother have futures because of you.  Do you have any idea what that means to me?"

      Ellen nodded. "Yes, I do." Looking around at the relatively untamed wilderness, Ellen sighed. "It's not going to be easy, you know.  I still don't know exactly how it will happen, or when.  As it gets closer, I'll have a better idea, but right now, I'm as blind as you are."

      Grace sighed deeply, and smiled. "Gosh, that's very encouraging, Ellen.  The blind leading the blind?" Grace took the keys out of the ignition and turned again to her, "You're sure about Idaho, though, right?"

      "Yes," Ellen said, slowly. "She's made her plans very clear about that.  I know that land will still be above water.  I just don't know how rough it will be to be a human being standing on that land while it transitions, you know?"

      Grace shrugged. "Well, it's a good thing I like roller coasters."

      Ellen shook her head and laughed softly. "You have a wonderful spirit, Grace."

      "So do you, Ellen.  I'm glad we're friends.  I wanted that."  Grace looked down and rearranged the car keys in her hand. "I'm going to be scared though.  It doesn't mean I won't follow through, but I'm really quite scared.  Is that OK?"

      "It's human, Grace.  It's something to be treasured."  Ellen reached out to smooth Grace's wild curls, and, on an impulse, Grace leaned over and put her head on Ellen's shoulder.  Grace felt safe, the way she felt in Abby's arms so long ago.

      "I knew Abby, Grace." Ellen's voice was so soft that Grace wasn't sure she had actually spoken, or if the voice was in her head.  Sitting up, she looked into Ellen's eyes.

      "You knew my mother?  How?"

      "Do you remember the meetings Abby used to have?  Her Circle of ladies?"  Ellen smiled broadly, remembering. "I was one of them."

      Grace, skeptical, narrowed her eyes. "That was 20 years ago, Ellen, and if you'll pardon me, those ladies weren't young then."

      Looking like the cat that swallowed the canary, Ellen leaned back. "My last lifetime."  To Grace's incredulous stare, Ellen said, "You two were the cutest kids, by the way."

      Grace shook her head. "Wait a minute. I remember all of them looking much older than you do now.  How can that be?"

      Ellen smiled. "You all hold on to time like it's your lifeline, you know?  We created time, just so we could have another box to put things in."  She pulled down the sunshade in front of her and looked in the mirror, running her fingers through her disheveled hair.  "You wouldn't have recognized my face, because I wasn't in this body.  I just joined this one fairly recently, by your time, remember?"

      Folding the shade up, Ellen looked at Grace. "This is what we were talking about in the Circle, Grace."

      Ellen paused, watching the realization sink in. 

      Grace turned in her seat, facing Ellen, "My mother knew?  She was one of your...your...students?"

      "Well, yes and no," Ellen said, measuring her words. "She was a little like Elizabeth, honey, very grounded here.  Actually, she thought she could stop it from happening, all by herself.   She had a little trouble accepting the truth of it, that it would happen."

      Grace was rapt, soaking up this new knowledge of her mother.

      Ellen continued, "You know that phrase of hers? 'I don't want to live in a world where this or that could happen?'" Grace nodded, amazed.

      "We're very powerful, Gracie dear.  She made it come true, and she left here a little earlier than originally planned."

      Grace suddenly felt tears prick the back of her eyes at the thought of her mother, railing against the powers of the universe, at the Earth itself, single-handedly trying to hold back the inevitable.  No wonder she didn't have time for two small children.

      And then, finally, suddenly, her mother's words made sense to her.  As she held her hand in the hospital so many years ago, and Abby had said, "Don't go far from home."  She knew.  She was telling me not to leave Idaho. She said she was sorry, that she had tried so hard to keep me safe.

      Grace closed her eyes and felt her mother's arms around her.  I'm safe, Mama.  I'm going home.  Out loud, Grace said softly, "Every leaf on every tree."

      Ellen didn't ask what it meant.  Grace was sure she already knew.

      The afternoon breeze from the nearby ocean brought the faint tang of salt into the air.  Grace sat back against the leather seats of the Mustang, holding tight to the steering wheel as if she needed it to stay grounded.

      "So you lived in St. Maries?"

      Ellen nodded. "Only for a couple of years."

      Grace turned and looked at Ellen. "Who were you?"

      Ellen smiled, remembering the name as if it were an old friend. "Mabel. Mabel Connors."

      Grace's eyes opened wide. "Mrs. Connors? Ellen, she was old.  Really old."

      "Eighty-six, when I died.  In my sleep.  It was lovely."  Ellen closed her eyes, feeling the breeze across her skin. "I woke up on the other side." 

      Grace laughed. "You used to make us cookies."

      Opening her eyes, Ellen nodded as she turned to Grace.  "I think I did some good there, helped some people toward understanding.  I wish I had done a better job with Abby, though," she said sadly.  "Maybe that's part of why it was so important for me to find you."

      Grace blinked. "So do you do this a lot, Ellen?  Jump in and out of bodies?"      

      Ellen smiled. "Do you follow baseball?"

      Shaking her head, past being thrown by Ellen's changeups, Grace said, laughing, "A little. Why?"

      "What do they call the guy who comes in and finishes the game when the pitcher gets tired?"

      Grace shrugged. "I don't know, the relief pitcher? A closer?"

      Ellen beamed. "That's it. That's what I am.  A closer."

      Grace laughed out loud, throwing her head back on the seat. "Ellen, you are a piece of work, and that's a fact."

      Smiling, Ellen said, "I know you said no more curves for a while, but I really wanted to tell you this.  I wanted you to know that if you have any questions about your mother, who she was, what she felt about things, I might be able to answer them for you."

      Grace reached over and hugged Ellen. "That means a lot to me.  Thank you.  I have lots of questions, and we'll have plenty of time for you to answer them. Jamie will have some too."

      Grace pulled her bag and the grocery bag out of the back of the car. "For now, let's go make ourselves at home.  My big brother will be out soon, and we'll make a million lists and drink a lot of wine.  Homemade raspberry wine!"

      Ellen reached around for her bag in the back seat, and followed Grace up the steps, picking her way gingerly around the prickly vines.  She realized with surprise that she wouldn't trade this moment for anything she'd known on the other side. 

      Perfection was predictable. The chaos of being human was positively intoxicating.

---

      From the far-distant trees, Robert shook his head.

      He had pulled the Taurus silently into a small copse of trees, and had been watching Grace and Ellen through his binoculars as they talked in the Mustang for nearly a half-hour.

      As he watched the two women walk on to the porch of Jamie's log house, Robert was more confused than ever.  These women were not only friends, they had the feel of mother and daughter.  A good relationship between mother and daughter, which in his experience was somewhat rare.

      Seeing all of Grace for the first time, he thought, Nice curves. He couldn't help himself, it just popped into his head.  Get back in the game, boyo. You're on a job, and she's the kidnapper, for Chrissakes.

      Robert lowered the binoculars for just a moment. What the hell is going on here?  What could these two women have to tell the press that would so threaten Elizabeth Preston?  This was not a kidnapping, and they didn't look like any blackmailers he'd ever seen. 

      Robert was having the peculiar feeling that he had switched sides.  He wanted to investigate Elizabeth Preston, and felt like protecting these two.

      These two, however, don't look like they have $5000 a week, said the still, small voice inside him, the one that paid the rent and was looking at college tuition in the fall.

      Hell, just keep doing your J-O-B, and keep your opinions to yourself.  Robert put the binoculars on the seat beside him with a thump.  He reached around into the back seat and sullenly pulled out a late lunch of cold French fries and a soggy Big Mac.

      I love my job, I love my job, I love my job, he mumbled through bites, wondering if they were going anywhere tonight.  As he envisioned taking his down bag out and laying it flat in the back of the wagon, he heard the vibration of his phone in the front seat. 

      Wiping his hands quickly, he picked it up.  Unknown. Shit. The Lady Lawyer again.  Well this time I'd better take it.

      "Hart," he said, sotto voce.  Although he was far away from the cabin, these rural areas tended to magnify voices, so he kept it quiet.

      He picked up the binoculars again, as the curtains on the front picture window parted.  Grace appeared in the window, with her cell phone to her ear, talking.  The kitchen was just beyond the room Grace was in, and Ellen was behind the counter, emptying the paper bag from the gas station.

      "Mr. Hart, it's Elizabeth Preston." Really.

      "Yes, Miss Preston?" He knew he was being stubborn, but couldn't help himself.  He didn't want to make this easy for her.

      This time she surprised him. "I need you to go back to San Rafael immediately."  Her voice was shaking just slightly, and that was something new in his experience with her.  He put down the binoculars, listening.

      "Something has happened there, something very, very strange."

      Elizabeth told him she had just received a phone call from the manager of the Village Grocery.  He was paid well to give her any information about her mother, and to keep that information confidential.

      He had called her, thank God, before calling the police to report the bizarre story his delivery boy had told him.  Elizabeth made him promise not to call the authorities, and said that she would take care of it.

      "The boy, Willie is his name, is somewhat of a stoner, so once the situation is cleaned up, no one will believe him.  But it needs to be cleaned up now.  Right now."

      Robert was having trouble keeping up with Elizabeth's staccato delivery of information. "What situation? What needs cleaning up?"

      "There is a dead cat nailed to my mother's door, Mr. Hart.  And it is dripping blood onto my mother's antique Persian rug.  The door is wide open." She paused to compose herself.  "Are you certain that my mother is alright?"

      Robert took a deep breath, trying to assess this new information. He raised the binoculars again. Grace had turned to ask Ellen a question while she talked on the phone. Robert had a clear view of Ellen as she answered. "The woman I'm looking at right now is the woman in the photo you faxed me.  Yes, I'm sure of that."

      Elizabeth sighed in relief.  "Well, then, this can be cleaned up relatively easily.  I need you to see to it."

      "See to what? What do you want me to do?" Robert growled.

      "Go back to San Rafael, take the cat off the door, clean up the mess, and close up the house."  Elizabeth spoke impatiently. "And while you're there, find out who did it, and why."  She clearly wanted this conversation to be over as quickly as possible.

      Oh, is that all?  Robert held his temper, although it was getting increasingly difficult.  "I can't be in two places at one time, Miss Preston." I'm a professional, not someone you can order around like the hired help, Dragon-Lady.

      Pause.  Elizabeth did not sound happy. "Alright, then give me a report of your current situation."

      "Sure." Does the word please have a place in your vocabulary?  "I am currently within sight of the house in Inverness that your mother and Grace Delaney have just entered. The kidnapping," he said the word with the appropriate sarcastic emphasis, "is progressing nicely.  They've hugged a few times, shed a few girlish tears, and now seem to be preparing dinner.  Your mother has had about a hundred opportunities to get away, but has declined to take advantage of any of them."            

      Robert paused, getting control of his anger. "Now is there any other information you'd like to give me so that I can do my job a little more efficiently?"

      Sighing, Elizabeth sounded resigned. Her whole tone changed from lawyer to human being, just like that.  "OK, Mr. Hart.  So it's not really an official kidnapping.  The truth is, my mother is not well.  She's not in control of her faculties, and Grace Delaney has taken it upon herself to keep my mother away from the psychiatric care she so desperately needs." So, in Elizabeth-speak, she wants to commit her mother, and Grace doesn't think Ellen's crazy.  This is starting to make a little more sense.

      One more thing. "What about the press, and radio and TV? What is it these two want to say to them?"

      This time, Elizabeth weighed her words even more carefully. "In her dementia, my mother has some ideas, some truly deluded ideas, that she feels she needs to share with the world."  Elizabeth paused. "This is not a good time in my professional life to have that kind of press, Mr. Hart."

      Now Robert was intrigued. "What kind of ideas? If she's crazy, why would anyone listen?"

      Elizabeth's limit had been reached for information. The Lady Lawyer was back. "I won't dignify them by repeating them.  Suffice it to say it would be a huge embarrassment to my firm and myself if she were allowed access to the media.  I am paying you to prevent that."

      Wow, therapy over. This woman can shift gears faster than Jeff Gordon.

      "So, Miss Preston.  Where would you like to pay me to be?  Here, or San Rafael?"

      "In your professional opinion, Mr. Hart, is the situation there in Inverness likely to change in the next few hours?"

      Robert considered for a moment, and picked up the binoculars again.  Grace and Ellen were in the kitchen together now, laughing at the sink.  It looked like they were washing wine glasses.

      "No, they seem to be settling in for the night.  I can't guarantee you that they won't leave here, but they took bags inside, so I think they're staying. That's my professional opinion."

      "Then I want you to go immediately to my mother's house in San Rafael and take care of things there.  Make sure no one is inside the house. Remove any evidence that would lead someone to believe the authorities need to be called.  For any reason.  And find out who did this.  It wouldn't surprise me to learn that it was my mother.  She is a very disturbed woman.  Then return to Inverness and take up your station again. Is that clear, Mr. Hart?"

      "Crystal, Miss Preston."

      "I will be up very late working on a brief.  Call me with a report."

      Robert raised his hand to his forehead and gave a crisp salute. "Over and out, Miss Preston."

      Elizabeth's voice was sharp. "What was that, Mr. Hart?"

      "I'll call you later."

      "Thank you, Mr. Hart."

      Well, what do you know, she does know the words, Robert thought as he closed his phone and turned the key in the ignition.

---

      Daniel was getting restless.

      Not only was he itching to do something, anything, but Marla's Ford Escort was not made for someone who was 6'4", 280 lbs. and used to constant activity.  He'd been sitting in the car on and off for 4 hours now, and he had to move.

      I'll take a walk around the block to clear my head and get my blood flowing again.  He would have preferred to hook his feet under the bike rack at the corner and do 100 sit ups, but that would be a little too visible. 

      Daniel opened the door and stretched his legs out before he stood up.  Leaning backwards to ease his stiffness, he looked again at the front door he'd been watching for so long.  Nothing.

      Starting his walk, Daniel recited in his head, as he always did when he exercised...The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want... It took on the usual sing-song quality as the words fell into cadence with his steps, and Daniel felt himself, as always, being transported to another place. 

      The combination of the endorphins of exercise and the Spirit entering him through prayer made him giddy...surely goodness and mercy...almost drunk with his connection to the Lord.  Before he knew it, he had done three circuits of the long Pacific Heights blocks, and had broken a healthy sweat.

      Each time he passed Marla's car, he looked to see that the van was still there.  On his fourth trip past the alley behind the house, ...Thou anointest my head with oil, my cup runneth over...the blond man from the front stoop leaned on a black Toyota, engine running, talking on his cell phone.

      "Gracie, it's no trouble really..." Adrenaline coursed through Daniel, as he walked at the same cadence until he was out of sight, and stood, breathing heavily, at the gate just beyond where the blonde man was talking.  The alley echoed his words, so Daniel could hear them clearly.

      "I was just leaving. Of course I can stop on the way.  I didn't think there would be much food out there anyway.  Hold on, let me get a piece of paper, you know my memory isn't worth shit."  The man rummaged about in the console of the SUV until he found a slip of paper and a pen.

      "Sugar, cranberry tea, yeah, I thought there would be some there too, we must have used it last time. Coffee for me. Ice cream. What does Ellen like?" Pause. "OK, some honey."

      He climbed into the front seat of the 4-Runner. "I'll be there in an hour, Graciela.  Pour me a glass of wine, OK?  Love you."

      Now Daniel was running, back toward Marla's car, memorizing the license plate of the Toyota, just in case.  With luck, I can catch him, thought Daniel, looking back to see the black 4-Runner turn right out of the alley.  No, not luck, Daniel thought.

      He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake...

---

      "Former Manufactured Gas Plants (FMGPs) produced toxic floaters, mixers, and sinkers, characterizing the variable density of the dominantly liquid wastes. Among these toxics were aromatic hydrocarbons, including the tar-acid phenols and cresols; the monocyclical aromatic hydrocarbons, more commonly known as benzene, toluene, ethylbenzene and xylene..."

      Elizabeth held her index finger up to the annoying twitch that had started again in her right eyelid.  She rubbed the pad of her finger in a circular motion until it stopped its spasms, and leaned back in her leather desk chair.

      The Bonertz case.  Her chance at partnership. The biggest grocery chain in the country wanted to place a store right smack on top of a former manufactured gas plant, one of the most toxic chemical sites there was in all of Virginia.

      Walt Bonertz, bless his pointy little head, was on the other side, saying that years of clean up would have to be satisfied before the first concrete was poured.

      The 1860 gas plant wasn't even on the radar until Bonertz stuck his nose in and did some late-night testing of the site.  The cement trucks were recalled, the workers sent elsewhere, and Elizabeth's client, Manny Foods, was out millions of dollars in lost revenue, and growing by the day.

      A self-proclaimed Advocate of the Earth, Bonertz had been a thorn in the side of Williams, Lakes & Gage for more years than Elizabeth had been with the firm.  Putting him down once and for all would earn her a place in the cold, hard hearts of every partner, and Elizabeth was determined to do it up right.

      Bonertz loved the spotlight, and the camera loved him, unfortunately.  He was everywhere: Larry King, Oprah, Bill Maher, even freakin' Entertainment Tonight.  He looked like Billy Graham on steroids, and managed to distill complicated environmental issues into a language the public could understand.  He had big money and an intelligent, media-savvy team behind him.

      And I have a crazy mother on the loose, and dead cats nailed to doors.  Christ, what a world.  The eye started twitching again.

      Elizabeth stood up and walked away from the only pool of light in her 4th-floor apartment.  Going to the window, she looked out at the lights of the city, always blazing, and, far in the distance, the Monument, looking like a bright shiny pin against the night sky.

      It was hot tonight, and the air conditioning coming through the vents was struggling to keep up.  Elizabeth could fill a room with the research she'd done to discount the global warming panic that others used to explain the rising temperatures.  She'd found an equal amount of information on the normal rise and fall of the Earth's temperature, having nothing to do with what we small people do on the planet. 

      People love to panic, and to maximize the importance of their little lives.  Elizabeth knew that there was nothing we could do to truly affect how the Earth spun, or the natural regeneration of wildlife and its forests, or the limitless oxygen we breathed from its surface.  Every blip was studied endlessly by people who just had too much time on their hands, and statistics could be skewed in so many ways, the numbers used by the environmental movement just weren't reliable.

      But it is hot tonight, she thought, looking out at the city.  How many air conditioners out there are running right now?  She'd lived through some brown-outs, and even one full-scale black-out, and it wasn't fun.  Looking back toward her desk lamp, she hoped she wouldn't have to write her brief by candlelight.  What the hell, the sun will be up soon, I can always count on that.

      Elizabeth's cell phone rang. 

      She looked at the screen: Hart. Better be good news.  I could use some.

---

      The last of the lights blinked out in the house just as Elizabeth picked up Robert's call.  He had backed the Taurus wagon into the same grove of trees, and now he was lying on his down bag looking through the open back window of the car.

      The bugs will eat me alive, but I need to be able to hear if a car pulls away.  After years of surveillance, Robert could maintain a half-sleep that allowed him to rest, but still be alert to noises.  An absolutely necessary qualification for the job. 

      "What do you have to report, Mr. Hart?"

      Robert kept his voice low, since the window was open.  On the other hand, the warm night had brought out all the noises of the forest, and the racket created by the crickets and frogs was certainly enough to cover his voice at this distance.

      "Everything is secure at your mother's house, Miss Preston.  I did a thorough search of the house and the property.  There was no one inside, but there was significant evidence that someone had been living in an area of trees just to the east of the house, probably for some time."

      Robert closed  his eyes, remembering the makeshift latrine he'd discovered in a thicket of trees.  From the smell and the look of it, someone had been there for weeks, maybe months.  That led him to a protected area that had been flattened by a bedroll or bag, and stacked rocks that had probably served as shelves.

      "Why would someone be living on my mother's property?"  Elizabeth's voice sounded tired.  Robert quickly added three hours on to his watch, 1:45 a.m. in Washington. Girl needs some sleep.

      "I don't know, but there's also evidence that this person has some military training.  There were snare ropes hidden on the perimeter of the living space." Nearly broke my damn head on a rock, Robert thought, still feeling the soreness in his wrist.

