Grace's Heart - Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

      Just before pushing the doorbell to Jamie's house, Robert took a moment to gaze down Divisidero Street to the Bay below.  So beautiful.  The early evening sun glinted off the Golden Gate Bridge in a way that accentuated the bright red of its span, and contrasted with the green and tan of the hills beyond. 

      And, for the thousandth time in the last five days, every cell in his body questioned.  How?  Why?  At the same time, Robert was aware that the scale was tipping inside him.  He had been right, these were good people.  A long talk with Ellen on Monday at the cabin had convinced him that she was either extraordinarily psychic, or just simply extraordinary, as she spoke his life to him in ways he hadn't even been able to express to himself.

      And Grace.  Every minute he spent with her, Robert was feeling an invisible mesh forming between them, one that would be increasingly painful to sever.  But everything, everything, was happening so fast that Robert wasn't able to process, or analyze.  He felt as if he were standing on the backs of turtles, like a story he'd read as a young boy, and it was taking all his wits just to keep from falling into the water.

      He and Grace had only shared a little time alone together before going their separate ways on Monday.  He found her looking for exactly the right raspberry, although they weren't nearly ripe yet.  When they did find two that were showing a blush of pink, the tartness was almost unbearable, and as they laughed, she became irresistible to him.  He brushed her hair back from her face and started a tender kiss at her forehead, but her lips were too close, and, again, he couldn't stop himself from moving down to them.

      This time, there was no danger, no alcohol, just the longing they had both felt for two days, and neither of them had the strength, or it seemed, the desire to ignore it.  Grace met his kiss by raising her arms around his neck and pressing forward, until they were joined, their heat blending in the warm damp air behind the cabin.

      Robert had always been attracted to small women, short and delicate, and to his astonishment, he loved the solid feel of Grace.  He didn't have to bend far to kiss her, and she didn't feel as if she would break in his arms.  She had strong muscles under the softest skin imaginable, and Robert found himself wanting her more than he could ever remember wanting a woman.

      Before he could stop himself, or even think, his hands had traveled to her sides and his thumbs traced the round, warm skin below her breasts through her cotton blouse.  She sighed through the kiss, and then came to her senses.  Robert was so lost in her that he didn't know whether he was grievously disappointed, or glad one of them was still thinking clearly.

      He stepped back, looking down at the grass, and raised his hands, no harm, no foul, saying sheepishly,  "Sorry."

      Grace stepped to him and folded herself back into his arms, laying her head on his shoulder.  "No, I wanted you to."  She looked up at him, her eyes a miraculous color of emerald, "I've wanted you to for two days."  She returned her head to his shoulder, and for a full minute they just stood, feeling each other's hearts calm, breathing in tandem and listening to the sound of the breeze in the raspberry leaves.

      To his great surprise, that minute immediately took up residence in Robert's memory as one of the ten great minutes of his life so far. Cassie's eyes opening for the first time as she looked at him, a thank you from the mother of a young boy Robert had rescued from a burning car while on the Force, and yes, the moment Marcia had said "I do," flawed as the marriage had turned out to be.  Others that he couldn't place right this second, but he knew this was definitely one of the top ten.

      And what made it so great was nothing that he could pin down.  If he had to describe it, he would say that suddenly he felt as if he had fallen into a shallow hole that was precisely, exactly his size and shape, and it was holding him, assuring him that he had a place in a world that had often seemed foreign, separate from him. Robert breathed deeply, feeling Grace's breath contract.  But even that doesn't describe it.  Oh, hell, I just feel good.

      Robert pulled away slightly, so that he could see Grace's eyes.  She met his gaze, unblinking.  He whispered, "I want to kiss you again." 

      Grace smiled, and whispered back, "Then I think you should."  As he moved in slowly toward her, she pulled back a fraction, her eyes dancing in warning, "But keep your hands to yourself."

      To prove himself, he clasped his hands behind his back, in the process discovering how erotic it was to limit himself to Grace's lips alone.  But not just her lips, the feel of her breath on his cheek, the brush of a rebellious curl on his ear, the warmth of the spot just inside her lips, the trace of tart berry still on her tongue.  And the sounds she made, as if she were eating the most delicious dessert you could imagine, a sigh, vibrating against his mouth.  Robert thought maybe they had moved up to the top five.

      With a soft umm, Grace pulled away, reaching around Robert's back for his hands, which she held in hers at arm's length.  She took a deep breath before speaking.