      There was a huge sigh on the other end of the line. "Mr. Hart, let me understand this.  My mother, a reclusive widow who, up until recently, has barely said 'boo' to another living soul, has had some, some… Rambo camping on her property?  To what purpose?  Is she running a crack house? Harboring terrorists?  What?"  Well, she sounds awake now. A little hysterical, but awake.

      This should really get her going. "There's more.  Did the owner of the grocery tell you what was written on the door?"

      "Not that I recall.  He said the boy left in somewhat of a hurry.  What was it?"

      "Repent.  In blood.  I believe it was cat's blood, but I can't know for sure."  He could still picture the door on the screen of his digital camera as he'd taken a photo of the gruesome sight.

      "Repent?" She said, disbelieving.  Robert could almost hear the wheels turning in Elizabeth's fine lawyerly mind.  "So not just Rambo, but a religious fanatic Rambo?  Oh, this just gets better and better, Mr. Hart."

      Robert slapped at a mosquito draining blood from the back of his hand.  "Sorry, Miss Preston, I just report what I see." He took a slight pause. "Does your mother attend church?"

      Another deep sigh.  "She says she was distracting the minister."

      "Excuse me?"

      "Never mind." Elizabeth pulled herself together, sounding professional again. "I believe I may have a lead for you, Mr. Hart."

      Elizabeth recounted her conversation with Marla McGrath.  "She was certain my mother was leading her straight to Hell.  I wouldn't be surprised if she's connected somehow.  I can give you her address and her home phone number.  She has no cell."

      Robert took down the information by the light of the screen from his cell phone.  "I assume the surveillance is still the highest priority, Miss Preston?"

      "Yes, absolutely.  And you can assure me that my mother's house will not attract any attention?"

      "No more than usual.  I rolled up the carpet and put it in the outside shed, gave the cat a proper burial, cleaned the door, put the groceries in the trash and the mail inside, and made sure the house was locked up."

      "Excellent.  Call me tomorrow if they leave the house you're watching.  Otherwise, I will assume that you have the situation well in hand."

      More formally than necessary, Robert said, "The situation is well in hand, Miss Preston."  Why do I always feel like I'm in a bad PI movie when I talk to her?

      Elizabeth took a long pause before she spoke.  "Mr. Hart, I am perfectly aware that you don't like me.  I want you to be aware that I don't give a rat's ass.  Just do your job, and try not to be quite so sarcastic.  It's annoying."

      Robert was about to say something sarcastic and annoying, when he realized Elizabeth had already hung up.

      It's my own damn fault. Could've worked at a private security company.  Right now I could be doing a crossword puzzle at some desk in a hallway somewhere.  My own damn fault.

      Closing his cell, Robert basked for a moment in the absence of light, and particularly, the absence of Elizabeth Preston's voice.

      I am a Professional Investigator, and I take pride in my profession.  I pledge my performance, skill and fidelity to my client... the words of his Professional Investigators Association pledge floated suddenly into Robert's head. I will not allow the interference of prejudices or personal feelings... Deciding that he was a miserable failure on these particular points, Robert shifted his thoughts back to the evening he had witnessed through his binoculars.

      He'd gotten back to his spot under the trees at about 8:15 p.m., while it was still light.  Settling in for the night, he could see clearly into the main room of the cabin through the open curtains.

      At the small dining table were Ellen, Grace, and the young man he knew as Jamie, thanks to the photos he'd pulled from Jamie D's website.  The black 4-Runner was now parked in the semicircular drive behind the Mustang.

      The three had already finished dinner and a dessert of ice cream and frozen berries, probably raspberries, he thought, looking at the bushes around him.  One or the other would periodically get up to walk around to the kitchen, and the pass-through allowed them to continue conversations while rinsing dishes or opening another bottle of wine.

      His top-of-the-line Canon 10x30 binoculars could zoom in on a nose hair, but after a time, Robert found himself wishing he also had a microphone hidden in the pinecone centerpiece on the table.  They laughed a lot, but there was a very serious discussion going on behind the laughter. 

      They listened to each other intently, and finally Grace got up and came back to the table with a pad of lined binder paper.  Robert counted 25 sheets that she filled with large flowing handwriting, and finally gave up counting.  The angle was wrong to read what was on the page, but he found for a time that he was captivated by the movement of her hand as he tried to decipher what she was writing.

      There had certainly been times in Robert's work when he felt like a peeping Tom, especially on divorce cases.  Although "no-fault" divorces made it unnecessary to have a legal reason these days, finding evidence of adultery or other undesirable behavior still led to some very profitable settlements for the wronged party.  So Robert had watched things he didn't even want to remember, but always in a detached, almost clinical way.

      Watching Grace was different.  As the inevitable boredom of a stake-out took over, he found himself examining small parts of her, an eyebrow, the slope of her neck, the curl of her mouth in a smile.  This is not good, I'm losing focus, he would say to himself, and then, moments later, find himself zooming in again on a stray coil of hair as she pushed it off her forehead.

      Then he heard Cassie in his head.  You've got a crush, Pops.  Robert dropped the binoculars abruptly, feeling the disorienting sensation of moving too swiftly away from the inside of the cabin to his spot in the woods.  I do not, he thought indignantly, but the seed was sown. 

      Now when he lifted the binoculars again, he was consciously looking away from Grace to prove it didn't matter, all the while wanting to look at her, and...oh, for Chrissakes, what am I, in high school?

      As Robert settled back into his bag, he looked at the now-dark house, and frowned.  Pounding the sweatshirt he had rolled up into some semblance of a pillow, he had to admit, client or no client, that it seemed more logical that Elizabeth Preston was the one who was not completely on the up and up here. 

      And that's not just because I have a crush on the kidnapper, he thought, scowling into the darkness.

      Closing his eyes, he tried, not too successfully, to get the memory of Grace's smile out of his head.

---

      The trees flew by, peacefully, with glimmers of sun sparkling through the leaves, as Grace drove down from the cabin to the Inverness General Store.  Ah, Inverness, she thought, No matter what evil lurks in the world, it doesn't lurk here.  She was glad again that Jamie had opted for the convertible. With the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, and the clean smells of newly-cut grass mixed with the hint of salt air, she felt this might be Heaven.

      Heaven. The Other Side.  Ellen talked about it as if it were perfection, but there was a wistfulness that she couldn't hide.  This side may have pollution, mean people, accidents, sadness, turmoil and messes, but it also had what Grace was feeling, right now, and she guessed that this air and warmth, these wonderful aromas couldn't be duplicated exactly on the other side.

      But with beauty came sadness, and Grace had to fight the knowledge that just wouldn't go away, this will all be gone soon.  Ellen helped her through those moments, saying, "These are natural changes.  Your son went from being a baby to a child to a young man.  He'll never be the same, but he's something new, fantastic, different.  Mother Earth is the same."

      That look of Ellen's, as she savored the tea she loved so much, or when her eyes caught the light falling just so across the tabletop, with dust motes looking like glitter in the air, that look was one that Grace could only describe as love.  Love for the randomness of things, for the surprises, for the excitement of waking up and not knowing what will happen today, even if it might be bad.  What set of molecules will collide with what other set?  To Ellen, this was the mystery of free will, and back on Earth, she was deliciously caught up in it.

      And the gift of Ellen, Grace thought, is that I'm starting to see this astonishing world through her eyes.  Grace had left Ellen contentedly watching the buzzing of the bees in the backyard, drinking cranberry tea. 

      Since the cabin had only two bedrooms, Grace and Ellen had taken the room with the two singles, while Jamie took the larger room with the Queen size.  It felt safe here, and this haven was at least giving them some time.

      Grace thought about their dinner last night, and felt good about the decisions they'd made.  Jamie was already on the phone putting their plans into effect.

      They would invite everyone out to the cabin for the Memorial Day weekend: Teresa and her family, Cheryl and her son, five of Jamie's closest and most open-minded friends.  They would create a camp in the backyard for those who could rough it, and offer beds to those who couldn't.  Grace would buy air mattresses, sheets and extra blankets at the General Store to supplement the beds.  And they would pray that the ancient septic tank would hold together for one more weekend.

      It was late notice, but Grace already knew that Teresa would come with the two boys and Pooch.  Ron, as usual, said he had to work, and would stay behind.  Cheryl was supposed to be on call, but Grace had already called her best and most reliable home health aide to fill in and be on call for the weekend so that Cheryl would be free.  Jamie's friends might have plans, but he was making those calls now.

      They would have one huge, out-of-control holiday weekend, and after everyone had relaxed and mingled for a couple of days, they would sit everyone down and talk about moving to Idaho.  Grace was terrified, and she shivered just thinking about it.

      The cabin hadn't been used in a couple of months, so it was musty when they first walked in yesterday afternoon.  Already, Ellen had gone to work with Old English oil and ammonia.  After Jamie got done with his calls, she planned to pull out the tired vacuum cleaner that came with the house and still refused to die.  Grace and Ellen opened all the windows and let the light and the air in, and now it was the homey cabin Grace knew and loved.

      Last night before dinner, Grace had called Alex.

      "It's about that thing, isn't it, Mom? That's why you're at the cabin?"

      "Yes, honey, we're just working some stuff out."

      "Uncle Jamie's with you?" The two most important people in Alex's life, thought Grace.  I'd be scared, too.

      "Can I come out there?" Grace felt her throat clench.  He sounded like a little boy again, a little boy trying to be a brave young man.

      "You will, Alex, for the holiday weekend.  Teresa, Aaron and Pauley are coming out for the weekend, too.  I thought you could drive out with them on Friday after school.  I don't want you to miss your finals."

      A little of Alex's composure had cracked then, "Why should I take my finals?  What does it matter now?"

      Grace didn't really have an answer for that.  She was asking him to be committed to what she believed was the truth, but at the same time to go on with life as usual.

      Always be honest with him. "You're right about that, it doesn't make much sense, does it?" Sitting cross legged on the hardwood floor in the bedroom, Grace fiddled mindlessly with the fringe on the rag rug. "What finals do you have this week?"

      "Calculus and Ancient History tomorrow, Speech on Wednesday morning, nothing Thursday, Friday we get out early for the holiday.  Monday there's no school."

      Grace knew he was prepared for his finals.  She had seen him studying for weeks, and had already heard his speech on Bush's shaky domestic policy.  She wanted him to have the satisfaction of accomplishment that went with all that work.

      "How about a compromise?  Take your finals tomorrow, and Wednesday morning I'll pick you up right after you give your speech.  You can be out here with us through Monday night.  I'll take you to school on Tuesday morning from here.  Deal?"

      Alex thought a moment.  "OK. That sounds fair.  I'll be out at the flagpole at twenty after ten on Wednesday.  You'll be there to pick me up?"

      Grace knew Alex must have been surprised to see Teresa after school.  "I'll be there, honey.  I'm sorry I wasn't there today."

      "That's OK."  Alex paused. "Hey, Mom?"

      "Yeah, honey?"

      "Are you going to tell them?  Aaron and his mom and Pauley?  About what you told me?"

      Grace sighed, hearing the hesitation in his voice. "Yes, honey, we're going to tell everybody.  But we're going to wait until everybody's good and drunk."

      Alex made a sound that she guessed was a laugh. "Good plan, Mom."

      "I love you, baby.  So much."

      "I love you too, Mom."

      As she drove down the hill toward Tomales Bay, Grace thought her boy was having to grow up way too soon.

      Turning onto the main highway, if you can call a two-lane road a highway, Grace drove along the water until she reached the center of town, which consisted of a gift shop, a Czechoslovakian restaurant, a pizza shop and the Inverness General Store.  The town and its outlying areas was full of rental houses, so San Franciscans came out in droves for a holiday weekend. It was likely that the rentals were completely booked, and the store fully stocked for all those houses.

      And a General Store it was, in the grand old tradition.  You could buy a good pair of boots, find a good bottle of wine and rent a good movie at the General Store, and the sandwiches at their Deli were known for miles.  Grace pulled into the large parking lot, which was nearly full. 

      Her list would give them a good start on the weekend, so she pulled a cart from its nested line, and started down the aisles, one by one.  Grace began crossing off her list:  Fettuccini, tomato sauce, eggs, cheese, soy milk, yogurt, beer, wine, tequila, margarita mix, cereal, hamburger buns, chips, bread, mayo, mustard, relish, broccoli, summer squash, red potatoes, tomatoes, lettuce, apples...Grace didn't much like shopping, but she loved happy, fed people.  The cart was full to overflowing.

      Next was the Meat Department, and it was just like the old days.  Take a number, even if you just wanted chicken breasts.  Nothing available in plastic trays.  The only way you walked out of the General Store with fresh meat or fish was in white paper with a label slapped on. 

      Grace pulled the number 84.  The "Now Serving" sign said 81.  She peered in the glass case at the fresh scallops and shrimp and decided what she would do with the fettuccine.  White wine, cocktail sauce for the shrimp...

      "Looks like you got quite a crowd there."

      Another thing about the country, and to San Francisco, this was the country, everyone talked to everyone.  What was in your cart was always fair game for conversation.  People smiled and shared stories as they stood in line, even if they'd never laid eyes on each other before.

      Grace turned around to face the cheerful voice, expecting someone about her age, and found herself looking up to an older man, tanned and muscular, with a brilliant, kind smile.

      Smiling, Grace said, "Yep, a full house.  You renting?"

      The man shook his head, "Nah, camping.  Everyone says it's supposed to be a beautiful weekend.  Hot, but beautiful." He pulled a local tourist magazine out of the back pocket of his jeans, and opened it. "I've heard North Beach is nice.  Have you been there?"

      Grace said, "Lots of times.  And they're right, it's unforgettable."  Grace heard someone call for Number 82.  "Don't try to swim there, though.  It has very dangerous currents." 

      "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."  The man ran a hand through his close-cropped gray hair, muscles rippling through his sleeveless olive-green t-shirt.  This guy is in good shape, Grace thought, maybe about the same age as Daddy when he died.  How different could two bodies be?

      Of course, once you start one of these conversations, it becomes very awkward to suddenly stand next to each other in silence, so you have to keep talking.  Grace asked, "Are you here with your family?"

      "Wife and two kids.  They're at the campsite.  I'm bringing back hot dogs and hamburgers."  That brilliant smile again.  "Kids love hot dogs and hamburgers, don't they?"

      "That they do," Grace said.  The butcher called number 84, and Grace held her number up.  Just before she moved to the counter, the man put out his hand and said, "Nice talking with you.  My name's Daniel."

      "Nice talking to you too, Daniel.  I'm Grace."  She turned and shook his hand.  "I'm sure you'll have a week you'll never forget."

      He smiled again. "God willing, Grace."

     

---

      Ronald Banks slumped into his chair as his computer clicked and buzzed to life.  As he looked around at the warehouse-like room of computer stations, he watched all the other lemmings doing just exactly the same thing.

      A masters in Math, great things expected of him, and here he was, a statistics analyst at The Weather Channel.  Do you know, Bob, that it hasn't been this cold in Phoenix since November of 1972?

      Or his personal favorite, When was the last time we had a tornado here in June, Jane?  How about the classic, Tonight, Larry, there is a 47% chance that we'll dip into freezing temperatures?

      Ron put his head in his hands.

      Actually, Larry, there's a 92% chance that today will bore me to tears.

      So far, his coffee maker had backed up, spilling coffee and grounds all over the counter.  Then he'd gotten a ticket in a construction zone because he was late after cleaning up the coffee grounds.  Now, still without coffee, he had arrived at his desk to find the plum of all assignments: Record high temperature research. 

      Now there's something for a brilliant mind.  It's getting hotter. No duh.

      Scratch that, Larry. Make that a 99% chance that today will bore me to tears.

---

      Grace pulled into the empty spot next the flagpole, and turned the key off in the ignition.   The school was quiet, in that eerie way before the bell rings and havoc breaks loose.  Listening to the ping, ping, ping of the metal grommets on the flag hitting the pole in the breeze, Grace wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.           

      No going back now, the plans were in place.

      She had left Ellen and Jamie in quiet conversation at the dining room table in Inverness, over coffee and tea.  Jamie started asking questions last night, some of the same questions Grace asked on her walk with Ellen.  Amazing how much alike she and her brother were.  The questions were continuing this morning.

      "What's it like up there?" were the last words she'd heard Jamie say as she gently closed the squeaking screen door and walked out toward the Mustang.  Grace wished she could stay and hear it all again, but she'd promised Alex she would pick him up and there was no way she was going to be late.

      Grace reached down into the cup holder and pulled out her bottle of Dasani water.  Flipping open the sport top, she took a long swallow, and replaced it.  It was warm today.

      The bell signaling the end of the class period rang loudly, and suddenly the school sprang to life.  As Grace looked for Alex's head above the shorter students, she saw more than a few eyes gazing longingly at the electric blue Mustang.

      "Cool ride, Mom," Alex opened the passenger side door and flopped into the seat next to her, simultaneously throwing his bulging backpack into the rear seat.  He leaned into the leather interior, pulled his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, and put his arm across the top of the door, looking as if he were born to ride in a car like this.

      Grace laughed.  "Uncle Jamie might let you drive it someday, once you get your license."  As soon as she said it, Grace wanted to take it back, and she turned to see Alex with a strange and wistful look on his face.

      "Is he bringing it to Idaho?" Alex asked.

      Reaching an arm out to touch Alex's shoulder, Grace smiled.  "Can you imagine your uncle going anywhere without this car?"

      Looking down at his feet, Alex gave a half-smile. "Nope, I can't."

      Grace pulled her own sunglasses down from their place in the maze of her curls, and put them on.  She fired up the engine and sat for just a moment, letting Alex bask in the attention turned in their direction.  When he turned and smiled at her, she pulled out slowly, and made her way to Sir Francis Drake Boulevard.

      "How was your speech?"

      Alex bobbed his head, shrugging.  "Pretty good.  Got lots of questions after, and my teacher seemed to be interested."  Holding the longer hair out of his eyes as the wind blew it, Alex said, "There's not a lot of sympathy for Bush with my friends these days.  It was kind of an easy topic."

      "You worked hard on that speech, honey.  You deserve a good grade for it. "  Grace flipped on the blinker and looked left as she pulled up to the main road.  "How many others went today?"

      "There were ten of us.  I'm missing another ten tomorrow."  Alex sat for a moment, thinking. "One of the girls in my class talked about plastic bags.  It was amazing."

      Grace watched the road, stealing a glance now and then, "Plastic bags? What kind of plastic bags?"

      "All kinds.  Grocery bags, dry cleaning bags, mostly the really thin ones that all the stores are using.  They never go away, Mom." 

      Alex sounded very serious, so Grace turned to him as they reached a stoplight. "Tell me about it."

      Taking a deep breath, Alex closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face. "There are trillions of them.  That's what she said, trillions.  No matter how hard people try to contain them, or recycle them, they float on the wind and clog storm drains, fly into trees and fences, and mostly into the water."

      "Like the oceans?"

      "Yeah, and lakes, and rivers, everywhere.  There are all kinds of animals that live and feed on the bottom of oceans and lakes, and the bags get hooked on plants, or covered with sand, and there's no place left to eat.  Everything under them dies.  Some turtles think they're jellyfish, and try to eat them and die."

      For a moment, Grace didn't know what to say. "Well, did she say anything about the ones we recycle?  That's got to be making some difference."

      Alex grimaced. "Three to five percent, I think she said.  That's all the plastic that gets recycled.  Glass can be heated to the point where everything comes out of it, but not plastic.  They can't get all the toxins out, so there's no way to make a milk jug out of recycled plastic.  Mostly it goes into carpets and kayaks and stuff, things that don't touch food, or our mouths."

      Alex turned to her, remembering, "Oh, and there was this unbelievable thing she told us about.  It's called the Pacific Gyre, she wrote it on the board, G-y-r-e.  It's about 800 miles north of Hawaii in the Pacific Ocean, and it's this place where all the currents go in kind of a circle.  There are hundreds and hundreds of miles of plastic floating out there, in the middle of the ocean, little tiny pieces, some of them smaller than the plankton, and big things, nets, motor oil jugs, baby toys, plastic bags, tires, traffic cones."  Alex turned and looked out at the road, shaking his head.  "Unbelievable."

      Grace heard Ellen's voice in her head.  Now imagine that there is the possibility that all the beings living on the Earth could do her some real damage.  Kill her.  What would you do in her place?  Wait until they accomplished that, or take some action before they did?

      Grace and Alex looked at each other, quiet in the warm breeze that blew across the top of the car.  No wonder, they both said silently, No wonder She's angry.

      Alex reached down and turned on the radio, softly, as if he was afraid to talk anymore.  He floated his right hand on the wind, up and down, trying to calm his rising sense of panic.

      Grace let him have room, lost in her own thoughts.

      Finally, he reached down and turned the radio off.

      "What about all these people, Mom?  How can we not tell them?"

      Grace felt her heart tighten. "I know, honey.  I feel the same way."  She gripped the steering wheel. "I think we have to take it one step at a time.  This weekend we're telling those closest to us.  The circle will widen, I think, and maybe we'll know what to do then."

      Alex's voice went up a notch. "What if there isn't time?  What if Sarah, the girl who did the report, what if she doesn't make it because we didn't tell her?  She knows about the bags, she knows..." Trailing off, Alex turned sharply to look out to his right.  Grace saw his hand come up and brush across his cheek.

      My heart is going to break.  "Oh, Alex, honey." Grace reached out and ran her fingertips across his neck. "Do you want me to stop?  I can pull over."

      Alex shook his head, still not looking at her.  I have to let him find his own way with this.  The way I had to.  "OK, but you let me know.  We could stop off in the Park and hug trees or something."  Grace saw the flicker of a smile in the corner of his mouth, and he shook his head again, more slowly.

      Grace sighed, "I wish I had something profound to say to you, Alex.  I wish I knew a way to make this easier for you.  I wish so many things."

      Alex's voice was soft, low and ragged, "You're doing fine, Mom."  He ran his hand under his nose, breathing sharply.  "It just sucks, is all."

      Grace looked over and gave him a crooked smile.  "Oh, baby, you are so right.  It does absolutely suck."

---

      Grace leaned back in her plastic lawn chair on the small back porch.  In her hand was the requisite Plastic Cup Margarita, cloyingly sweet and lethally spiked.  She thought it might be her fourth.

      Thank God we have no neighbors, Grace thought, surveying the back yard. Looks like Spring Break in Fort Lauderdale. Then smiling, she thought, blessedly minus the bikinis.

      Tent City had sprung up in the normally quiet, bucolic landscape behind the house, and the fire pit Jamie and Alex had built was clearly the place to be.

      They had moved the twin beds out of the small bedroom and lined the floor with air mattresses, sleeping bags, and blankets, which were now covered with snoring, exhausted, sun-drenched children.  The adults were still wide awake, transporting themselves back to their carefree youth.

      Grace was not usually a hard liquor drinker, and she wouldn't say she was drunk.  Someone else might, but Grace felt just pleasantly tipsy. 

      The last few days had been full of preparation, not just for the arrival of guests, but for the sort of Town Meeting that was planned for Sunday.  Only Grace, Jamie, Ellen and Alex knew what was going to be said.  Everyone else thought it was going to be some sort of Memorial Day observation.  Most people were planning to drive home early on Monday, to avoid the single-file line of traffic from Inverness to San Francisco.

      Looking up at the stars, Grace thought, in a kind of tequila-inspired philosophy, There's actually a freedom in knowing that the days are numbered.  Normally she would be concerned about the extreme stickiness of the kitchen floor, the toilets that were threatening to back up, and the fact that a healthy chunk of the lawn had disappeared with the digging of the fire pit.

      These things don't bother me, however, she thought.  Because soon it won't matter.  Freedom. No worries. Everything will be gone. Mama Nature cleaning house.

      A burst of laughter erupted from the group by the fire.  Grace heard the familiar sounds of "Going to Hawaii," the classic campfire game, which always seemed to be played with about half of the people knowing the trick and half not. 

      You're packing for Hawaii. Note to self: ask Ellen to log on and see if Hawaii is going up, up, up or going down, down, down, and the trick is that you can only take things that start with your initials.  Jamie has just said, "I'm going to Hawaii, and I'm taking some Jack Daniels."  Everyone who knows the secret says, "Yes, you can take some Jack Daniels."  Cheryl, not in on the secret says, "OK, then I'm going to take some beer."  Everyone says, "No, you can't take beer," and Cheryl, clueless and frustrated, squeals, "Why? How come he can take Jack Daniels and I can't take some beer?" Another burst of laughter.  A game that is definitely assisted by alcohol.

      Everyone had come.  Everyone, of course, but Teresa's husband Ron.  Grace thought Teresa would have trouble agreeing to packing up and moving, but for the sake of Aaron and Pauley, Grace believed she would.  Ron won't move, though.  I'd bet money on it.  Grace didn't envy Teresa her decision.  And when all this comes to pass, I don't envy her grief.  Grace shifted forward in her chair.

      Looking behind her through the kitchen window, Grace saw Teresa and Ellen deep in conversation.  She felt glad that they might become friends.  She turned back around and stretched her legs out on the chair.

      It's really happening.  I know it down to my toes, Grace thought.  The numbness brought on by the drink she held was a relief after days of struggle with the surreal nature of what they were doing.  Kind of like an ark, two by two by two, she thought. Mrs. Noah, that's me.

      Watching her brother throw his head back and laugh, his face all yellows and golds in the firelight, Grace felt a warmth that spread from her heart outwards.  Jamie had opened his mind and his heart and his bank account in a way even she hadn't expected.  Her eyes starting to blur, Grace remembered him saying, all those years ago, It's going to be alright, Graciela, one way or the other.

      "Can't take it with us, right?  Who knows what money will be worth, so we might as well use it to buy things now that we can't get later," Jamie said.  Alex brought out his report, and the four of them sat around the dining room table making more lists.

      Jamie would work with Jamie D's freight company, and planned to contract with as many semis as he needed to drive supplies up to St. Maries.  The barn had been empty for years, and once that was full, Jamie said, "We'll build another one and fill it."

      They had a fascinating discussion that Alex started by saying, "No, you're all missing the point.  In the 1800's they didn't know how to make electricity, or planes, or computers.  They didn't have the knowledge.  We're starting over, but we know it can be done.  We've seen it.  We can do it again, but not make such a mess of it. We just have to figure out how to do it with less than we have now."

      Everyone at the table had stopped then, and looked at him.  My smart boy, Grace thought, That's our future. Maybe there's hope for us yet.  "Good one, bud," Jamie had said, and Alex just beamed.

      Grace's tasks included calling the Cramers, and to talk with Maggie.  That should be a laugh and a half.  Both would understandably question lines of trucks dropping off a barn or two's worth of supplies.  She was also to look into the Amish community and the stores they frequented, especially in Pennsylvania.  The Amish lived completely without power, and had some ingenious and efficient ways of doing things.

      But not now.  I'm on vacation.  Putting her cold cup to her face, Grace soothed the effects of today's North Beach sun and wind.  Jamie set up a volleyball net and they had a barbecue and a game on the beach, with people arriving throughout the day.  Fun, as always, but different, like everything these days.  Grace couldn't stop staring at the ocean, watching its rise and fall, painfully aware of the massive power it held.

      She found herself looking for the man she met at the store.  The man with his wife and two children.  The man who didn't know that everything was going to change.  And again, she felt the crushing responsibility of that knowledge.  I could tell him, and he could go with us, she thought, if he shows up, I will.

      But he hadn't shown up, and Grace thought, maybe not coming to see North Beach today has killed him, him and his family.  And that thought stayed with her all day, the store man and his wife and two children taking up residence in her heart with all the other people who didn't know.

      Looking up at the stars, Grace thought, Shit, and I was having such a nice buzz.  "I'll think about that tomorrow, on Tara," she said aloud to the universe, doing her best Scarlett O'Hara voice.

      "Am I interrupting anything?"

      Grace looked over, rapidly blushing past her already blooming margarita flush to see Jamie's friend, Philip, who was flopping down into the chair next to her. 

      "Just talking to myself," Grace said, laughing.

      "I've seen Gone With The Wind, missy, and I'm pretty sure I'm not Rhett Butler.  What are you putting off until tomorrow?"

      Grace sighed. "Thinking about something sad."

      Philip waved expressive hands to enclose the scene before them. "Oh, my God, girl, what could be sad?  This is one hell of a party, and we don't have to be us again until Tuesday!"

      Taking another sip, Grace fell back into the chair. I don't want to miss any more chances, she thought. 

      Gathering her courage, Grace said, "Philip, can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

      The word hypothetical came out a little toasted, but Philip understood. "Honey, you can ask me anything," he said, putting his feet up on the lounge.

      Grace took a deep breath, speaking slowly. "If you knew something, something about life and death, and you had the chance to save somebody from it, like a stranger and his wife and his two children, but they might think you're crazy," the word crazy came out more like crathy, so she said it again, carefully, "Crazy, would you tell that stranger? Would you go out of your way and tell them?"

      Philip looked sideways at Grace.  They were about even on the margaritas, but he could tell this meant a lot to her.  He liked Grace enormously, and didn't have the slightest idea what the hell she was talking about.

      But Philip Gomez was in public relations.  His business was telling people things, even if they might not think they needed to know.  He had a strong belief in the necessity of people to know everything about everything.

      "No question.  Tell them," Philip said, nodding his head vigorously.  "Everybody deserves the right to know, and to make up their own minds what they're going to do about it.  That's what America is all about."  This last part was said with a flourish that left about half of his drink slipping through the boards of the porch.

      Grace turned and smiled at him. "Well, thank you.  That's what I thought."  She looked back up at the stars, and said again, "That's just what I thought."

---

      "Ouch!"

      "Sorry, Pops." Cassie flopped over the seat into the back of the Taurus, elbowing Robert's nose in the process.  Testing to make sure it wasn't broken, then feeling for blood, he gave her a scathing look that was totally wasted in the darkness of the car.

      "So what are they doing now?  That looks like a heck of a party, huh?"

      The drapes, as usual, were open, and Robert watched as another batch of Margaritas made its way, more or less, into plastic cups.

      Cassie had called him, starting early in the morning, and had pulled out every stop installed in a father by a daughter.  The fact that she was leaving at the end of the summer, how she was a young woman now, almost on her own, how much she would miss him, the whole nine yards.

      After the fifth call, just about the time he followed everyone back from North Beach to the cabin, Robert relented.  A little nervous about the incident with the cat, he had said no four times.  But the truth was, he wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him.  Finally, with no defenses left, he said yes.

      "You will spend the entire weekend stuck in the car with your smelly old dad.  I'm warning you, this is not fun, Cass."

      Sensing victory, Cassie whooped and got directions.  She drove out and parked her VW close to his car in the trees, and had been killing him with questions ever since.

      "Who's that?  Is that Grace?  She's pretty, Pops.  Is that Jamie?  Where's Ellen?  Whoa, who's the young stud?  Alex?  That's Grace's son, right?" 

      Unbridled enthusiasm, that's my Cassie.  Robert finally pulled out the spare binoculars and handed them to her, laughing.  As she peered excitedly into the cabin, he told her everything he knew, which, he realized, wasn't much.

      "OK, Pops, so this Elizabeth chickie, she wants you to keep an eye on her mom, or Grace?" 

      "Both." 

      "What if they split up and go different directions?  I could follow one, and you could follow the other."

      Robert turned sharply to her.  "No, Cass.  You are joined to me at the hip for the weekend.  No going out on your own, I mean it.  There could be something serious going on here.  Look at me.  I mean it."

      Cassie looked over, and in the dim light he could barely see her eyes.

      "Promise me, Cass.  I'm serious.  I'll never let you do this again if you don't do exactly as I say."

      Cassie's voice changed, lowering.  He could tell she understood.  "I know.  I promise.  I won't do anything stupid.  Really,  I promise."

      Until Robert felt his shoulders relax, he wasn't aware of how tense he had felt just moments before.  Christ, I hope this wasn't a big mistake, letting her come here.  I'd never forgive myself.

      Cassie was looking through the binoculars again.  "I know I'm an amateur, Pops, but I gotta say this doesn't seem much like a kidnapping."  Out of the mouths of babes.  "I mean, doesn't that usually involve ropes and duct tape?  Not usually Margaritas, is it?"

      Robert chuckled.  "No, not usually."  He lifted his own binoculars back up to his eyes.  "That's the thing about this work, Cass.  I know that we don't have all the information.  Everybody has secrets here, and we've just got to figure out what their secrets are, and why they're keeping them."

      Robert spoke softly, although with the music he could hear muted through the windows, he knew it had to be loud inside.  "I'm pretty sure that Elizabeth is scared about losing her job, but there's lots of other stuff about her that I don't know.  And I don't know what Grace and Ellen's secrets are."  He changed his position slightly to ease his cramped arms.  "And this party could be just a party, or these people could be getting together for a reason."  Lowering the binoculars, he looked over at Cassie.  "That's what I, we, have to find out."

      Cassie just beamed at the word we.

      "Thanks, Pops.  I know this makes you kind of nervous to have me here.  Just pretend you're here alone, and I'll just watch."

      Yeah, right.

      "Cass, mostly this work is just boring.  Waiting for something to happen."  As he spoke, the front door to the cabin opened, and Grace walked out.  Well, walking might be a generous term, he thought, smiling.  That girl is plastered.

      Blondie blared from the now-open front door, singing Call Me.  The sounds of voices, rising over the music, echoed through the still trees.   

      The front porch light created a soft yellow pool just where Grace suddenly found herself sitting on the step.  She looked up to the sky and blinked, and Robert thought the light might be blinding her.  Oh, no, she's traveling again, he thought, as he watched her stand up with some hefty assistance from the wooden rail along the steps.

      "Hey, Pops, does she look a little drunk to you?"  Cassie watched as Grace made her way, holding the sides of the cars parked in the driveway.

      Robert kept his attention riveted on Grace through the binoculars, "Yeah, just a little."  He found himself smiling, watching her unsteady progress.

      As she reached the end of the drive and ran out of cars, Grace looked up again, squinting.  She's looking for stars, Robert thought, hard to see with a full moon.   Robert couldn't take his eyes off her.  Away from the house, she was bathed in moonlight, her lips just parted a fraction, breath rising and falling gently...

      Suddenly, adrenaline shot violently through Robert's system.  A shadow, moving quickly behind her.  She's not alone out there.  I know I saw something.

      With speed and flexibility he hadn't used in a while, Robert was in the front seat.  He turned the key in the ignition and pushed the button to close the back window.

      "Cass.  Stay here.  As soon as I get out, lock all the doors and don't make a sound."  Robert reached into the glove compartment and pulled out his pistol, checking to make sure it was loaded and ready.

      Cassie sounded suddenly scared.  "Why? What happened?  Where are you going?"

      "I saw something.  It may only be a deer, but something was moving very fast behind her.  I saw it in the binoculars.  No matter what, Cassandra, you do not get out of this car.  No matter what.  Get under my bag and lie there, still."

      "OK, Daddy. Will you come right back?" Cassie only called him that when she was feeling like a little girl.  Robert heard sheer terror in her voice.

      "It's probably nothing.  I'll come right back.  Don't unlock these doors for anyone but me.  Lie down, honey.  It'll be OK."  He kissed her on the forehead. "I love you."  He climbed out of the car and closed the door as quietly as he could.  He waited until he heard the click of the locks and looked up.

      Grace wasn't there.

      Robert holstered his gun and sprinted toward the cars, looking left and right for some sign of Grace, suddenly grateful for the full moonlight.  Maybe she just passed out, or sat down again.  Robert got to the spot where she had been standing, and looked down.  Nothing.

      Scanning in a full circle, he thought he saw a movement in the bushes that marked Jamie’s property line.  Moving quietly but very quickly, Robert pulled his gun from its holster and sidled toward the spot where he now heard sounds of a struggle.  A muffled woman’s voice and kicking feet led him right to her.

      Pulling a branch aside, he saw the man turn and had just a moment to register short gray hair, muscular arms and surprised eyes before Robert brought his pistol grip down, hard, harder than he had ever hit anyone in his life.  Hard enough that the thought hovered in the back of his mind that his arm would be very sore tomorrow.

      The man let out a growl, and his hands flew from around Grace’s neck to his injured head.  Staggering to his feet, the man towered over Robert and looked to lunge at him, until he felt the bullet rip into his kneecap, and he howled in pain, falling backwards.  He caught himself and let the momentum start him into an agonized limping run.  Within moments, he had disappeared far down the road.

      Robert looked down at Grace, and she wasn’t moving.  Falling to his knees, he lifted her head, listening for breath, at the same time he felt at her neck for a pulse.  Finding neither, he tilted her head back and covered her mouth with his, tasting the sweetness of Margaritas.  Blowing, one, two, three, then pressing, hand on hand in the middle of her chest, Robert’s mind traveled from the desperation of wanting her to live, to the knowledge that he was finally here, touching the woman he had watched for so many days.

      In the midst of his confusion, Grace gasped and he felt her pulse jump under his hands.  His only instinct was to pull her up and hold her close to him, stroking her hair and whispering to her as he had with Cass when she was scared.

      Grace had other ideas, however.  Now feeling the effects of not only the alcohol, but adrenaline, and oxygen deprivation as well, Grace only knew that moments before a man had been choking the breath out of her, and now a man’s arms were holding her.   Flailing wildly, she balled her fists and struck out.

      Robert’s nose, already sore from the contact with his daughter’s elbow, was the first casualty.

      “Hey! Stop! I’m not the man who attacked you, Grace!”  Robert held Grace firmly by the shoulders and put her at arm’s length, trying to protect what he was sure was his now-broken nose. “I’m the man who just saved your life!  Stop!”

      Doing an admirable imitation of a windmill, Grace continued fighting a moment more until she finally collapsed, sobbing, and Robert moved her again on to his chest, holding tight to her arms. 

      “OK,” he said gently, “OK, just get it all out.”  He stroked her curls, amazed at how soft they were, as her crying calmed.  “I know, that was pretty scary, but he’s gone.”

      Suddenly she popped up and looked him in the eyes, her cheeks tear-stained in the moonlight, her eyes wild. “How can you be sure?”

      Robert shrugged. “Well, I shot him.”

      “You shot him?”  Grace’s eyebrows raised, and from the sound of her words and her glazed look, Robert was pretty sure the alcohol had started to overtake her system again.  “Is he dead?”

      Robert smiled in spite of himself.  She had to be the most adorable woman he had ever held in his arms.  The moonlight wasn’t helping.  “I shot him in the knee.  It’s supposed to be extremely painful.”

      Grace frowned up at him.  “Good.  The painfuller, the better.”  Squinting at Robert, she said, “Ooo.  He must have shot you too.  Your face is all bloody.”

      Reaching up to gingerly touch his nose, Robert winced. “No, actually, I think you did that.”  Moving his nose gently to the left, and then to the right, Robert said, “I don’t think it’s broken, though.”

      Purely on caregiver instinct, Grace reached down and pulled on the collar of her shirt, putting it in her mouth to moisten it.  Moving in closer, she took the corner of her collar and began to clean the blood off of Robert’s upper lip.  She was so close to him that he could smell the minty citrus of her shampoo, and her skin held the aroma of the ocean.  That and the tequila that was wafting from her had Robert so light-headed that he had to put his arm out to keep himself from toppling over as she leaned into him, wobbling.

      Robert couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated him so sweetly.  He felt his chest tighten and he took her hand, her soft, kind hand, and curled it into him.

      And before he knew it, his lips were on hers again, this time not to save her life, but because he simply couldn't help it.  It was such a short distance, he hardly knew he'd traversed it, but suddenly there he was.

      I’m breaking every rule there is.  I just saved her life.  She’s vulnerable.  She’s drunk.  I'm being paid to follow her. 

      I don’t care.  I want this.

      Grace melted into him.  Her lips were soft, parting willingly under his.  As her arms curled up around his neck, she made a contented sound, and snuggled closer into him, her breath a heady mixture of salt and lime and, well, Grace.

      For a moment in time, Robert let everything drift away.  His job, the danger of the last few minutes, the absolute inappropriateness of what he was doing.  And as he felt himself let go, felt his defenses fall, he gave himself over completely to the sweetness of the woman he held.  His arms twined further around her as she pulled him tighter, deepening the kiss.

      I've been lonely. The thought raced through his head even as he fought it.  And in that moment, he wondered where this fire was hiding in the Grace that he had watched so closely?  She's lonely, too, Robert thought, as his head began to spin, a combination of the waves of alcohol and his surrender to the moment.