      "Look, not to be stereotypically female, but where is this going?"  Grace swung their hands slightly in her embarrassment. "This is kind of dangerous for me, because it's been a long time, and you're a really good kisser, and I think I really like you."  Grace rolled her eyes at her incoherence, but had stepped off the cliff.  "I’m not saying this very well.  It's just that with you saving my life, and the world shifting and all, it's hard to know which end is up, and I'm moving to Idaho," Finally taking a breath, she got to it. "Are you coming with us?"

      Again, adorable.  Robert couldn't believe he was using that term in his head to describe a woman asking for commitment, but there it was.  Obviously the world was shifting, because he still thought she was adorable.  But he had to be honest with her.

      "I don't know."

      He could tell that Grace was waiting for the I don't know explanation, but nothing else came immediately to his mind, so into the silence she said, "That's it?"

      Robert let go of her hands and moved over to sit on the edge of the porch.  "Grace, I'm pretty much a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, and this weekend has shaken up just about everything I can think of.  Cassie may or may not be going to New York, something she's worked for, and I've saved for, for a long time."  He held out his hand, motioning for Grace to come sit beside him.  When she did, he turned to face her.

      "Cassie believes all this.  The innocence of youth, I guess.  She's going to try to convince her mother and her mother's new husband that it's real."  Robert shook his head in disbelief at the thought.  "Marcia is going to think I've led her into an Idaho cult, for Chrissakes."  Robert rubbed his fingers across his forehead and then combed them through his hair.  "And then there's you."

      Grace tilted her head, looking very serious. "Okay, what about me?"

      Raising his eyebrows, Robert traced Grace's cheek with his thumb.  "You."  He leaned down to kiss her lightly, then straightened.  "Cass thinks I have a crush on you."  As Grace's lips upturned just slightly, Robert continued quickly, "Of course, I know that's not possible, because I'm an adult and I don't get crushes, and anyway, I haven't been very good with relationships.  Marcia used to say I was selfish."  Reaching down for a tall stalk of grass, Robert said, "They say you're supposed to have lunch with the ex to find out the truth about someone."  He turned to Grace. "What would Matthew say about you?"

      Grace smiled wistfully.  "I never got to hear it.  He loved me, then he left me.  No middle ground.  Very confusing."

      Robert looked deeply into her eyes. "I think it would be hard to leave you, Grace."

      He saw a blush travel up her cheeks.  She took his hand and said, "You think maybe Cassandra is right?  About the crush?"

      He laughed softly. "Maybe."

      Grace smiled at him.  "Good.  I just wanted to be sure it mattered to you.  Because it does to me."  She stood up, pulling him up with her.  "I can wait for you to decide.  I  know how complicated it is."  She shook her head.  "I'm still adjusting too, I'm just a little further along than you are." 

      Grace led him up the porch stairs, and turned to him.  "Will you come to dinner at Jamie's on Friday?  I'll cook.  Meat and potatoes.  Bring Cassandra if you can."

      Robert moved in to hold her before they went through the door to the cabin.  He spoke into her mass of curls, breathing in the scent of her.  "I think I'm going to miss you until Friday."

      Laughing, she tipped her head up and kissed him.  Still close on his mouth, she said, "That's good," before turning and pulling the screen door open.

      Now, four days later, looking out at the Bay, Robert realized that his skin buzzed just a bit, knowing that he would see Grace in moments, that he would touch her hand, feel her lips on his in a quick hello.

      "C'mon, Cass," Robert called down to the street, where Cassandra was touching up her lip gloss in the front seat of the car. "You look beautiful."  Cassandra bounded up the stairs and met him at the landing in front of the door.

      "So do you, Pops," she said, straightening the collar on his polo.  She gave him a sly smile, "Excited?"

      Exasperated, he narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm pleased that we will be seeing our new friends again, yes, Cassandra."

      Cassie smiled broadly.  "You know, Pops, it's a good thing she has a crush on you too, because you would be positively pitiful if she didn't."

      Robert looked sideways at her. "Don't start, Cass."

      As she rang the bell, Cassandra leaned up and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Don't fight it, Pops."

      The door opened, and Ellen stood beaming.  "Oh, wonderful,  you're here!"  She hugged Cassie warmly before turning to Robert.  Surprising himself, he reached his arms out to her and let her envelop him too.  With a smile to Cassie over Ellen's shoulder, Robert realized that he had been touched, really touched, more in the past week than he could recall in the last year, minus Cass, of course.  He didn't understand it.  But it felt good.