      She's an angel.

      And just as suddenly as it had happened, it was over.  With a sigh, Grace went limp, and her arms flopped down to her sides.  For a terrified second, Robert listened again for the sound of her breathing, and was rewarded with a soft snore.

      His heart pounding, Robert sat back, setting her head gently on his lap.  He could still feel her lips on his, still taste her.  His whole body was buzzing with the sensation.  He looked down at her angelic sleeping face.  Now what?

      Slowly, he gathered his wits about him. 

      OK, what's the situation?

      That guy was huge, but he didn't look like a pro.  And his knee is going to need attention, which he can't get all the way out here.  I'll call Miller and have him run the description and check hospitals, but first I need to get Grace inside.  And I need to get Cassie out of the car and into the safety of all those people.  Then I'll think about what comes after that. 

      Robert wouldn't allow himself to think about the ramifications of that kiss.  What I just felt.

      He gathered Grace into his arms and stood up.  Her head flopped on his shoulder, her warm breath tickling his neck.  For a moment, he stood there, listening to the loud music and the sounds of the party in the distance, turning and looking down the road, searching the grove of trees to locate his car with his daughter in it.

      Cassie first.  Get them both to safety.  He started walking toward the car, jostling Grace as little as possible.  Christ, she feels good, he thought, tightening his grip and holding her close.  Not quite the circumstances I envisioned, but she does feel good.

      By the time he got to the car, his arm was starting to ache.  He leaned against the Taurus, letting it hold some of Grace's weight for a moment, as he knocked softly on the back window. 

      "It's me, Cass.  Everything's OK.  Open up."

      Frightened eyes peered out from under the down bag, and he saw Cassie heave a deep breath of relief as she threw off the bag, lowered the back window, and reached for the door locks.

      "I heard a shot, was that you?" Suddenly, Robert's burden became clear in the moonlight.  "Oh my God, Pops, did you shoot her?"

      "No, Cass, I shot the bad guy.  She passed out."

      Cassie looked alarmed as her father's face came into the light. "Pops, you're bleeding! Are you hurt?"

      "No, just a little accident.  Cass, we need to get her inside the house so they can take care of her."

      Cassie scrambled out of the bag and out the back window.  "You mean we're going inside?  What do we say?"

      "I need to think for a minute." Robert was still leaning against the car, holding Grace close to him. "Pull down the tailgate, Cassie, I need to lie her down."

      Cassie reached in and pulled the inside handle, and the gate angled down.  She slid the sleeping bag forward as Robert laid Grace carefully feet first into the back of the wagon, easing her out of his arms and holding her head.  For just a split second he stood over her face, listening again for her breathing. 

      As he spoke, he gently pushed a wayward curl away from her eyes. "OK, so it's always best to stick as close to the truth as possible.  We're car camping for the weekend.  It got dark and we couldn't find a campground, so we decided to just park where we were and wait until morning. Get in the front seat, please, Cassie."

      As he stood up, Robert shrugged out of his holster, at the same time he pulled the pistol out of it and pushed the safety on.  He walked around, opened the passenger door and put the gun in the glove compartment and the holster under the seat.

      Reaching into the compartment, he found some fast-food napkins, which he wet with the bottle of water on the floor.  He wiped his face, wincing, pulling back the napkin and peering at the red stains from his bloody nose.

      "We were just about to go to sleep and we heard sounds of a struggle in the bushes." Robert looked over at the cabin, thinking.  "I don't know if this guy is the one who was living on Ellen's property, but I wouldn't be surprised.  He may have had something to do with the cat, in which case he's a pretty sick bastard.  Maybe we can get some answers from them about why." 

      He took a clean napkin and poured some water over it, walking around to the back of the car.  Gently, he wiped the dirt from Grace's forehead and the tears from her cheeks, then the spots on her neck which were starting to show, even in the dim light.  Grace stirred slightly and sighed.

      Robert spoke absently to Cassie. "Secrets, Cass.  They've all got secrets."

      Cassie's fear was receding, and a part of her thrilled to the situation. "So who am I, what's my name?"

      Robert looked up and peered at her, shaking his head.  "You're Cassandra Hart and you're my daughter, Cass.  Remember, as close to the truth as possible.  The only thing we're not telling them is that we've been watching them and that I'm a PI."

      Robert stood up and leaned on the top of the car for a moment.  Cassandra popped up and crossed her arms on the driver's side roof.  Robert spoke softly, almost to himself.

      "Of course, I will have to tell someone when Grace comes to.  I doubt that she'll forget that she was almost strangled and that I shot the guy."  And that I kissed her. What the hell was I thinking? 

      Robert shook the thought from his head.  Focus.

      "Then, if they call the police it'll all have to come out."  Easy come, easy go. There goes my $5000 a week.   Robert looked apologetically at Cassie. "Sorry, Cass, I think I got us into a mess here."

      Cassie smiled.  "You couldn't let the guy kill her, could you?  You had to go over there."  Cassie looked at Grace breathing peacefully in the back of the Taurus. "I'm proud of you, Pops."

      Robert felt the warmth of his daughter's smile and got a little of his energy back.  "OK, let's do this.  We'll just wing it.  But," he looked sideways at Cassandra, "don't get creative, Sherlock.  Remember," he said for the third time, "as close to the truth as possible."

      Reaching into the back of the car, Robert put one arm under Grace's back and pulled her limp body close to him again.  I do like the feel of her, he thought as he felt her warmth mold to him.  I'd like to know what her secrets are.  Grace made a whisper of a sound and nuzzled her nose into his neck.

      He bumped the tailgate up with his hip and closed it.

      "Close the window now, Cass, and lock the doors.  Bring the keys with you."

      Now Spandau Ballet was singing, I know this much is true, blaring through the front door.  Robert took a deep breath as he walked up the porch steps to the open front door, letting Cassie lead the way.

---

      The hallway was empty and dark, and narrow enough that Robert had to turn sideways to keep Grace's feet from touching the wall.  He still held her close to his chest, and as he made his way toward the main room of the cabin, he was suddenly aware that she soon would be taken from him. 

      Leaning close to Cassie, he angled his head to indicate that she should get behind him, and as she did, Robert allowed himself one last brush of Grace's cheek, a faint hint of his lips on her flushed skin.  Unprofessional as hell.

      Then, swiveling, to Cassie he whispered, "Let me do the talking," to which she nodded vigorously.  He could tell she was scared, but also that she was loving this.  Robert felt a sudden wave of pride that he didn't have a whimpering girl standing next to him.

      With a deep breath, Robert moved out of the dark hallway and into the main room of the cabin, bright with conversation and vibrating with music.  Searching the room with his eyes, he landed on Jamie, wondering what his first reaction would be when he saw a strange man cradling the inert body of his beloved sister.

      He didn't have to wait long.  Within a split second, the room had surrounded him, led by the tall, taut and ready-to-pounce Jamie.

      "Gracie!" Jamie's eyes went rapidly from the traces of blood on Robert's face to the mean purple splotches beginning to show on Grace's exposed neck, and he snatched his sister quickly into his own arms.  Robert let go easily, and in one swift motion, had his hands visible and above his head in a show of submission.

      Jamie laid Grace on the couch, speaking softly to her, "Gracie, are you OK? Graciela?"  Robert was pulled roughly to the side, with his arms pinned behind him by Philip and Mark, another of Jamie's friends.  The room exploded with questions and the music stopped mid-note.

      Cassandra was ignored through all this, and stepped out from her place in the hallway.  She saw her father being held, the accusatory looks from everyone in the room, and her sense of fairness was assaulted.

      Not heeding her father's advice, Cassandra yelled into the cacophony, "Hey!  Leave him alone! He saved her life!"

      All eyes turned to Robert at the same time his turned on his daughter. Smooth, Cass, was clearly etched in his face, and she shrugged, looking somewhat contrite.

      To Jamie's questioning look, Robert said, "She's OK.  I think she just had a little too much to drink."  Jamie searched Robert's eyes, and looked from him to Cassie, and back again.

      Robert stared Jamie down. "If I wanted to hurt her, would I have brought her in here?"

      Jamie waited a beat, and, deciding that there was no immediate threat, nodded to Mark and Philip. They reluctantly released their captive, but not before they had clumsily patted him down, making sure he had no weapons.  Robert stood, unmoving, except for raised arms to make their search easier.

      Leaning in to Grace, Jamie heard her breath coming in regular intervals.  He put his hand on her cheek, and, seeing the peaceful look on her face, he allowed Teresa and Cheryl to take over at Grace's side.

      Jamie stood to his full height and looked Robert in the eye, still suspicious.  "If you did save my sister's life, then thanks."  But, narrowing his eyes, Jamie asked, "What happened?"

      Robert looked at him, then at Grace, and sighed.  "I'll tell you, Jamie.  But I'd like to tell you in private.  You and Mrs. Preston."

      Shock registered momentarily on Jamie's face.  He turned, and Ellen had moved to stand right beside him, her features impassive.  She took Jamie's hand at the same time Robert took Cassie's, and the four of them, led by Ellen, moved toward the master bedroom.

      Closing the door, Jamie motioned Robert and Cassie to sit on the bed, while he pulled chairs to face them for himself and Ellen.

      "Who the hell are you? How do you know who we are?  What did she mean, you saved Grace's life?"  Jamie worked to remain calm, but a muscle twitched dangerously in his jaw. 

      Taking a moment, Robert tried to imagine what he was going to say.  When it actually came out, he felt like he was riding a train downhill, unable to stop.  He realized that the moment he kissed Grace he had crossed over in his loyalties, and that he would do anything he could to keep her safe.  Elizabeth Preston and her money were becoming a distant memory.

      Robert spoke evenly, "My name is Robert Hart, and this is my daughter, Cassandra.  I'm a professional investigator.  I was hired by Elizabeth, Mrs. Preston.  And in telling you that, I am no longer employed by her.  In fact, I'm breaking a whole lot of rules here." 

      Robert rubbed his eyes and then glanced at Cassie, who was diligently studying her shoes.  Smiling at her, he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed.  "It's not your fault, Cass.  You did just fine.  Thanks for coming to my rescue."  She gave him a weak smile and leaned in to him.

      Ellen raised her eyebrows, letting out a sigh. "Elizabeth?"  She looked at Jamie, tilting her head, and then back to Robert. "What was your assignment, Mr. Hart?"

      "To watch you and Grace, and make sure that you didn't go to a newspaper, or a TV or radio station.  She believes you have something to say that will hurt her."  Robert looked intently into Ellen's eyes, and then into Jamie's.

      "I need you both to know that I've never betrayed a client's confidentiality this way."  Robert clenched his teeth, remembering the cold look in the eyes of Grace's attacker. "But there is a danger here to you," and he added, softly, "and to Grace, that I just can't ignore."

      Robert looked at Jamie. "What we need to do is call the police, but I wanted to find out what's going on here before I do that."

      Shifting his gaze to Ellen, he asked, "What's going on here, Mrs. Preston?"

      Ellen opened her mouth to speak, but Jamie stopped her with a hand on her knee.  "Wait.  I want to find out who hurt Grace first."  He turned back to Robert.  "Start from the beginning."

      Robert shifted on the edge of the bed. "Do you mind if I stand up?  I've been in a car for four days.  I'm a little stiff." He could already feel the muscle strain in his right arm, the damage of the hard blow with his pistol grip.

      Jamie nodded, still a little wary, but he looked at Cassandra, who gave him a genuine, if tired, smile.  Both he and Cassie were thinking the same thing.  These just seem like people.  Like us.

      "OK, Mr., uh, Hart, was it?"

      "Yes, but Robert is fine."

      "OK, Robert, tell me how Grace got those marks on her throat."

      Robert moved over to the window and pulled the curtains closed on their wooden rings.

      "I surprised someone trying to strangle her.  A man, muscular, about 6’5”, military crew cut, Army-issue camos."  Robert looked at Ellen. "I think this must be the guy who's been living on your land.  He's probably the one who killed your cat."

      Ellen and Jamie exchanged a quick look.

      Ellen spoke first. "He's been living on my land?" Then more softly, almost to herself, "I knew it was nearby, but not that close."  She glanced up, aware that Robert was looking keenly at her from his place near the window.  Ellen asked, "How do you know he was living there?"

      "Elizabeth wanted me to look around when I went back to bury the cat and close up the house." Robert moved back toward the bed. "I found his camp.  He was probably some kind of special ops in the service. Looked like he'd been there for a month or more."

      Ellen closed her eyes, and spoke absently. "Marla's brother was in the Army.  She used the word 'special.'"

      Robert turned. "Marla. Your cleaning girl?  Elizabeth thought she was probably involved."

      Jamie stood up. "So the 'repent' guy was here?  In Inverness?  How?"  He sat down, quickly. "Uh, more importantly, is he still here?  Are we safe?"  Jamie stood again and started toward the door.

      Robert moved and put a hand out, then pulled it back sharply when he saw the look in Jamie's eyes. "No, I shot him."  To Jamie's startled look, he added, "In the knee. I probably should have shot him between the eyes, but my training took over.  He didn't have a weapon, so I only needed to immobilize him." 

      Walking back to the bed, Robert sat down by Cassie. "He limped down the road, but he'd have to get that knee looked at pretty quickly before passing out from the pain, and there aren't any hospitals out here." Rubbing his shoulder, he said, "He wouldn't go to a hospital anyway, he would have gone to a friend's or his sister's in the City."

      Jamie shook his head, trying to focus. "So this guy, the one who put the goddamned cat on Ellen's door, had his hands around Gracie's neck?"  He blinked, trying to erase the picture it left in his mind.

      Robert nodded, remembering. "One minute she was there, and then she was gone.  I grabbed my pistol and went looking for her.  I hit him over the head, but he kept coming at me.  So I pulled my weapon and shot him, and he ran away. By the time I got to Grace," he said, staring at his hands, "she wasn't breathing, and I couldn't find a pulse."

      Ellen gasped softly.  Jamie's mouth went slack, pain in his eyes.

      Robert continued, quietly, looking at the floor, "I started CPR, and mouth-to-mouth, and she came back." And then I kissed her, and I can still feel it.  Subconsciously, Robert put his fingers to his mouth.

      Misreading, Jamie said, "The guy got a punch off, though, huh?"

      Robert chuckled as he touched his tender nose. "No, I'm afraid to say two women did this.  First my enthusiastic daughter in the car, and then your sister to thank me for saving her life."

      In the silence that followed, the buzz from the living room beyond became audible, with soft music and muted voices, and the unmistakable smell of freshly brewing coffee moving through the old boards of the cabin.

      Just then, a soft knock at the door interrupted their thoughts.  Jamie stood and opened the latch.

      Teresa stood on the other side.  She spoke in a whisper, but Robert heard her clearly.  "She's awake.  Throat's sore, and a raging headache, but she seems fine.  We're giving her coffee now."  Teresa stole a glance at Robert on the bed and lifted an eyebrow.  "She'd like to meet the guy who saved her."

      "Thanks. We'll be right out."  Jamie closed the door and let the latch fall into place.  He sat back down in the chair.

      "We're not done here, but I want to see Gracie." Looking at Robert, he gave a slight smile, "and it sounds like she wants to see you."  Jamie heaved a huge sigh and put his chin in his hands, looking wearily at Robert.  "Are you a friend?  You're not going to turn out to be an ax murderer or anything, are you?"

      Robert laughed. "Right now I feel too old and tired to do anything that strenuous."  He smiled back at Jamie. "Look, remember that I've been watching you all for about a week now.  I still have a lot of questions about what's going on here, but you seem like good people to me."  Robert looked over at Cassie. "I wouldn't have brought my daughter in here if I didn't think that."

      Jamie stared for a moment at Robert, an unreadable look on his face.  He turned to Ellen, who gave him a thin smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Then he spoke.

      "So. If you hadn't been watching us, if Elizabeth hadn't hired you, Gracie would be dead."

      Robert lifted his eyebrows. "Yes, I suppose that's true." The thought came without his bidding it. Thank you, Elizabeth.

     

---

      The soft music was soothing her now, although the ringing in Grace's ears sounded as loud as the 1812 Overture, echoing and drilling small nails into her head.  Her throat was swollen, and she felt as if every muscle in her body had been stretched to its limit and then snapped back.  I will never drink Margaritas again, I promise, Lord, as long as I live.

      Grace was on the couch, flanked by Teresa, Cheryl and Philip.  In the kitchen, Mark stood with Jamie's friends Brandon, Charles and David, and Teresa’s brother, Gerald, talking quietly.  Alex, Aaron, Pauley, and Cheryl's son, Christopher, were still sound asleep on the mattresses in the small bedroom at the far end of the hall.  Pooch sat off to the side of the couch, chin on the floor, eyeing Grace carefully. 

      Everything seemed blurry, as if Grace were looking through Vaseline.

      Hard as she tried, even as she drank in the aroma of the steaming, delicious coffee, she couldn't recreate the last hour.  She remembered, hazily, wanting to go out and look at the stars.  There was too much noise in the back and too much light on the porch, so she was going to walk a little way, just to where it was dark enough to see them clearly.  Then, things got fuzzy.  In the corner of her memory, there were people, a man, no, two men, and a woman, but for the life of her, she couldn't place any of them in space and time.

      The look on Teresa's face suddenly made her laugh, which hurt her throat, but it felt good to laugh.  "Oh, Terri, you look so stricken!" Her friend was less than ten inches from her face, peering at her with such concern that Grace had a sudden thought. "Can you get me a mirror?  I don't think I'd better stand up, but I need to see what everyone is staring at." 

      No one had been able to tell her what happened to her, just that she had an "accident."  Jamie and Ellen were in the bedroom, talking with someone who knew what happened, and Teresa said they would be out soon. Thank goodness Alex is sound asleep. How embarrassing to get drunk and fall down in front of your impressionable 15-year-old. At least everyone was being nice about her stupidity.  A little too nice, she thought, renewing her request for the mirror.

      When Teresa refused to move or change the look on her face, Grace turned to Cheryl. "Please? You know I've seen it all before, Cheryl. How bad could it be? Please?"  Slowly, Cheryl moved to the closet to retrieve her purse.  Bringing it back, she placed a small cosmetic mirror in Grace's hand.

      Lifting the mirror, Grace, as always, went first to her hair, which was in a spectacular state of dishevelment.  As she lifted her chin slightly, however, the technicolor hues of her throat stopped her cold.  Fascinated, she reached out a tentative finger and touched the blue, red and purple welts. 

      The room went absolutely silent, except for the spa sounds coming from the CD player, tinkling chimes, flowing water, and an  exotic stringed instrument. 

      Grace used her fingers to trace the shapes of the welts, and, leaning her head far to the side, placed each of four small fingertips into the larger oval bruises.  Speechless, she looked at Teresa, whose face was frozen.  One large tear slipped down Cheryl's cheek.  Philip was the only one who could move, as he slid off the couch and to his knees in front of her, taking her hand.  She has a right to know.

      "Honey, you were attacked. Outside. You're alright, though, nothing broken.  A very handsome man saved you."

      The incongruousness of the last statement, and Philip's serious, grim look when he said it, had Grace tempted for a moment to laugh again.  But she looked back at her neck, felt the pressure inside her throat, and realized that nothing was funny about this.

      "Someone tried to choke me?"  Don't sugar coat it, Grace. "Tried to kill me?"  She looked from one to the other, in shock. "Who? Why?"

      Now everyone was talking at once, their speech suddenly restored.  ...he brought you in...passed out...we don't know...Jamie's finding out...she said he saved you...

      "Who saved me? Where is he? Can I talk to..."  Grace's voice was getting more raw with each word, until finally, she fell into a fit of coughing that made her feel as if her head would come apart. 

      Teresa held her close.  "Breathe, Gracie, don't try to talk.  We'll find out.  I promise."  Grace's coughing calmed in the curve of Teresa's arm, but her mind was racing.  Now, just snippets of pictures were coming back, and suddenly, she sat bolt upright.

      "It was him!"

      Philip, Cheryl and Teresa spoke in unison. "Who?"

      This time, Grace protected her ravaged throat, and whispered frantically. "Daniel! The man with the wife and the two children.  The one who didn't come to North Beach today.  I wanted him to come with us, he said yes, he would, if I could just follow him, and then..." Grace's eyes were wide with the memory, wide with terror.

      Teresa took Grace's face in her hands, looking directly into her eyes.  "You're safe now, Gracie.  We're here.  We'll keep you safe."  Grace's eyes were darting back and forth to Teresa's, her breath coming in short bursts.  Teresa smoothed Grace's hair back from her face, feeling her forehead suddenly damp.  "You're okay, Gracie.  He stopped him before he hurt you."

      Grace wanted to ask "Who?" but didn't have the strength to ask it again.  Cheryl and Teresa held her from both sides, and Philip had her hands in his on her knees.  She was surrounded by concern and love, and she relaxed a little into the safety of her human cocoon.

      After a pause, Grace said softly, "I want to talk to him."

      Philip's eyes, directly in front of her, held a question.

      "The handsome man.  I want to thank him."

      "Ooh." Philip looked to Teresa, who patted Grace's shoulder and stood.  With her eyes, she indicated for Philip to take her place on Grace's left.

      "You sure you're up to it, Gracie?" Teresa asked.

      "Mmm-hmm." Grace nodded, feeling more in control.

      "OK.  I'll tell Jamie."  Teresa started to walk away, and then came back and kneeled in front of Grace, holding her hands.

      "I love you, Gracie.  I don't know what I would do without you.  I was really scared when he carried you in."

      Touched, Grace leaned forward.  "I love you, too, Terri.  And I'm fine. You won't have to do without me."

      Both women smiled as Teresa got up and moved toward the bedroom door.

      Grace leaned back into the softness of the couch, and let the warmth of Cheryl and Philip on either side flow into her.  She closed her eyes, trying to remember.

      Now she saw him clearly, the same man she had seen in the store, but without the brilliant smile and the kind eyes.  This man was so angry that it surged from him in waves, almost visible.  He was so close to her face that she could see tiny scars on his nose and cheeks in the moonlight, could feel the heat of him, see the flickering of his eyelashes as he pressed into her.

      His eyes were looking for something in hers.  There was something he wanted to see, and she felt the pressure from his hands release a little so that she could get just the amount of breath she needed to stay conscious.

      As she felt herself slipping, he must have seen what he needed, because his fingers clamped down so hard it was as if she had no throat at all, no lungs, no apparatus for breath, and suddenly she was floating.

      Abby.  Mom.  There she was.  The train tunnel, with the slat walls, light falling in bright silver lines through the wood, illuminating dust particles so that they glowed in front of her.  The light behind her mother was luminescent, almost seeming to radiate out from her body.  God, she's beautiful.  Her eyes were softer than Grace could ever remember them being, and her lips formed a smile that was pure love. 

      Grace reached out a hand, effortlessly moving toward her mother, and her heart felt like it would burst with the happiness of seeing her again.  But Abby's eyes turned sad, and she shook her head.  Go back.  It's not time.  I love you, Gracie.

      It felt as if a rubber band was attached to the small of her back, and someone was pulling on it.  The more Grace struggled toward her mother, the more the band stretched, until finally, Grace snapped backward, with impossible speed.

      He was still holding her.  Not around the neck, but holding her arms.  Fighting, flailing, she thought, Not again.  Opening her eyes, he was different.  Dark hair, not gray.  Kind eyes, flinching against her wild fists.  I'm the man who saved your life.

      Grace's body jerked on the couch, and Cheryl and Philip moved closer, if that was possible.

      "It's OK, we're here."  Cheryl's voice brought Grace back, and her eyes flew open. She was surprised to feel the wetness on her cheeks, and overwhelming sadness at being so close to Abby and unable to touch her.  The fierce struggle for breath, of being held, the crushing feeling of being so small, so helpless, suddenly overtook Grace.

      Looking from Cheryl to Philip and around the room, Grace breathed as deeply as she could through her raw throat.  Staring at her hands, she consciously grounded herself.  It's over.  I'm safe.  I'm here.  I'm alive.

      Now it was all coming back.

      A man, a woman and another man.  The images took their places in space and time, and Grace remembered.  And with the memory came another. 

      A kiss.  Soft, warm, sweet, wonderful.  A man's arms around her.  Safety.  Grace closed her eyes again, and felt the kiss vibrate through her as she relived it.  She put her fingers to her lips, wanting to feel him there again, remembering, falling softly down into the blackness.  It's been a long time since I felt that way, she thought. 

      "The handsome man."  Grace's voice was just a whisper.

      Philip leaned in closer.  "Do you remember him?"

      Grace nodded.  "He's here?"

      "Teresa is getting him.  He's in with Jamie."

      As if on cue, Grace saw her brother come around the corner from the hallway, rushing to her with such a look of concern that she had to smile.  Cheryl gave up her place at Grace's right, and Jamie filled it, folding her into his long arms.

      "Oh, God, Graciela.  You're OK?"  He pulled back and as he looked at her neck, Grace craned her head away to give him a better view. "Christ, what kind of animal would do this?"

      Grace closed her eyes for a moment. "A really angry one.  I met him, Jamie.  In the General Store.  He was there.  I talked to him."

      "Robert thinks he's been living on Ellen's land.  He thinks he's the one who killed Princess."

      Grace frowned in concentration. "Robert? Who's...."

      As she tilted her head in question, Grace looked past Jamie.

      "Oh," was all Grace could manage to whisper.  Seeing the tall, dark-haired stranger, Not a stranger, she found that her neck and cheeks were suddenly very warm as the blush spread.

      Their eyes locked, and in that instant, Robert knew that she remembered.  And he felt it all over again, the intimacy, the rightness of that kiss.  He promised himself he wouldn't look away, although everything in him wanted to. He still couldn't shake the embarrassment of taking advantage of her that way.  But I wouldn't take it back for anything.  Not for anything.

      His eyes strayed to the collar of her shirt, still wet with the pink tinge of his blood.  Grace's hand went to where he looked, and she held the cloth as her blush spread deeper.  She remembers it all, he thought.

      Grace smiled.  Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.  "I understand I owe you my life."

      Moving toward her, Robert found himself as nervous as he could remember being.  High school.  Christ.  "I'm just glad I was there." 

      Suddenly, the question came to Grace and she voiced it. "Why were you there?"

      Robert opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again, thinking better of it.  He exhaled, raising his eyebrows at Jamie, who turned to Grace.  Jamie spoke a little louder than he needed to, making sure that everyone in the room could hear.

      "I think we should get you into a bed and let you lie down, Gracie.  Would you like that?"

      Grace heard his tone, and besides, was exhausted.  A soft bed with clean sheets sounded wonderful.  A shower would be better, but she didn't think she was up for that quite yet.  A bed would be second best.

      "Yes, I'd like that."  Grace leaned into Jamie as he helped her up off the couch, taking almost all of her weight onto his arm.  She stumbled slightly, and before she knew it, she was being held from both sides.  The solid warmth of Robert on her left was strangely familiar, and welcome.  Grace looked up at him.

      "Thanks." She laughed softly, "Again."

      "You're welcome. Again."  There was something in his eyes, and Grace realized, shaking her head slightly, that, even in this surreal situation, they were flirting with each other. 

      "I'm not usually the damsel-in-distress type.  This is kind of a first for me."

      "Well, you're in luck, because I'm definitely not the rescuing type.  I promise not to make it a habit."

      Grace smiled at the banter, but she heard something in Robert's voice that gave her pause.  Don't count on me, it said.  She looked to Jamie, only to find him studying the two of them closely.  Grace rolled her eyes at him.

      "If you two don't get me in to bed, I think I'm going to fall down.  And is there anything stronger than aspirin in this house?  I have a splitting headache."

      The three of them made their way to the master bedroom, followed by Ellen.  Cassie, taking her father's earlier words seriously, joined herself as closely as she could to Robert's hip. Teresa, Cheryl and Philip clucked along behind, slipping off Grace's sandals, fluffing up the pillows, and searching for pain relievers.

      Finally, Ellen escorted everyone but Jamie, Robert and Grace from the room, promising Cassie some ice cream with raspberries and an introduction to Pooch.

      For a moment, the three sat awkwardly quiet, Grace in the bed, Jamie sitting on the side, and Robert leaning on the window seat.

      Jamie broke the silence. "Honey, we've got lots to tell you when you're ready.  And we have some decisions to make.  Whether to call the police about this is one of them."

      As she looked into Jamie's eyes, Grace imagined the rest of the night, and the weekend, for that matter, after that phone call.  Interviews with everyone, detectives prowling the grounds, and most likely, protective custody.  No Town Hall meeting.  Delays.  We don't have time for that.

      Grace whispered, "No police."

      Suddenly, she turned to Robert, frowning. "You told me you shot him.  Why did you have a gun?  Who are you?"

      Robert stood up and walked over to the bed.  He put his hand out to Grace, formally. "Robert Hart. Of Robert Hart Investigations.  I'm a professional investigator."

      Grace put her hand out and shook his, purposely suppressing her reaction to his touch. 

      "Grace Delaney."  She narrowed her eyes at him. "But you already know that, don't you?"  Suspicion began to creep into her like ants crawling across her skin.

      Jamie reached out to hold Grace's other hand. "He's been watching us since you picked Ellen up.  Elizabeth Preston hired him to keep you from going public with...with...it."

      "Oh."  Grace felt the heat rising to her face again, but not for the same reason.  This time it was shame.  Hired by Elizabeth. Well, I guess that's one way of watching me. Has it been so long since I've been kissed that I can't even recognize when I'm being used?

      She looked coldly at Robert. "And is it part of your job description to take unfair advantage of situations such as mine, Mr. Hart?"

      Jamie looked from Grace to Robert.  "What's going on here that I don't know about?"

      Robert's eyes held on Grace, and in them, she saw something shift.  Where moments before his eyes had been playful, now they were closed to her, shut down.

      What Robert saw in Grace's eyes was a passionate change in color, from hazel to flashing green, complimented by the pink flush of her neck and cheeks.

      I deserve this, Robert thought.  It was unconscionable.  Unprofessional.  Impossible to explain.

       "I apologize.  I reacted badly to a stressful situation.  It was a mistake.  Please forgive me."

      A mistake. Fine.  "Since you saved my life, I suppose I have to forgive you.  I can't say I appreciate your methods."

      "It won't happen again."  Robert turned on his heel and walked back to the window, where he resumed his position on the seat.

      Jamie looked from Grace to Robert, exasperated. "What won't happen again?"  Looking sidelong at Grace, suspecting something near the truth, he said, "What happened?"

      Grace took a deep breath and smiled at her brother.  "Nothing important.  Just a little lapse in procedure, I'm sure."  Her smile turned to Robert, changing to ice on the way.

      Nothing important.  Fine.  "Well, if I'm not needed here anymore, I believe my daughter and I will go out to the car and go to sleep.  We'll be gone in the morning."

      Jamie was taken aback.  "Whoa, wait a second. What if he comes back?  I don't have a gun.  I thought you had questions you wanted answered?  We've got room for you and Cassandra to stay for the weekend.  We'll tell you everything tomorrow."

      "Since I'm no longer working for Miss Preston, my questions would be merely curiosity." Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw Grace's head turn to him.

      "And I'm not anxious to expose my daughter to any more danger.  She needs to go back safely to her mother." 

      Grace winced.  Another one.  Another child lost because they don't know.  "Where do you  live?"

      Surprised, Robert turned to her. "Her mother and her mother’s new husband live in San Francisco.  In the Marina."

      Whispering, as if to herself, Grace repeated, "The Marina.  By the water."

      Steeling herself, Grace looked directly at Robert. "Please don't go, Mr. Hart.  I'm too tired to talk about it tonight, but I'm asking you to stay until tomorrow so that you can hear what we have to say."

      "What you have to say about what?"  A small light dawned in Robert's head. "Is this what was so frightening to Elizabeth Preston?  What you were going to take to the public?"

      Grace rubbed her temples and paused before whispering, "Yes."

      Jamie leaned forward and kissed Grace on the forehead. "OK, that's it for tonight.  You're going to sleep.  We'll work this out without you, honey.  Let the world take a turn." 

      Grace sighed, and Jamie could tell how tired she was by her lack of protest.  "Philip and I are going to bring our bags in here and sleep on either side of your bed, so don't step on us if you have to get up in the middle of the night, okay?  We don't have guns, but we've got some fatally dangerous farm implements, and we know how to use them."  He winked at her, smiling, then added,  more seriously, "We'll keep you safe, honey."

      Her eyes almost closed, Grace said wearily, "I love you, Jamie, forever and ever."

      "I know you do.  Me too you."  He tucked the cover up under her chin gently, carefully avoiding the ugly marks on her neck.  Slanting his head toward the door, he indicated to Robert that he should follow.  Jamie turned off the light, so only the porch light shone through the sheer curtains.

      As Robert put his hand on the latch, Grace turned to him and said sleepily, "I really am grateful for your help tonight.  I hope you and your daughter will stay."

      Robert was glad of the dark, afraid that the tenderness he felt would show in his face.

      "We'll think about it.  Get some rest now."

---

      Daniel bit down hard on the belt he had clasped between his teeth, and let out a noise like an wounded animal.  Marla looked up, fear in her eyes, wiping the blood away with the alcohol she had just poured over his knee.

      "Sorry, sorry, oh, does it hurt much, Danny?"

      Daniel loved his sister deeply, but, Lord, what a stupid question.

      Without releasing his hold on the belt, Daniel spoke through clenched teeth, "Just find the bullet, and get it out.  Don't worry about how it feels.  Just do it."

      The drive from Inverness had been agony.  He'd almost passed out twice, but he used his will to keep his head alert.  The tourniquet stopped the bleeding, which wasn't so bad, but the pain of pushing the clutch was the worst physical test Daniel could remember.  His knee hurt so much that he could hardly feel the baseball-sized lump that had raised on the back of his head.

      He spoke to God all the way.

      He asked why.  Why had He led him to her, first in the store to earn her trust, and then, such a perfect opportunity for cleansing, no one around.  She had come willingly, excited to see him, mumbling something about how he had to follow, bring his wife and two children and follow her. 

      She was drunk, and she had followed him into the bushes, where he simply reached out and put his hands around her slender neck, so small that his fingers overlapped.  He should have just snapped it then, but he couldn't stop looking into those eyes, the moonlight magnifying her terror.  He always wanted to see the moment when they finally knew their Lord, the moment the cleansing occurred.

      But why?  Why had He allowed the intruder, another of the Devil's henchmen, to stop him?  So close, Daniel had laid her down so that he could see her eyes in the glow of the moon.  She was still kicking, but he could feel her getting weaker, see her coming closer to salvation, when the blinding pain made him let go.

      Biting so hard on the belt that he thought his teeth would cut it in two, Daniel looked down.  Marla was searching for the bullet through the hole it had made, probing with tweezers through the blood, shattered bone, and raw skin.

      As he saw her triumphantly pull out the metal stub, glistening red in the bright light from the lamp, he felt himself slip, sliding into oblivion.  All he could think as he passed out was, I'm weak, that's why.  The Lord is never wrong.  I'm not worthy yet.  I must try again.

---

      Bees.  Buzzing around his head, vibrating through his teeth, stingers erect and ready, flying in and out of his outstretched fingers, his hair....

      Robert woke with a start, still swatting, protecting his face.  As he emerged from the dream, he reached instinctively for his gun, sensing threat, but felt no gun or holster. He could still hear the buzzing, coming at intervals, and he turned his head.  Christ, the phone.

      Unknown.  Elizabeth Preston.  Flipping it open, Robert read the screen.  Eleven missed calls.  All from her.  Three this morning within 5 minutes of each other.  He pushed the power button on the phone, and the light blinked out.  I need time to think.

      Raking his hands over his face and through his hair, Robert looked around and tried to comprehend where he was.  On the floor, for starters.  Propping himself up on his elbows, he felt a sharp pain in his right arm, a pain so intense that it numbed his fingers for a moment as it ricocheted up his biceps.

      Checking first for Cassie, he found her sleeping peacefully, the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing only ten feet from him on the couch.

      Robert turned sharply, hearing a sound in the kitchen.  Over the pass-through, he could see Alex, trying his best to be quiet as he poured a bowl of cereal.  He was shushing a small strawberry-blonde boy that Robert recognized from the beach.

      The living room of the cabin reminded Robert of the trips he and his college friends used to take to Tahoe.  The only thing missing was the bong.

      Sleeping bags littered the floor, some with heads visible out of the top, some just puffy lumps.  A snore came from the corner by the back door.  The room was closed up tight, no windows or doors open to exchange the air in the cabin, so it was stuffy, and smelled of stale pizza, beer hops and the cloying sweetness of margarita mix.

      Each door and window had someone stationed under it, and next to them, each had a baseball bat, a yard tool, a tennis racket, anything that could be used as a weapon.  Robert knew that each also had a knife in their bags, as he felt for his, tucked under the pad beneath him. 

      He also felt for his gun, which he had surreptitiously wrapped in his bag as he and Cassie brought their things into the cabin. He thought that Jamie was beginning to trust him a little, but there was no need to push the envelope.

      Lying down quietly, Robert stared, disbelieving, at the ceiling.  What a fricking mess I made of this one.  He tried to imagine a debrief with some of his friends at the station, and just shook his head, grimacing.  Well, guys, after I brought my daughter in on a stake-out, shot a guy, kissed the target, and broke confidentiality, I decided to spend the night in their house with a rake and a bread knife by my side.

      Unbelievable. 

      Robert turned to see Alex's eyes on him.  He was frowning slightly, trying to place Robert as one of Jamie's friends, but unable to.  Then Robert saw his eyes move to Cassandra, and the puzzled look grew deeper.

      Needing to get up anyway to use the bathroom, Robert slid out of his down bag.  He hadn't undressed, wanting to be ready in case something happened, but he had slipped off his Nikes.  They were laced and ready to go, so he pushed his feet into them, adjusted the backs, and stood.  Making a show of stretching, wincing again at the pain in his arm, Robert reached for the pistol when Alex looked away, and put it at his back in the waistband of his jeans, pulling his denim shirt over it.

      He whispered to Alex, I'll be right back, and walked down the hall to the bathroom.  As he passed the door to the master bedroom, he imagined Grace as she had looked last night, hair cascading over the pillow in a mass of curls, a sweet smile, and huge purple bruises decorating her throat.

      Then he smiled, remembering Jamie with tree loppers, and Philip with a weed whacker, walking solemnly into the room with their pillows, knights in shining armor, ready to lay their lives down.  These are good people.

      After a splash of water on his face and a finger-brush with some toothpaste, Robert began to feel human again. A pretty impressive shiner was taking shape under his left eye, and his nose was definitely swollen, but it wasn't broken.  I'm getting too old for this work, he thought, running his fingers through his hair.  Maybe it is time for a desk job.

       Now what?  Needing some time to think, he sat down on the toilet seat and leaned his elbows on his knees.  Why did I stay?  The answer was simple. 

      Because she asked me to.

       And, Robert realized, it was also because there was something going on here that seemed to affect him.  Grace had looked at him with such honesty, and he wanted to know why it was so important to her that he and Cass hear her out.  One more day couldn't hurt.  I've already crossed so many lines -- what's one more?

      Standing, Robert adjusted his gun and put his hand on the latch to the bathroom door.  Opening it, he looked down and saw another familiar child from the beach, towheaded and sleepy-eyed.  Without a word, he passed Robert and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

      Stepping into the hall, Robert found himself face to face with Ellen Preston. Her gray-streaked hair was mussed, but Robert thought she was an elegantly beautiful older woman. 

      What he hadn't seen clearly through the binoculars, but he saw now, were her eyes.  They reminded him suddenly of the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and the small, dark room that held tiny jellyfish in a tank, pulsing upward and downward in a mesmerizing dance.  He had stood for a long time watching them, and Ellen's eyes were the color of that dark blue water, and as deep.

      "I slept in the room with the children," Ellen said simply, quietly, and then she smiled.  "I don't think he wants to hurt them."

      Robert looked intently at Ellen, and whispered, "Why do you think he wants to hurt Grace, Mrs. Preston?"

      She looked back at him, searching for something in his eyes.  When she found it, she gave him a dazzling smile, and linked her arm in his, walking him down the hallway.

      "My name's Ellen, and let's have some tea, shall we?"

           

---

      Elizabeth slammed the phone down on the receiver for the third time this morning.  He is so fired.