      Ellen took his hand and Cassie's, and led them from the hall to the living room.  The apartment smelled delicious, and Robert knew immediately that Grace had made good on her promise of meat and potatoes.  Robert could be a good cook when he wanted to, but mostly his diet consisted of chicken and rice when he wasn't in the field eating fast food.  Home cooked meals were few and far between, and this one, he guessed, his mouth watering, was pot roast with potatoes, carrots, onions and homemade gravy.

      Robert quickly scanned the room of people for Grace, but didn't see her.  Jamie stood to greet them, as did Philip.  Alex was seated in the corner, lost in conversation with an older man, until he realized that Cassie and Robert had entered the room, and he looked up and smiled.

      Jamie's apartment was classic San Francisco.  Hardwood floors, elaborate crown molding, white walls, and rooms that grew from each other at all angles.  Behind the enormous, soft, white couch was a huge picture window that took in a view that made Robert stop his movement through the room.  The pastel colors of the old houses of Pacific Heights, reaching down steeply on Divisidero to the sparkling, blue Bay.  The Golden Gate to the left, Transamerica and Bank of America Buildings to the right, both reaching up into the clouds.

      "Wow." Cassie exhaled loudly next to him, her eyes wide.  "What a view."  Her mother's house was on Lombard Street far below them, with a view of its own, but nothing like this.  And Robert's apartment really had no view at all.

      Suddenly it hit Robert.  How much Jamie was giving up.  How much everyone was committing to this.  How brave they all were to do it.  And as he struggled with that, he felt arms reach around his waist and an electric shock went through him as soft warmth pressed into his back from his shoulders down.

      "Pretty spectacular, huh?"  Grace's voice was in his ear, almost as if it were in his head, as it had been all week.  He took her hands in his at his stomach, holding her there, enjoying the moment before he saw her, drinking in the light scent of some kind of flower, mixed with the heavier aromas and heat of the kitchen.

      "Um hmmm, spectacular," Robert said quietly, pulling her tighter around him.  "The view's nice, too."  Grace's laugh fluttered across his neck, and Robert felt his muscles relax.  Those muscles that he didn't even realize had been taut, wondering if what he'd felt all week was something he had imagined.  Wondering if their meeting again would be awkward, or strange, or complicated.

      Jamie's voice came from Robert's left, "Hey, pal, if you can tear yourself away from my sister, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

      Robert turned, smiling at Jamie, who looked, if that was possible, more pleased even than he did.  As Robert turned, he gave Grace a peck on the cheek, whispering, "Later."  She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him as she walked away.  "The kitchen calls.  You're going to love this dinner, Mr. Meat and Potatoes."

      Robert turned to Jamie, and found him standing next to the man who had been talking with Alex earlier.  Robert hadn't gotten a good look at him, but now, with a start, he realized who he was. 

      In his work, Robert had met a few famous people, and again, as it always did, the reaction took him slightly aback.  The surreal moment when the person steps off the television or movie screen and puts their hand out to shake yours, flesh and blood, warmth, with a voice and a three-dimensional presence.  Not to mention the fact that people who were successful in the public eye generally had something indefinable that mere mortals didn't have.  Charisma, star power, whatever "it" was, that set them apart.  That, mixed with the familiarity of seeing them over and over in your living room or bedroom, like a family member, was what reduced most people to muteness or stuttering when they finally encountered someone famous.

      Walt Bonertz was used to it.  He had developed a steadiness over the years, and found that just keeping his hand out until the person across from him recovered was the best process.  It allowed them their reaction with a minimum of embarrassment, while he simply suspended time until they were prepared to shake his hand and get on with relating to him as another human being.

      Robert's recovery was very swift, Walt was grateful to note.  "Mr. Bonertz.  Very pleased to meet you.  I'm sure you hear this all the time, but you're somewhat of a hero of mine."  As he released Walt's hand, he continued. "You have great conviction in your beliefs.  That's pretty rare these days."  Thinking belatedly inside that he might have waited for the hero stuff, Robert was relieved to see a smile crinkle the other man's eyes.

      "Well, that's a real compliment, and I mean that.  That's actually how I'd like to be remembered.  But you need to call me Walt, or I'll feel uncomfortable calling you Robert, and we don't want that, do we?"

      "No, sir." Robert laughed, and amended, "No, we can't, Walt."