      The last time she had spoken to Robert was yesterday morning, before he followed everyone out to North Beach for the picnic.  In that conversation, Elizabeth remembered, tapping her foot, he promised to call me Friday night to give me a report.  Now it's practically noon of the next day, and no word.

      Her conference call with Walt Bonertz' team was scheduled in fifteen minutes.  The fact that it was the Saturday of a holiday weekend didn't register with Elizabeth.  Becoming a partner at WLG means that every day is a work day.

      Elizabeth picked up the phone and dialed again.  Straight to voice mail.  Again.  This time, she decided to leave a message.

      "Mr. Hart.  I do not appreciate your lack of communication, and consequently, I am reducing your fee.  Each hour that I don't hear from you will cost you $1,000.  You are now at $4,000 a week and counting.  I have a crucial conference call at ten-thirty Eastern, and I need to be apprised of my mother's situation before I participate in that call."  Elizabeth paused to catch her breath.  Her anger was virtually strangling her. "I am not happy!"  Her final words came out in a hiss, before the phone crashed down again.

      Breathing deeply, Elizabeth stared out at the DC skyline.  She knew she was powerless in this situation, no matter how much she blustered.  That little weasel Hart had been inching away from her camp for days.  She could hear it in his voice.  Too far away, she had been unable to charm the man the way she usually could in person.  Elizabeth tapped on her keyboard absently, weighing her options. 

      Get another private eye.  Sighing at the thought of bringing someone else up to speed and getting them out there, not to mention taking still another hack into her confidence, she mentally crossed that off her list.  Maybe later.

      Fly out there myself.  Impossible.  Move on.

      Wait until he calls.  Hating that choice, Elizabeth decided it would have to do, for now.

      But, moving to the window, Elizabeth realized there was another choice.  She had been toying with the idea of calling her mother directly, through Grace's cell phone, of course.  Their last call hadn't been very productive, but then, Elizabeth knew she hadn't been very receptive to what her mother was trying to tell her.

      What if she asked about the whole Earth-shifting-on-its-axis thing?  What if she told her mother she'd had a change of heart, maybe she would use her position in WLG to help the tree-huggers, or whatever the hell Ellen wanted her to do?

      I've been too close to this situation.  Not thinking clearly.  Get into your enemy's confidence, find out all you can, and use it against them.  A primary law of war.  Elizabeth loosened her tight muscles by rolling her head side to side, already feeling more power.

      Just as she exhaled a cleansing deep breath, her office phone buzzed.  Sitting down calmly, she closed her eyes for a moment before pressing the button that sent the call to speaker phone. 

      "Elizabeth Preston."

      "Yes, Miss Preston, we have your party on the line."

      "Thank you.  Put them through."

      "Hello, Elizabeth."  Surprised, she paused before answering.

      "Walt.  What an honor. I thought I would be talking to your team."

      "Well, Elizabeth, in case you haven't looked at a calendar, this is a holiday weekend.  My team members have families, and they're spending this weekend with them." Chuckling, Walt Bonertz sounded amused.  "You and I, on the other hand, are just a couple of work horses, aren't we?"

      Contrary to what Bonertz was saying, Elizabeth could hear the sound of laughter and music in the background.  His voice was relaxed, homey.

      Elizabeth was off her game, trying to find her bearings.  Damn him, how does he do it?  She sat up straighter in her office chair, suddenly aware that she was probably the only one in the building right now.  Not even a janitor.  All with their families.

      "My client is anxious to have this over with, Walt, holiday or no holiday.  I'm wondering how we can wrap this whole thing up as quickly as possible."  She was trying to be charming, but her words were coming out sharp, stilted, next to his comfortable drawl.

      "Oh, I don't think we're wrapping anything up this weekend.  I'm sure you have better things to do, and I know I do."  A burst of laughter came from the distance. "Have some fun, Elizabeth.  Relax a little.  You sound tense."  He was getting up, moving now, and Elizabeth sensed that this call would be over very soon. "Let's talk on Tuesday, say about three in the afternoon?  I'll have my team together then."

      Feeling completely demoralized, Elizabeth sputtered, "Look, Walt, we had this time scheduled.  Delaying will only...."

      "Have a good weekend, Elizabeth.  Bye, now."

      Astonished, Elizabeth sat for a long time listening to the dead air on the speaker phone. 

      That is, until she pulled her cell phone out of her purse, pressed a few buttons, and dialed Grace's cell. 

      Elizabeth took a few deep breaths so that she sounded slightly winded. She frowned, and thought about how she would feel if she lost this case.  She even managed to bring some moisture to her eyes.

      Three rings, then voicemail.  Doesn't anyone answer their phones in California?

      "Grace? It's Elizabeth Preston. Please call me back.  I'm so worried about my mother. I think I was wrong to push her away, and now I'm so afraid something may have happened to her."

      There was even a little tremor in Elizabeth's voice.  I should have been an actress.

      "I've been thinking a lot about what she was saying, and I want to hear more about it.  About the Earth?  Maybe there's something I can do to help.  Please?  Have her call me, OK?  I know I was rude to you the last time we talked.  I think I was just scared.  I'm sorry,  Grace.  Please have her call me.  Please."

            Flipping the phone shut, Elizabeth wondered which one would call her back first.  The weasel because of the money?  Or Florence Nightingale because of her weakness for sentiment?

      Either way, I win.

---

      Grace woke with a start.  She had been dreaming, but couldn't recall about what.  The images floated just out of reach and then disappeared.  She knew she was in the cabin, though, and that was a comfort.

      Hearing a soft snore to her left, Grace turned her head.  The surprise of the lancing pain that shot through her neck caused her to cry out softly, which in turn brought Jamie straight upright.

      "What?"  He held the open tree loppers out in front of him with a look of fury.

      Laughing, Grace fell back on the pillow, "Ow, oh, God that hurts." Hearing her own raspy voice, and feeling the pain intensify in her neck, she was just able to recover before Philip shot up, holding the weed whacker, ready for battle.

      Unable to control herself, Grace let go, laughing as the symphony of pain in her head, her throat, and her neck raged.  "Ow, oh, please, ow, you guys, put those down before you hurt yourselves!"

      Jamie and Philip gave her twin scowls as they dropped their weapons.  Philip was the first to answer her.

      "You would have been glad we had these in the middle of the night, missy."  But Grace's laughter was infectious, and he cracked an unwanted smile before shaking his head and chuckling.

      Jamie started too, and then all three dissolved into the ridiculousness of the situation.

      The latch lifted on the door, and Teresa poked her head in. "Having way too much fun in here, guys."

      She came in all the way and sat down on Grace's bed, just as all three were wiping tears from their eyes.

      Teresa shook her head. "So I take it this is the psychological reaction to the extreme fear, attempted strangling and alcohol abuse of last night?"  Looking from one to the other, smiling, she said, "Anyone want to let me in on the joke?"

      Grace laid her head back on the pillow, keeping her neck still.  "Sorry," she whispered, her chest still heaving,  "I just wasn't expecting to wake up with the Fabulous Garden Boys on either side of me."

      Teresa took in the whole picture. "Well, you have a point.  They are a sight."  Seeing the mortified looks on their faces, she scowled fiercely and added, "But very scary.  Definitely very scary."

      There was a soft knock at the door before it opened, and Alex peered in.  "Mom?"

      Grace didn't turn, but reached out her arm.  "Oh, honey, come in, Alex.  Come sit on the bed."  Teresa moved to the other side to make room as Alex sat close to his mother, his hand on her arm.

      "Are you OK?"  Taking in the bruises on her throat, he tried unsuccessfully to keep his face impassive.

      Grace smiled at him.  "It looks a lot worse than it is, honey, really.  I'm OK."

      "I can't believe I slept through the whole thing.  I should have been there to help."

      Grace, serious now, took Jamie's hand in her left, and Philip's in her right. "I had great protection, honey.  They stayed with me all night to keep me safe."

      Then, looking closely at Alex, Grace asked, "Did you hear the whole story of what happened?  I'll answer any questions you have."

      "I've been talking with Ellen and Robert.  And Cassandra.  They told me everything."

      "Oh." Grace didn't know how she felt about that.  He certainly is making himself at home in my life, isn't he?  "And did Cassandra and Robert tell you what they're doing here?"

      "Just that he was hired by Ellen's daughter to watch us.  He's a private investigator, Mom.  That's pretty cool, huh?"

      "Yeah, honey.  Cool."

      "And really lucky that he happened to see that guy hurting you.  He said he gave you mouth-to-mouth and CPR."

      Yes. He certainly did.  Grace felt the flush start up her cheeks again, and covered it with a wince as she moved further up on the pillows. 

      Alex was still on a roll.  "And he has a gun.  He shot the guy."

      Grace smiled at her boy's enthusiasm.  "I'm very grateful he was there.  He saved my life."  Grace tried to keep the clipped tone out of her words, but wasn't quite able to. 

      She forced a little superficial brightness into her voice. "Well, it sounds like you have the whole story." 

      "Cassandra's going to New York for college in the Fall."  Alex's voice was flat, devoid of emotion.  The non-sequitur hung in the air for a beat, until Grace realized what he was saying.

      She took his hand.  "I know, honey.  We're going to talk to them today."

      Seeing Teresa's puzzled look, Grace decided she was done with talking.  "And now, I can't think of anything I want more than a shower and a change of clothes."  She pulled on the pocket of her cotton shirt. "I've been wearing this since yesterday."

      Teresa, still holding her gaze, stood up. "OK, everybody out.  And take your garden tools with you." 

      Jamie, Alex and Philip moved quickly out of the room.  Once the door was closed, Grace swung her legs over, keeping her neck as straight as possible.  She still had her capris on from the night before.

      Teresa was looking Grace in the eye as she pulled on the legs of her pants and helped her out of them.

      "Look, I'm not stupid.  I know something is going on here.  I also know you don't want to talk about it right now."  She pulled Grace's blouse over her head when she lifted her arms.

      "I'll wait for awhile, but then I want you to tell me.  I want you to tell me why it was so important that we come out this weekend.  Why someone is mad enough to do this." Teresa moved her finger gently across Grace's neck. "Why a private investigator just happens to be watching you.  And why you are suddenly best friends with the crazy lady who lives in the messiest house in Marin County."

      Grace just looked back at her friend and smiled weakly.  "Thank you for not expecting answers to all those questions before I let a hot shower run over my neck for about an hour."

      "You're welcome.  The clock is ticking."  Teresa moved around and sat next to Grace. "Can you stand up?"

      "I think so."  Grace stood, feeling better.  "Not bad.  As long as I don't twist my neck, not bad."

      Teresa moved to the attached bathroom and turned on the water.  "No one expects a shower today, so use all the hot water.  We told them to go jump in the ocean if they want to wash."

      Grace laughed.  "Some hospitality."

      "Everybody wants you to feel better, Gracie.  You are well loved out in that room."

      Grace walked into the bathroom and stood at the door. "Thanks, Terri.  You're good in a crisis."

      Teresa snorted. "Yeah, except for about 20 minutes last night when I was catatonic with fear."

      Grace's eyes filled suddenly with tears. "Me too, Terri.  Me too."

      Teresa gave Grace a gentle hug.  "I'm going to get my trashy novel and lie here on the bed until you're done.  You call out if you need anything, or feel dizzy or sick, OK?"

      "OK.  But I feel pretty good, believe it or not."

      "I believe it.  You're strong, Gracie."

      Grace lifted her chin and looked in the mirror at the ugliness of her throat.  There was conviction in her voice as she closed the door.

      "Yes. I am."

---

      "Jamie, I have something that might help you convince them."

      Looking over his coffee cup at Ellen, Jamie raised his eyebrows.  "I'll take anything you've got, Ellen.  I'm hoping to get out of here with a few friends still intact, and without a white coat."

      Ellen smiled, and squeezed Jamie's arm. "Give your friends more credit than that, Jamie.  Anyone who wants to can look up Gaia Theory, and you can encourage them to do that when they get back home.  There's a lot of information already about what you're going to be telling them."

      Jamie finished his last bite of French toast. "Gaia theory?"

      Ellen took a sip of her tea. "It's exactly what we're talking about.  That the Earth is going to have to make adjustments to allow life to continue on this planet.  It's generally discussed in less personal and more scientific terms, that the Earth is an organism, a biosystem that alters itself in relation to its inhabitants, but the theory is the same. The 'adjustments' are coming."

      Jamie looked from their spot on the porch to the lush green of the cabin's back yard.  No one was venturing very far from the house this morning, and the Town Meeting was now scheduled for eleven or so today instead of tomorrow. 

      After last night's scare, Cheryl and Teresa wanted to get their kids home.  Not to mention Jamie was being bombarded at every turn with questions about who Grace's attacker was, who Robert was, and why they hadn't called the police.  It was time.

      "OK, so I'll tell them to Google 'Gaia Theory.'" Jamie picked up his empty plate and started to get up from his chair.

      Ellen put her hand on his arm. "That's not what I think will convince them.  That's just something I thought of this morning."

      Jamie sat back down and turned to her. "More?  Good.  What is it?"

      Ellen leaned back and closed her eyes to the sun. "I was meditating this morning, early."  She looked at Jamie with a big smile. "Kind of a conference call, actually.  There are a lot of us that don't quite know how to convince people that what we say is true.  We humans are a very stubborn species."

      Jamie smiled back. "Well, we do like to be shown things rather than taking them on faith, that's for sure."

      "Exactly." Ellen took his hand in hers. "And that's why our girl has decided to give you all a little parlor trick."

      Jamie tilted his head, puzzled. "Excuse me?"  He blinked. "Our girl?  What kind of a parlor trick?"

      "The Earth. Gaia."

      Jamie exhaled. "Oh." Frowning, he said, "It's a pretty big parlor, Ellen.  What's she planning?"

      Ellen leaned into him, clearly excited. "People on this planet just love statistics, don't they?  All day long on the television, in the newspapers, on the internet.  Statistics.  Trends.  Projections.  Right?"

      Nodding, Jamie agreed. "Right."

      "What if, suddenly, the high temperature in every capital city in the world was beaten by exactly ten degrees?"

      Ellen fell back into her chair, smiling hugely, and looking very smug.

      Jamie was speechless.  In fact, his mouth was open.  He sat for a moment, just looking at Ellen, and once he moved through the absurdity of what she had said, he started thinking about what would happen.

      "Can she do that?"

      Ellen just tilted her head and smiled.

      Jamie nodded, and said, "Well, OK, of course she can do that.  But I thought she was mad at us.  Why would she help us?"

      Putting her hand on his cheek, Ellen said softly, "Oh, Jamie, she loves us.  More than you can ever know.  But we're like children, and we're misbehaving.  I guess you could call this tough love."

      Jamie gave an empty laugh. "That's one way to put it."

      "That's all it is.  If she wanted to wipe out human life, don't you think she could do it in an instant?  All she wants is to heal the wounds of the big cities, and stop the damage being caused.  The only way to do that is to make everyone start over."

      After a pause, Jamie looked at Ellen, pleading, "What if we mess it up again?"

      Ellen had a profound softness in her eyes. "Honey, what makes you think this is the first time?"

      Opening his mouth to speak, Jamie closed it again, not knowing what to say.

      Ellen finished the last sip of her cranberry tea. "When you get home, search on Lemuria and Atlantis.  Human scientists just love to discount theories, and these two have passed into science fiction.  But it was all true.  Another time when civilizations went beyond what they could handle."

      Jamie sighed. "And we're all still here."

      Ellen nodded.  For a moment, they sat in silence, listening to the birdsong that echoed from tree to tree, and feeling the warmth of the sun on their faces.

      Warmth.  Jamie came back to reality. "So when is this going to happen, this temperature thing?"

      "On June 21st, which also happens to be the Summer Solstice. Midsummer.  She thought it would be a nice touch."

      Jamie ran his fingers through his hair, stopping to lean his forehead on his hands. He didn't look up as he spoke. "Ellen, do you know how surreal this all is?  For a mere human such as myself?"

      Ellen stayed silent, letting him work it through.

      "I'm about to go into that room and tell my closest friends about all this.  I'm going to ask them all to come with us to Idaho, to live like hippies in an old farmhouse for the summer, and wait for the ocean to come to us."  Jamie looked up at her. "I used to think running a multi-million dollar company was a challenge.  I've never had to go into a meeting like this one.  I'm terrified."

      Ellen moved her chair closer to him.  "I know, honey, and that's why I'll be there to help you."  She placed her hand gently on his shoulder.  "But I don't have credibility with these people, you do."

      Suddenly a scrape on the wood of the porch caused them both to look behind them.  Philip was standing there, steaming cup of coffee in his hands.

      "Not for long you don't have credibility, sweetheart.  What the hell are you two talking about?"

      Jamie looked at his friend. "How long have you been standing there?"

      Philip gave a thin smile. "Well, as they say in the movies, long enough."

      Ellen and Jamie stood and moved toward Philip in the doorway.  Ellen leaned up and gave Jamie a kiss on the cheek.  "You'll be great.  Just tell the truth."

      "Thanks." Jamie hugged Ellen with one arm while he reached the other out to Philip, smiling.  "C'mon, buddy.  I'm going to rock your world."

      Philip followed them into the cabin. "Well, under normal circumstances, that would be an enticing proposition, but after what I just heard ... "

      Jamie laughed as they closed the door behind them.

---

      Jamie felt as if he were looking at a mural.  The only movement in the room came from Christopher and Pauley, who were being very good boys, oblivious to the content of the meeting and playing "Go Fish" quietly on the floor.

      The last thing Jamie had said, "Any questions?" hung like a weight in the air.  Of course there are questions.  When will you be checking into rehab?  Can I have some of what you're smoking?  Will the person parked behind me please move? Now?

      Grace's voice, less hoarse but still soft, broke the silence. 

      "I have a question.  How many of you really believe we're crazy?"  There were some soft chuckles. "Show of hands?"

      Surprisingly, it was Cheryl who spoke first.  She was twisting her long t-shirt into something unrecognizable, but otherwise, she seemed calm.

      "Um, I guess the first thing I'd like to say is that I've worked with you," looking at Grace, "for a long time.  I've seen you in some pretty weird situations, with patients and their families and stuff, but I've never seen you do anything to hurt anybody."  She smiled at Grace. "And I'm pretty sure you've always told the truth."

      Grace smiled gratefully at Cheryl.  "Thanks, honey."

      Cheryl's voice got a little louder. "So, I'm sitting here wondering, why would you tell us all this if you didn't believe it?  Which means you do believe it."  She looked up at Grace, tears starting to form.  "Which means I have to think it's maybe true."  Cheryl took a deep breath in the silence that followed. "I guess that's all I have to say right now."

      After nodding her thanks to Cheryl, Grace looked around the room.  Alex was slumped on the couch, studying his fingers, a deep flush in his cheeks.  Next to him, Aaron and Teresa simply blinked at her, motionless. 

      Robert sat on the floor, Cassandra beside him.  Both of them had identical cocker spaniel tilts to their heads, which Grace knew she would find amusing under different circumstances.

      Brandon and Cheryl sat in chairs near the young boys, and Philip, Mark, Gerald and Charles had places on the floor in front of the couch.

      Jamie, Grace and Ellen sat at the dining room table facing them.

      Charles took a deep breath before speaking.  "I suppose I'd have to say the same thing about Jamie."  He didn't look up, but spoke to a spot on the floor. "I've worked as Jamie's Production Manager for five years, and I can't imagine why he would call us all together to say the things we just heard.  Unless he believed them."  He looked up finally at Jamie.  "Swear to God, if this was anyone else, I'd already have run screaming from the room."

      Jamie gave a shallow laugh.  "You still have permission to do that, just so you know."

      Brandon looked at Charles, "Right behind you, Chuck."

      Some of the tension drained from the room in the nervous laughter that followed.  But not much.

      Philip was the first to address the specifics. "Listen, I know you guys accuse me of relating everything to the movies, but a lot of them are about real situations, or at least real imagined situations."  The good-natured groan from his friends indicated that this was not a new subject with Philip.

      "Anyway, how many movies are there out now about this very thing?  How many books?  Geez, we've got Al Gore going all over the world with his slide show."  Philip looked warily at Ellen.  "I don't know about the whole walk-in thing.  That's just way too bizarre for me to take in.  Sorry."  Ellen nodded, smiling, as if to say that's OK. "But the rest of it, the Earth getting pissed at us?  I can believe that."

      To Jamie's intense relief, the mural started to move.  Just a shuffling of feet, repositioning in chairs, and held breath exhaling.

      It wasn't a surprise that Jamie D's most notorious workaholic, Mark, found the question that was, in one way or another, on all their minds.  "But James, are you seriously thinking about chucking it all, the business, your flippin' awesome apartment in the City, your whole life, to move?  To Idaho?"  The last word came out like it was a disease.

      Jamie spoke softly.  "It won't be here.  The business, the apartment, or the City."

      Teresa, affected by Jamie's conviction, asked, "You really believe that, don't you?"

      "Yes."  Jamie looked around the room to each in turn. "And I'm putting all of my resources behind that belief." He sighed, and absently toyed with his coffee cup. "Jamie D's may still pop up in Idaho, but I'm not sure how important it will seem there." 

      Taking a deep breath, Jamie said, looking up, "But what is important is what the money can do for all of us.  Usually when disasters happen, there's no time to plan.  We have the incredible advantage of time and money."

      Jamie leaned back. "Look, we can't offer this to everyone, but this is what we're offering to everyone in this room." He looked at Robert and Cassandra, who still sat stone-faced, in shock, "And in thanks for saving Grace's life, you're both included."  Robert just narrowed his eyes at Jamie, while Cassandra looked at her father.

      "Come spend the summer with us in Idaho.  If you need us to, we'll pay all of your bills through the end of August, so that you can hedge your bets and keep your homes and your lives here.  If, by then," Jamie looked over to Ellen, who nodded, "if by then, nothing has happened, you can all come back and tell the story of your lunatic friends."  He smiled.  "It'll be great for parties."

      Robert felt like he had stepped into an alternate dimension. Here he was, sitting with a roomful of strangers, holding on to his daughter for dear life.  Well, usually PI work is boring.  His head spinning, he looked to the only touchstone he could find.

      "Grace."  She turned to him, feeling again the electric shock of her attraction, and pushing it down.

      Robert stared at her, his eyes unwavering.  "Do you believe this?"

      Grace looked from him to Cassandra, and answered softly. "It's why I asked you to stay."  Holding on Cassie's beautiful young face, she said, even more softly, "The Marina and New York will both be gone.  We can't lose any more children."  To the pain she saw briefly in Robert's eyes, she asked, "Can you take that chance?"

      She turned to Teresa and Cheryl, asking again,  "Can you take that chance?"  Looking at Alex, Grace shook her head, "I can't."

      Grace's emotion hung in the silence for a moment.  Then, quietly, Brandon said, "I have a sister in Philadelphia."  He turned, almost without willing it, to Ellen.  There was a question in his eyes.  She shook her head, barely moving. 

      Suddenly, Brandon stood up.  "This is crazy!  I'm going to call my sister and tell her some wild story, and she's going to pick up her husband and three kids and move to Idaho with me?"  He looked frantically around the room. "No. Not happening.  You know what, Jamie?  Thanks, but no thanks."  He started for his bag in the corner of the room. "I'm outta here."

      Jamie stood at his place at the table.  "I'm asking you to give this a day.  Stay here with us, please.  Let it sink in, ask questions, drink a lot.  I had to."  He opened his arms to the whole room. "Give this some time, and then tomorrow or Monday you can all go home and decide what you want to do." 

      Brandon finished stuffing his down bag into its case.  "Listen, Jamie.  I really appreciate being included in this little shindig, but I'm pretty sure I'd rather do my thinking at home."  As he zipped up his shoulder bag, he calmed a bit.  "I'll call you at the office on Tuesday."

      Jamie smiled. "Call me on my cell anytime, Brandon."  Watching him go to the door, he said, "I'm sorry this was so hard." Then, Jamie said, feebly,  "Thanks for coming."

      Brandon looked back, sadness mixed with the anger in his eyes, "Yeah, it was a real laugh riot."  Then, softer, as he disappeared down the hall, "I'll call you Tuesday."

      David stood up, pulling his keys out of his pocket. "I'm parked behind him."

      Jamie looked at David with a question. David smiled, and did his Terminator impression. "I'll be back."  Smiling back at him, Jamie said, "Thanks."

      For a moment, Jamie, Grace and Ellen looked around the room, wondering if any would follow Brandon out the door.  Suddenly, Philip sprang to his feet.  As he took a deep breath,  the three of them watched, hardly breathing themselves.

      Philip blinked.  "So, is it too early for that drink?"  When Jamie laughed, Philip looked at each person in turn. "I'm staying.  I'm completely freaked out, I have a million questions for the Walk-In lady, and I'm wondering if Idaho has even one gay bar.  But the truth is, I'll have all those same questions as I'm driving home, and I won't have any way to get them answered.  So I'm staying." 

      To the upturned faces, Philip said, "Look, this will all prove itself on the 21st, when the temperature thing is supposed to happen.  Until then, we can think what we like." 

      Jamie's face relaxed as he smiled at his friend. "Thanks, Philip."  Looking around, he said,  "Please stay. Let's all work through this together." 

      Jamie turned to Cheryl and Teresa.  "I know you're worried about your kids, and I understand if you want to go back.  But there's safety in numbers, and we're pretty sure this guy isn't coming back here.  We know who he is now, he's wounded, and he's lost the element of surprise.  Robert has called some friends with SFPD to watch his house and his sister's house, and to pick him up if they see him."

      Teresa didn't look entirely convinced, but nodded her head to Philip. "We'll stay.  I can't imagine going home either with all this information and no one to talk it over with."  She turned to Aaron by her side, who blinked and nodded too. "We'll stay."

      Philip spread his arms wide.  "So there you have it.  Safe as can be."  Looking at Robert, he said, winking, "With our own personal bodyguard." 

      He picked his way carefully through the shoes, pillows and sleeping bags littering the floor.  Reaching the kitchen, he said, cheerfully, "Anybody for a Margarita?  It's five o'clock somewhere!

---

      "You OK out here, honey?"

      Grace looked up to see Teresa bump her way through the screen door, two glasses of wine balanced in her hands.  To Grace's skeptical look, she said, "Hair of the dog, but not the same dog.  Just wine.  You're way too dramatic on Margaritas."

      Laughing, Grace took one glass from her friend's hand.  "Well, I guess a little wine couldn't hurt, considering most everyone's been at it all day already."

      Teresa moved slowly down to the boards of the deck and leaned back against the house next to Grace.  The kitchen window was directly above them, and Grace closed her eyes, taking in the wonderful aromas sailing down: garlic and onions sizzling in the pan Charles was using to make his famous spaghetti sauce. 

      "The garlic and onions I bought when I met Daniel," Grace whispered, almost to herself.

      In the way that friends can fill in the spaces of conversation, Teresa leaned over and put her arm around Grace.  "You couldn't have known who he was, Gracie."  She took a deep sip of wine.  "He was just some guy at the store.  How were you supposed to know he was unhinged?"

      Grace shook her head. "No. See, that's what I've been thinking about.  He thinks we're all nuts.  Or worse, led by the Devil himself."  She set her untouched glass down on the deck. "Terri, his obsession is as strong as mine is about what I believe in.  How can I fault him for that?"  Turning to Teresa, Grace's voice became more insistent, but still ragged. "You know, I can't shake the feeling that he thought he was saving me, not killing me.  And I'm trying to save all of you.  Am I any different?"

      Teresa looked into the intense eyes of her friend, and saw the familiar green flecks that revealed the passion Grace was feeling.  "Nope.  But you're not saving us against our will, honey.  Big difference."

      Grace shrugged and leaned back, still keeping her eyes on Teresa, trying to sound nonchalant.  "So.  Are you coming?"

      Exhaling, Teresa broke eye contact and swirled the last of the wine in her glass.  "Jury's still out.  Right now I'm hoping I'll wake up and this will just be one crazy-ass dream.  That's my current plan."

      Grace smiled. "Well, if that falls through, let me know, and we'll talk."

      Teresa reached over and linked her arm in Grace's.  "You'll be the first to know."

      For a moment they sat silent, enjoying the sounds and smells of cooking inside, and the hush of the trees outside.  Grace made a promise to herself that, no matter what was to come, she would remember the peace and safety of this moment.

      The squeak of the screen door caused both of their heads to turn.  Robert walked out on the deck, clearly unaware that they sat tucked up against the wall.  He stretched and winced as the pain of his arm caused him to release a soft groan.

      "Not as young as you used to be, huh?" Teresa said, starting to get up with a groan herself.  "Join the club."

      Surprised that he wasn't alone, Robert swiveled sharply, ready for attack.

      Teresa laughed, "Whoa, you may not be young, but you're fast.  Sheesh.  Just a couple of harmless girls out here, cowboy."

      Robert exhaled, and gave her a thin smile.  "Guess I'm a little on edge.  Sorry."

      Teresa held up her empty wine glass.  "Then I don't need to worry about leaving Grace in your capable hands."  Glancing down, she saw the look she'd been expecting as Grace used her eyes to plead with her to stay.  Teresa knew she'd been avoiding Robert all day, and she had an idea why.  I know the definition of third wheel.  "Back in a flash, Gracie.  Keep my spot warm."  And with that, she was through the door.

      Grace's heart was pounding so loudly that she was sure he could hear it all the way across the deck.  She had spent the day carefully moving from room to room, deeply engrossed in conversation and absolutely unreachable.  And now, here she was, in the warm early evening air, the sunset imminent and the promise of a full moon, with the one person who terrified her.

      There was a spot on the back of Grace's neck, just where her hair began to fall into curls, that had been tingling all day, when she heard his voice, or saw him put a protective arm around Cassie, and once when he brushed by her in the hallway.  He'd been ready to speak then, but she moved quickly by, leaving no room for conversation.

      How can this be happening to me?  Grace had looked so long for the man who would make her feel this way, and it turns out to be this man.  For a week, he's been watching her.  What has he seen?  Ready to betray her to Elizabeth.  What has he already said to her?  And what brought the color to her cheeks, again, for the hundredth time today. That kiss.  When she was drunk and scared and weak, he'd used her.  What kind of a man does that?

      Grace stood quickly, her back to the wall of the house.  "Excuse me, I'll go see about dinner."  As she started to move toward the door, Robert put out his hand, just brushing her arm.

      "Grace."

      There was that damn tingle again.  Like he had a direct connection to the back of her neck.   Grace closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly in wonder at the feeling.

      Her embarrassment moved quickly into anger.  "How do you do that?"

      Robert took a step back, and raised his eyebrows, looking confused. "Do what?"

      Make me feel like I'm fifteen again.  But she couldn't say that, so Grace stood, her mouth slightly open as if she were about to speak.  Her mind raced, but nothing coherent would emerge, until finally she said, angrily,  "How do you watch people for a living?"

      Not expecting her to ask him about his job, it was Robert's turn to stand, mouth open, not speaking.  "Uh, well, I...you mean, how do I do it, literally?  Or how do I do it ethically?"  He knew he was floundering here, and it was definitely not the way he had rehearsed it in his head all day.

      Grace whirled around. "Oh, ethics!  Yes, well, that would be a good discussion for us to have, wouldn't it?  How about the ethics of seducing someone who's just been strangled?"

      His voice rising, Robert said, "You know, you weren't exactly fighting off that kiss, now that you bring it up.  I seem to recall that you enjoyed it as much as I did."

      Grace moved away from the door and closed the space between them.  "I was drunk, and frightened.  Who kisses a drunk and frightened person who doesn't know what she's doing?  Is that how you watch people ethically?"

      Robert took a deep breath and looked down at the deck. Grace stood triumphantly, waiting for his answer.  When he did speak, his voice was so low that Grace had to concentrate to hear it.  "No.  I've never done that before.  I don't even know how it happened."  Robert looked up, and Grace saw real pain in his eyes.  Gorgeous eyes, she thought reluctantly.  Strong, gorgeous eyes.

      After a beat, he moved to the edge of the deck and sat, dangling his legs over the side.  Grace stood her ground, but felt her anger dissolving.  Robert was still speaking, but he was facing out toward the backyard, so Grace moved slowly around to the chair behind him and sat down, wordlessly.

      "You were wiping the blood off my lip, and you were so close, so sweet, Grace."  He turned and looked at her with infinite tenderness. "Before I knew it, I was kissing you.  End of story."  He turned away again. "I have no excuses to give you."

      Grace sat and looked at his back, and tried to remember why she was so angry.  Her voice was as soft as Robert's had been.  "I felt used.  That I was just a means to an end.  Are you saying that's not what it was?"      

      Robert turned sharply and looked her in the eyes.  "No, Grace.  That's not what it was."  He turned away again.  "I don't know what this is, but it's not that."

      The sun was dappled through the trees, and although full light still, the backyard took on the long shadows and lightening of temperature that signaled evening coming on.  Grace and Robert sat in silence, each struggling for something that would lift the awkwardness of the moment.  Finally, Grace stood and walked over to the edge of the deck.  Sitting down next to Robert, she matched his gaze out toward the tree line.

      Grace took a deep breath.  "Can we start over?"  Turning to him, she put out her hand, tentatively.  "I'm Grace.  Nice to meet you."

      Robert let a low laugh escape, shaking his head.  He looked sideways at her, smiling, and took her hand in his. "Robert.  The cad."

      Grace smiled back. "You're not a cad.  You saved my life, remember?"

      "Yes, and then I ruthlessly took advantage of you."

      She couldn't look into those eyes anymore, so she found a spot just below her feet on the grass as she pulled her hand out of his.  "You said yourself that I enjoyed it."  Grace felt the blush blossom up her cheeks again, and said softly,  "I did."

      Robert found the same spot on the grass below his feet.  "I know. I could tell." When he looked up this time, Grace was looking right at him.  She placed her finger gently on the dark circle below his eye.  "Does this hurt?"

      "No."  Smiling, he said, "The nose is a little sore, though."

      Grace shrugged, and gave him a crooked smile.  "I'm sorry about that."  Her hand moved from his face down to rest on his shoulder.

      Robert tilted his head and looked at Grace's neck, which now exhibited an explosion of colors.  He touched it gently. "Does this hurt?"

      "No. Throat's a little sore, though," she said, matching his tone.  His hand moved on its own to touch a stray curl.  Both of them suddenly realized they were in an embrace of sorts.  Grace's breath constricted, and she knew that in that moment, more than anything she could remember, she wanted him to kiss her again.  In fact, he was moving toward her, and her eyes were starting to close, when the screen door slammed.  Both drew a sharp intake of breath, and looked behind them to see Alex standing there.

      "Oh. Uh, sorry." He held up Grace's cell phone. "Mom, I just wanted you to know that you have a message from Elizabeth, wanting to talk to Ellen."  He moved toward Grace and Robert as they quickly separated. "She sounded pretty anxious to hear from you.  I only listened to it because it said 'Unknown,' and I thought it might be my friend, Adam." Alex was babbling now, and smiling, understanding completely what he had interrupted. "I gave him your number to call me."  He practically dropped the phone into Grace's hand, backing away, "I saved the message. Sorry."  Still smiling, Alex was back through the door before Robert or Grace could say a word.

      Grace looked down at the cell phone in her hand and then looked up at Robert, and identical grins spread across their faces before they both shook their heads.

      "Well, that was fairly awkward,"  Grace laughed, looking down.

      Robert took her hand gently in his. "He's a really good kid, Grace.  I had a chance to talk to him today.  You've done a great job on your own with him."

      Grace looked up and into Robert's eyes, comprehending.  "You know all about me, don't you?"  Tilting her head, she challenged him, "What's his father's name?"

      Robert sighed. "Matthew Cramer."  Looking away, he spoke flatly, without emotion. "And St. Maries and Alaska, Ben and Abby, and how Tony died, and Maggie, and Angel's Grace, and Alex's batting average and the speeding ticket you got three years ago.  Yes, I know all about you."

            Grace stiffened, pulling her hand away.  "That makes me feel a little, I don't know, uh, naked."

      Robert gave her a sly smile.  "That I don't know."  He leaned over, catching her eye.  "I'd like to."

      Despite herself, Grace laughed.  Turning to him, she touched his cheek gently.  "It sounds like I have a lot of catching up to do."  The sun was fading, and Robert's face was bathed in gold.  Without thinking, Grace leaned in and kissed him, quickly.  Immediately embarrassed, she backed away.

      "I can't believe I just did that."

      Robert smiled, closing his eyes to the halo of sun behind her hair. 

      "I know. That's how it happens."

---

      Grace stirred her tea, looking alternately from Ellen, to Robert, to Jamie.  The cabin had settled into companionable groups, some talking quietly in the kitchen, others working through a jigsaw puzzle on the card table.  Cassie was getting a casting lesson in the backyard from Alex and Aaron with an old fly fishing rod they'd found in a closet.  Mark and David were packing up their things, wanting to get an early start on the traffic.

      "To call, or not to call, that is the question," Grace murmured.  The four of them sat at the dining room table, and Robert looked absently out the living room window to the spot where his car was parked, hidden by the bushes.  This is the view from the other side, he thought, smiling.  Looking over at Grace, he thought he liked the view much better from here.

      But she was deeply lost in thought.  He could almost see the wheels turning in her head.  "She's got to be pretending to be interested, Ellen.  People just don't change that fast."

      Ellen nodded. "I know you're probably right, but remember, she's part of my task here.  I need to find a way to her."  Blowing on her tea to cool it, she took a sip. "I've listened to that message over and over.  She's either acting, or she's having a breakthrough.  I'd rather believe in the breakthrough, wouldn't you?"

      Robert leaned back in his chair, shaking his head.  "Look, I retrieved the time stamp from her message on Grace's phone and the ones on mine.  Within five minutes she went from practically threatening my life to a sweet, sniffling girl."  He brought all four chair legs back down to the floor. "I just don't buy it."

      Grace and Jamie nodded their assent, and all three looked expectantly at Ellen.  She was "accessing" again, eyes closed, breathing Zen-like.  Opening her eyes, she looked at each in turn.

      "I'm going to call her back, but I promise I won't give her any information that could hurt us."  Ellen leaned forward on her elbows, radiating her beatific smile. "I want her to know about the Solstice.  It will help her decide whether or not to come with us."

      Jamie's eyes widened.  "With us?  Do you think there's a chance of that?"  Looking at Robert, he said, "I thought she was against us."  Robert shrugged and looked at Ellen, questioning.

      Ellen laughed. "Haven't you all heard about uniting against a common enemy?"  She sat back. "You know, in the movies when the aliens attack, and people who have been fighting with each other suddenly join hands?"

      Jamie pointed his finger at Ellen, laughing, "You've been talking to Philip, haven't you?"

      Ellen smiled and leaned in again. "No, it's a universal archetype." She spoke almost absently, looking down at the table. "Sometimes we're given a common challenge so that we can all come together.  This is one of those."

      Grace put her hand on Ellen's.  "What will you say?"

      "I'll tell her that she should pay attention to reports of temperature changes on the 21st of June."  Ellen put her other hand on top of Grace's.  "She'll still think I'm crazy, but when it happens, that analytic mind of hers will come to the same conclusion as every other mathematical mind on the planet.  This will not be a random circumstance.  No one can explain this away.  They'll have to take notice."

      Robert gazed vacantly out the window. "It's brilliant, really."  All three turned and looked at him.  Robert had yet to utter an opinion to any of them about whether or not he believed or whether he was coming.  Grace had given him as much space as she could to work it through, and she held her breath now, waiting.

      He continued, evenly. "It gives us all a chance to decide.  We can go back to our lives and pretend none of this happened.  But on the 21st, if I turn on the Weather Channel and they're talking about every capital city having a temperature of exactly ten degrees higher than the record," Robert put his hands out, palms up in a question, "How do I ignore that?"

al list maker, but it seemed inappropriate with everyone here.  "Teresa won't commit, but I think she will on the 21st.  Gerald has already said he’s coming.”  Grace looked at Robert, then looked away. "Teresa trusts us, and she loves her children too much."

      Jamie continued with the list. "Philip says he'll probably be leading the convoy up to Idaho."  Jamie laughed, shaking his head.  "I don't doubt it."  Sobering, he said, "Everyone else is waiting for proof.  But they're going to be taking action until they get it, broaching the subject with friends and relatives, stockpiling some necessities, beefing up their camping supplies, that sort of thing."