      "Good."  He motioned for Robert to sit down in the chair next to him.  "Jamie tells me you're a professional investigator.  Now that's got to be some interesting work, and I imagine it requires conviction and belief as well."  He took a sip of his scotch and soda.  "And, I understand we have a mutual acquaintance.  Elizabeth Preston?"  Walt laughed softly. "Very talented girl.  If I could get her to grow a conscience, I'd hire her in a flat second.  Maybe we can all work together to make that happen."

      As Walt said that, he looked up at Ellen, who was getting Cassie a soft drink.  In his eyes, Robert saw something, a light.  At first he thought it was attraction, but then he realized it was something deeper, more ethereal.  He believes.  And on the heels of that thought, Robert suddenly asked himself the question any self-respecting professional investigator should have asked the moment he walked into the room.

      What is Walt Bonertz doing here?

---

      Elizabeth clicked the remote, and watched as the flickering light from the television blinked out.  Now what was most visible were the streaks of sunlight across her apartment floor through the half-closed blinds.  It was much too warm for flannel pajamas, but they were her comfort clothes, and living in them for four days had given her a great deal of comfort.

      Those four days had yielded much new information for Elizabeth.  Very useful information.  Who the celebrities were on Dancing With The Stars.  That deliveries from Pizza Planet were generally late, but Mu Shu's Chinese came right on time.  That it was possible to eat an entire pint of ice cream in one sitting, as long as the movie on cable was compelling enough.  That her cell phone lost its charge in three days without being plugged in. And, most illuminating, that the human body didn't actually smell all that bad without a shower every day. 

      She discovered that she didn't have a non-legal book in her entire apartment, until she snuck downstairs in the middle of the night and borrowed the dog-eared copy of On-Call Vixens from the lobby.  In turn, from two readings of that fine piece of literature, she learned that all nurses are buxom, long-legged, and insatiable.

      These were things that Elizabeth hadn't allowed herself to learn in her single-minded pursuit of her goals.  Now she had time, and as she had reminded herself often in the last four days, maybe she did need a little rest.

      But since Tuesday, she had been much too busy to think at all about her future.  The scene in her office, her ex-office, she reminded herself, had faded into a place that she couldn't quite reach yet.  Elizabeth was sure that there would come a time when she would remember, and dissect, and analyze, but this just didn't seem to be the time, what with all she had to do.

      And, amazingly, one afternoon, was it Thursday, or today? she had watched "An Inconvenient Truth" in its entirety.  Al Gore's treatise on global warming, with ideas about the rising levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, the melting of the polar ice, and the eccentricity of weather.  At one point, inexplicably, she had cried, when he talked about almost losing his son to an accident.  Loss was very new to Elizabeth, and very raw, and anyone's loss seemed to trigger something in her that had no location, but spread like ink through her heart, and almost always resulted in tears.

      In fact, Elizabeth's tears were becoming practically legendary to her by now, because they sprang forth without warning, during flea and tick commercials, ten seconds of a soap opera during channel surfing, when the sun glinted in just the right way off of the Washington Monument in the distance, at the delicacy of the taste of a perfect potsticker, and even passages describing the unrequited love of one of the on-call vixens.

      If Elizabeth were really honest, she would admit that the tears were the reason she hadn't left her apartment except for the midnight mission to the lobby for literature.  She was afraid that the beauty of the interior of her car would release wracking sobs, or the kindness of someone allowing her to turn into their lane would dissolve her.  She had days ago stopped looking in the mirror at her puffy eyes, blotched face and full lips.  She thought everything about her seemed to be turning into the Elephant Man, including the soft folds of her belly, which hadn't seen a trip to the gym or even a sit-up, since she had tendered her resignation.

      Now, as she lay on the couch in the warm stuffiness of her airless apartment, she felt a tear plop into her ear, rendering her suddenly deaf on that side, and even that seemed sad and vaguely permanent.  Turning to allow the microsuede pillow to catch the tears that followed, Elizabeth sniffled and watched silver spots of dust fly in the sunny stripes from the blinds.

      The one thing Elizabeth had no trouble conjuring up was Walt Bonertz' voice.  At times she imagined him wearing overalls, with a stick of hay in his mouth, calling her Darlin' and smiling that big-tooth grin of his.  Other times, he was standing on the beach with her mother, his gray-white hair blowing in the wind, the ocean behind them, and both of them saying cheerfully, "Visit your Mama!" 

      Elizabeth didn't know whether these were dreams or just imaginings, because she hadn't been sleeping well, only a couple of hours at a time, day or night.  But she'd gotten tired of trying to think of something else, so sometimes she put herself at the beach with them, her own hair blowing, or sometimes she sat herself on the tractor, or what she thought a tractor looked like, with her own stick of hay dangling from her lips.