      Putting his head in his hands, Jamie laughed hollowly. "Oh, God, if this doesn't happen, I'm going to have to move to Idaho anyway, or frickin' Siberia, to escape the ridicule."  He looked up, rolling his eyes, "I'm so deep into this thing, now I'm worried it won't happen!  Is that crazy?"

      Into the silence that followed, Ellen looked at Jamie and said softly, "Thank you for the risks you're taking.  Belief in what we can't see takes a tremendous amount of courage."  She reached over and put her hand gently on his head.  "It will happen, Jamie."

      After a pause, Grace said, "OK.  Two things.  First, I'm afraid to go home.  And second, what are we going to do with all these people in an old, three bedroom, two bath farmhouse?"

      Jamie straightened, pleased with himself. "I've got answers for both of those questions!"

      He met Gracie's eyes directly across the table. "First of all, you're not going home.  You and Alex and Ellen will come stay with me in the City.  Whenever you and Alex agree, I'll have a moving company pack up everything in the house and take it to Idaho."  He turned to Ellen.  "Yours too, Ellen, if you want.  If you all want to be there when it's packed up, we'll hire you an armed guard."  Smiling sideways at Robert, he added, "Or maybe we can find someone else to protect you."

      "And I've been thinking a lot about the farmhouse this weekend."  Jamie swept his hand in an arc, taking in the chaos of people and things on the floor of the cabin.  "On Tuesday, I'm going to talk to the builder in St. Maries about expanding the barn, and also about building dorms in the vacant field.  It won't be the Plaza, but they'll be well-insulated, with lots of storage.  I'll tell him I'm starting a school or something."

      Grace tilted her head at Jamie and smiled. "Wow.  Well, I guess I didn't need to worry about any of that."  Then, seriously, Grace turned to Robert. "Any word on Daniel?"

      Robert's face hardened.  "We're almost certain he's at Marla's.  I've got some PI buddies doing me favors, and SFPD does regular courtesy drive-bys.  There's a red station wagon parked out front, and it has mud in the wheel wells that matches the mud out here." 

      Robert shook his head. "The crazy thing is, I saw that wagon when I was watching Jamie's house, so he was there, too.  It has religious bumper stickers on it that are pretty hard to forget." 

      Grace stared at her fingers. "But no one's seen him?"

      "Not yet.  Marla's gone out for food, and to the drugstore every day.  She's buying a lot of Isopropyl Alcohol and bandages, and pain relievers.  No prescriptions, so he hasn't seen a doctor."  Robert took a sip of his cold coffee, and grimaced. "Any reputable doctor would report a bullet wound, anyway."

      Robert stood up and walked around to the kitchen.  He refilled his mug from the pot, added milk, and placed it on the pass-through as he talked. "His kneecap has to be shattered, so without an operation, he's got trouble.  I'd bet a lot of money that he's lying in bed, either recuperating, or deep in a fever from an infection.  The reports are that Marla looks very tired, and very scared."

      Walking back around, Robert retrieved his cup from the counter. "When I get back to town, I'll take over the surveillance."  He smiled at Ellen.  "I seem to be between jobs."

      Jamie leaned back in his chair. "Well, $5,000 a week is a little excessive, but I meant what I said about paying your expenses until we go.  It would be worth it to me to know where that scumbag is."

      Robert looked at Grace. "Nah.  This one's on me."  He took a sip of his coffee, never taking his eyes off Grace. "I'll deduct it from my taxes as a pro bono case."

      Jamie watched them for a moment, and then looked at Ellen, his eyes sparkling. Another long moment.  Geez, get a room.

      Just as he was about to voice that comment, Teresa came down the hallway.  "Well, this is a serious group.  Strategizing the exodus?"

      Jamie smiled.  "As a matter of fact, we were."  Reaching out his hand to her, he said, "There's a spot on the bus for you, sweetheart."

      Taking his hand and standing close, Teresa said, "I'm not packing just yet, but I do have to say this is the most memorable Memorial Day weekend I've had in a long time, so thanks to all of you for the entertainment."  Raising her eyebrows, she took in the mess on the floor of the living room. "And the five-star accommodations."

      All four at the table glanced at each other, imagining dormitories reaching across an Idaho field.

      Jamie laughed. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet, honey."

---

      "Thanks, Roxy."

      Philip Gomez picked up his Vente Quad Soy Milk Extra Hot Caramel Macchiato, and smiled dazzlingly at the girl behind the Starbucks counter.  It never hurts to smile.  Especially after a long holiday weekend.  Roxy looked like she'd had a good one, and was paying for it this morning.

      Balancing his coffee and his briefcase, Philip managed to snag the last spot in the front of the crowded elevator, and pushed 12.  The combined aromas of coffee, just-smoked cigarettes, aftershave, bad breath, soap and perfume, now as familiar to him as the buzz of the elevator as it passed floors, let Philip know that he was back at work.

      Glad I gave myself a day to decompress, Philip thought.  Considering the subject of the Memorial Day meeting on Saturday, Really glad.

      Pushing with the key in the lock, he opened his door, set down his coffee and pulled his digital camera out of his briefcase, in one graceful motion.  Philip turned on his computer at the same time he shrugged out of his suit jacket, and walked to the back of his door to hang it up.

      Gotta see those eyes again.  Pushing the camera's memory card into the slot, he waited, and just a double click later, he was looking at Ellen Preston.  Damn, that woman has spooky eyes.

      Philip took just a moment more to study her, sipping his scalding coffee, and then he began to move through the 40 or so photos he'd taken over the weekend.  He stopped on one of Jamie and Grace, smiling, hair blowing in the wind, with North Beach behind them.

      If it hadn't been Jamie Delaney, I never would have lasted past Saturday morning.  Philip's company did exclusive public relations work for Jamie D's, and Philip was the lead account rep.  He'd seen Jamie through his rise to the top, and he'd seen him in his lowest moments, like the time his company was wrongly accused of using sweatshop-produced dresses.  Philip had never seen Jamie exhibit anything but absolute integrity, a whip-smart mind, and a clear handle on reality.

      And,  After all, Philip thought, the word "bizarre" takes on a whole new meaning when you work PR in San Francisco.  Most of Philip's clients already seemed to be from another planet, so what's a little Apocalypse among friends?

      Philip estimated that he must have about 12 weeks of vacation coming to him.  It wasn't supposed to roll over, but account execs got that privilege, mostly because the powers that be knew that no one would ever take it.  You didn't rise to the top in this business by sipping Mai Tais on a beach somewhere.  You were available, 24-7-365.

      During the long, traffic-clogged drive home from Inverness yesterday afternoon, Philip had ridden in silence, MP3 player off, top down on his BMW.  He'd done something he'd never really done before.  He'd taken his time, studied the trees in Samuel P. Taylor Park, watched families in their RVs, stopped at a roadside cafe and ordered a gelato, savoring it and watching the parade of cars go by. 

      Philip had to admit that he felt different today than he had before the weekend.  The world seemed different.

      He'd never told anyone this, but one Sunday afternoon Philip turned on cable and ended up getting sucked into an old movie and he'd never forgotten it.  Called Testament, it was about a family that lived Santa Rosa, just north of San Francisco.  The dad commutes every day to the City.  A nuclear bomb is dropped, and San Francisco is never shown, just this little town that survived. 

      The mom keeps waiting for her husband to show up, because he left her a message saying he was on his way home, right before the big flash.  She looks for him every day.  Weeks later, in desperation, she needs batteries, and she takes them out of the answering machine. As she does, this message comes on.  You hear her husband say he has to work late after all, and will be home later.  She realizes that he was in his office building when the bomb dropped, and he's really gone.

      Why this affected Philip so strongly had always been a mystery to him, but now he knew.  I'm not going to be the one working late this time.  He had been driven in his job, a rising star, a success, But I'm going home early.

      Crammed into the living room in Jamie's house in Inverness, listening in shock to the truly unbelievable things being said, Philip looked hard into Jamie's eyes.  It was the same look he'd seen so many times on his friend's face.  Truth.

      In business, when Philip suggested "spin," Jamie always opted for the truth.  Well, there's no way to spin this one, baby.  Either it's true or it isn't, and the worst that can happen is I get a long vacation in Idaho. 

      Yeah, he might be considered a bit of a flake, actually taking a vacation.  But one thing Philip knew for sure, There'll be a whole army of bright young punks ready to take my rung on the corporate ladder.

      As he said his goodbyes in Inverness, Philip had taken Jamie aside.

      "So who can we really tell about this?" he'd asked.

      "Anyone you think will come.  We want to help as many people as we can, Philip."

      Philip thought Jamie might have been a little distracted when he said that, because Jamie moved away right then to help someone with a tent, and Philip didn't have a chance to clarify.  Anyone?

      But what he really remembered was Grace on Friday night, a little drunk, but sincere.

      If you knew something, something about life and death, and you had the chance to save somebody from it...would you tell them?  Now he knew what she was talking about.  And his answer to her had been  No question.  Tell them.

      As he clicked forward through the photos, he found himself looking at the whole crowd of the guests at Jamie's cabin.  On Sunday morning, they put the camera up on the back railing and set the timer.  He knew every face, every voice, every name of the people in that picture.

      But all over America this weekend, pictures like this one had been taken.  Families, friends, smiling, laughing, people Philip didn't know.  But don't they all have the same dreams, hopes, loves, wishes for the future?  Aren't they just like us?  Don't they deserve a chance, too?

      He knew the statistics.  Philip knew how often people had to hear something before they believed it, before it even imprinted itself on their minds.

      And he knew what he did best.  Spin.

      This was all about the Earth.  He knew the best spin doctor in the business when it came to the Earth.  As his last professional act before taking his long vacation, Philip Gomez pulled up his email and searched his Contacts until he found the name he was looking for.

      Walt Bonertz.

---

      Elizabeth put the plastic fork into the styrofoam container that held her half-eaten salad.  Late lunch again, but it was worth it.  I've got this conference call nailed.

      In fifteen minutes, she would be talking with the Bonertz team, and her strategy was mapped out flawlessly.  Partnership, here I come.

      Leaning back in her chair, Elizabeth looked out to the city below.  She imagined herself an Olympic athlete with the tape in sight.  The gold medal.  This is what a winner feels like.

      Even the talk with her mother had gone well.  Of course, Ellen had taken insanity to a whole new level with this temperature thing.  The Solstice?  Midsummer?  Jesus, next she'd be telling her she'd joined a coven of witches.  Ellen told her to watch the news on June 21st, and Elizabeth promised her, yes, she would.  Then, the icing on the cake, she'd asked her to move to Idaho.  Idaho!  The end of the freaking world!  And all Elizabeth could think of was, well, when she's in Idaho I won't have to worry about her ruining my career, because they're probably still using smoke signals in Idaho.  Idaho?   It took all of Elizabeth's acting skills to keep from bursting out laughing.

      Let them obsess about the planet, as long as they did it quietly.  And Elizabeth still hadn't heard a peep from Robert Hart, so to top it all off, she'd saved $5,000 this week.  Smiling broadly, Elizabeth closed her eyes and tried to decide what she would wear to the Partnership Luncheon when she was announced.  A business suit or cocktail dress?  The dress would be daring, unconventional, and she liked that...

      The buzzer sounded on her phone.  Tim's voice came across, professional as always.

      "Miss Preston?  Walt Bonertz is on the line.  As you requested, Bill Williams is listening in from his office.  The visual link is functional, and our graphics are ready for viewing."

      Elizabeth felt the familiar adrenaline surge of victory.  Every nerve in her body was attenuated.  "Thanks, Tim.  And thanks for your help with all this.  I won't forget it."

      Tim almost choked on his coffee.  Thanks?  He didn't know she knew the meaning of the word.  "Uh, no problem, Miss Preston.  Glad to help."  Elizabeth heard a click over the speaker phone.  "Patching through now."

      "Elizabeth.  Good to talk with you again."

      "Thank you, Walt.  Hope you had a good weekend?"

      "Very restful.  And you?"

      "The same."  Pleasantries over. "How many of your team are present, Walt?"

      "Not a one, Elizabeth.  Just you and me."

      Pausing, Elizabeth shifted gears.  She knew she was good at that. "Fine, just you and me, Walt.  I'm assuming you have the video link up?  We'll be downloading some visuals..."

      "Sorry to interrupt you, Elizabeth, but the plans have changed."

      A prickle of alarm snaked up Elizabeth's spine.  She was suddenly painfully aware that Bill Williams was listening in on his line in his office 10 floors above her.  Come on, Elizabeth, you know how to think on your feet.  Don't panic.

      "How so, Walt?"

      "We're asking for a continuance to June 22nd, and for new opposing counsel."

      Now the prickle was alarmingly strong, and Elizabeth felt her hands trembling.

      "And why would you want to do that, Walt?"

      "Well, Elizabeth, there seem to be some personal conflicts in your life that would preclude your expeditious settlement of this case.  Perhaps you'd like to look at your monitor while I upload a visual of my own."

      Her heart pounding in her ears, Elizabeth looked at her computer screen, the cursor flashing on the word Ready.  It turned to an hourglass, and Elizabeth watched in horror as a photo slowly appeared, a line of pixels at a time, first just a blue sky, then the top of someone's head, gray hair, an oh, so familiar forehead, and the eyes.  Oh, God, the eyes.  And as Elizabeth watched, stunned in silence, her mother's face appeared, smiling, windblown, with the ocean behind her.

      Elizabeth was jolted out of her paralysis by Walt's voice from the console.  "Is this someone you know, Elizabeth?"

      Tim, looking panic-stricken, came through the door without knocking.  He mouthed What's this all about? but he was stopped by Elizabeth's bloodless face, almost translucent in its whiteness.

      Walt's voice came through again.  "Did you hear the question, Elizabeth?"

      Somehow, she found her voice.  She made a superhuman effort to keep it steady and conversational. "Yes, Walt.  As I'm sure you already know, that's my mother.  Kind of you to send me a photo of her, but what does this have to do with the case?"

      Elizabeth always worried when Walt Bonertz went into his good old boy voice.  Just folks.  We're not lawyers, we're just a couple of folks, trying to work this thing out. 

      "Well, I had a long talk with a colleague this morning, and it was very illuminating.  He spent the weekend with your mother and lots of other people.  Your mother seems to have some rather, uh, eccentric ideas about things."

      Elizabeth was spinning down a vortex, completely separated from her body.  This isn't happening.  Control it!  Now!  "Gosh, Walt, we all have family, don't we?  I'd venture to say you could find some strange ideas in any family.  It really seems immaterial to the case.  Let's talk about Manny Foods, shall we?"

      Suddenly the good old boy was gone, replaced by a steely voice that made Elizabeth's blood slow.  "I would say it's material to the case if it threatens the credibility of you, Miss Preston, and that of your firm.  Don't you think it's interesting how the public tends to latch on to ideas that are eccentric?  How all of a sudden you can't read anything about Williams, Lake & Gage without seeing the name Ellen Preston attached to it?  How overnight, like magic, a venerable environmental law firm is irretrievably connected to some end-of-the-world scenario?  Have you noticed that, Miss Preston?"

      Tim still stood in the open door, and he and Elizabeth heard it from the other office, the familiar buzzing sound of a call from inside the firm.  Elizabeth suddenly felt queasy, her salad threatening.  She pointed a finger toward Tim's desk, indicating that he should answer, but actually, she was completely at a loss for what to do. 

      Gone.  All gone.  Everything I’ve worked for. 

      The events played out like a movie in her mind.  Standing in Bill Williams' office.  Relieved of the case.  Relieved of her associateship with the firm.  Packing her office.  Slinking out without saying goodbye, mortified beyond all comprehension, her future a black hole.  And this was her unemotional assessment of the situation, simply a logical sequence of events.

      "Elizabeth?  You still there?"  The country drawl was back.  The steel had been drawn, so there was no more necessity for force.  Just folks.  Working things out.

      Now Elizabeth's voice was weary, devoid of its usual clipped efficiency. "Yes, Walt.  I'm still here."

      "Good.  I was just wondering what your thoughts were on all this."

      Elizabeth put a finger up to the twitch that had returned to her eye.  She spoke almost in a monotone.

      "Well, I guess the first thing I'd say is that I'll step aside for the good of the firm.  This information would have less impact if I've resigned from WLG, correct?"  She didn't wait for him to answer.  Both of them knew it was a rhetorical question. "And the next thought I have is that I understand the change in counsel, but I'm curious about the continuance."

      Walt's voice suddenly changed again, but this time the actor was gone.  "Elizabeth, just between us?"

      Elizabeth sighed.  So tired all of a sudden.  "Hold on, Walt."  Elizabeth looked out to Tim's desk, where he sat, pale and staring, wondering who his next assignment would be.  She pointed to the ceiling, and then ran her finger across her throat, telling him to cut the connection to Bill Williams.  Locking the barn after the horse has escaped came to her mind, as he pushed the button and nodded.

      "OK, Walt, go ahead."

      "I know I'm a bastard, honey.  I know I fight dirty.  But the truth is, I love this world of ours, and I'm sworn to protect it.  I don't want Manny Foods to have that land, because, by God, it really does need to be cleaned up.  I know it, and you know it. There will be people working in that building, and buying food in that building, and I don't want some percentage of them to come up with unexplained cancer in ten or twenty years."  Elizabeth laid her head on her desk, tired beyond belief, as Bonertz continued.

      "When I said the talk this morning was illuminating, I meant it.  I received an email first, but then it was arranged so I could talk directly to her.  Your mother may be crazy, or she may not, but I'm willing to wait until June 21st to find out."  Elizabeth heard a deep sigh over the speaker.  "If she's right, I'm not going to be concerned about Manny Foods anymore, I can promise you that.  I'll put everything I've got behind her, and let the planet clean itself up."  Bonertz paused, sounding tired himself.  "It's really too big a job for me anyway, you know?  I've been giving it my all for 30 years, and I'm still going backwards."

      For the first time in years, Elizabeth felt tears starting.  It was so unfamiliar to her that for a moment she simply let them fall to her blotter, her cheek still resting on the desk.  All she could manage to say, her mouth close to the speaker phone, was "OK."

      "You take care, Elizabeth.  I know you feel just awful right now, but trust me, you'll sleep better nights not working there."  He paused, and not hearing an answer, said, "Go see your Mama."

      The speaker clicked.  Elizabeth still hadn't raised her head when Tim spoke from the doorway.  "Miss Preston?"  The dark spot on Elizabeth's blotter was spreading, slowly, as the tears dropped more quickly now. 

      He came up behind her and laid his hand gently on her shoulder.  In four years of seeing her every work day,  it was the first time he had touched her.  "Miss Preston?"  She looked up, her eyes full, and his heart tugged.  "Can I do anything?"

      Lifting her head from the desk, Elizabeth wiped at the wet streaks running across the bridge of her nose.  She looked at her fingers, as if she expected something other than tears to be there.  Blood, maybe.  Something more serious, considering how she felt.  Tim moved quickly to his desk and brought her back a tissue.

      The words started, without her bidding them. "I've had one goal in my life.  To be a partner in a respected law firm."  She looked up at Tim, still holding the tissue in her hand. "What do I do now?"

      At a loss, he shook his head. "Mr. Williams wants to see you upstairs right away.  I'm sorry."

      Straightening, Elizabeth finally found a use for the tissue in her hand as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose.  Her wits were returning, slowly.  Show a little pride, Elizabeth.

      "Tim, I need you to take a letter."  She handed him a new legal pad and a pen, and indicated the chair in front of her desk.

      "Dear Mr. Williams, In light of recent events, I am tendering my resignation, effective immediately."  Elizabeth stood, taking in, for the last time, the view she loved so much, the view that made her feel that she had a place in the world.

      "New paragraph.  I have appreciated very much the opportunity you have given me, and wish the firm continued success and prosperity in the years to come."  She turned to Tim. "Can you get that ready for my signature?  And get me some boxes."  Elizabeth gave him a weak smile. "Please."

      Tim’s eyes were full of compassion.  "Oh, Miss Preston.  I'm so sorry."

      She lifted her head high.  "It's OK, Tim.  It's not the end of the world."

~~~~~