      And now, Elizabeth wondered if anyone even missed her.  Her mother had finally accomplished her goal and ruined Elizabeth's life, so she imagined herself checked off of that list.  No siblings, no friends, and now, no colleagues.     

      Rent was due today, but all of her bill payments were made automatically through the bank, and when the money ran out, she had a $75,000 line of credit that would be accessed.  Elizabeth calculated that she could lie on the couch for almost three months before anyone would even know she was here.  Another tear dripped wetly onto the pillow, gluing an eyelash to it in the process.

      And then, miraculously, the doorbell rang.  Elizabeth stared sideways at the door, as if it would open itself, but it didn't.  The bell rang again, and she managed to push herself upright to a sitting position.  She heard herself say, "Just a minute," and it sounded as if it came from the TV, a cheerful housewife voice on Leave It To Beaver.  Elizabeth had forgotten what she looked like, and instead she saw June Cleaver go to the door, in housedress and pearls, hair coiffed, and heels.

      Tim stood on the other side, a bunch of daisies and a bottle of wine in his hands, and his horrified look did little to snap Elizabeth out of whatever world she was in.

      "Oh my God, Miss Preston!"  Taking in the flannel pajamas, the Matthewed hair, red-rimmed, glazed eyes and swollen face, Tim wondered if Elizabeth had a seriously disturbed sister staying with her, but quickly assessed the situation and realized that this was, in fact, his former boss.

      Tim hadn’t often stood face to face with Elizabeth, as most of their interaction occurred with him standing, and her behind a large desk.  Without her power suit and her high heels, he was suddenly aware of how small she seemed, and how vulnerable.  Tim, a little over 6 feet, early-30’s, leanly muscular, with nearly jet-black hair and dark brown eyes, stood opposite her as if paralyzed for a moment.

      But the reason Tim Bradshaw was such a good assistant was that he took charge, and this was clearly a place where that was needed.  Keeping up an ongoing monologue, Tim took Elizabeth's arm and led her to the dining room table, where he sat her down. "I thought I ought to come see you, Miss Preston, because I called a couple of times and left messages, but hadn't heard back."  He found a vase on top of the cabinets, and put the daisies in water, placing them in front of her on the table.  He kept his tone purposely cheerful, upbeat.

      "It hasn't been the same without you at WLG, that's for sure.  They reassigned me to that horse's ass, excuse me, Wentworth, and I think I'll just die of boredom.  Contracts are his specialty, you remember, and all I've done is type for four straight days."  Tim opened the bottle of wine, after clearing the counter of Chinese food containers and pizza boxes.  He found two crystal wine glasses in the cupboard and poured, placing one in front of Elizabeth.

      "I didn't know whether I could get in downstairs, but, wouldn't you know it, someone was coming in just as I was, and I used the bottle of wine and the flowers to make it look like I couldn't get my key out.  An elderly lady.  She held the door for me and smiled."  Elizabeth wasn't drinking, so Tim sat down for a moment, raised his eyebrows, and placed the glass to her lips.  She took a sip, and it seemed to remind her of herself somehow.  Her eyes brightened a bit, and she took the glass from Tim, now following him with her eyes as he bustled about her kitchen.

      He had the kitchen clean within a few minutes, the dishwasher on and the trash can full. "Where does your trash go?"  To her inclined head, Tim said, "The hall?  OK, you just sit here and sip, and I'll be right back."  He propped the door open and was back within 30 seconds.

      "This is such a nice apartment building.  You should see the dump I live in.  I wouldn't prop my door open, that's for sure.  I'd come back from the garbage chute and everything would be gone."  Now he had moved to the living room, and was clearing the used tissues from every available surface and putting them in the trash.  More dishes, glasses, fast food containers into the kitchen.  Elizabeth watched him without a word, her eyes wide, sipping her wine.

      "So, you seem to be having a hard time of it, yes?  Change is so hard, and especially when it's just thrust upon you like that.  Everybody's talking about it.  They can't believe you resigned, and I must admit, I didn't really understand how it happened, so I can't even gossip with them!"  He laughed, and Elizabeth guessed it was appropriate for her to smile, so she did.  "Oh, that's good, I made you smile.  I feel better now."  With that, he sat himself down at the table with her.

      For a moment they just stared at each other.  Then Elizabeth remembered how worried she'd been that no one would come, and how she had no friends, and she thought, he's my friend, he came, and the tears started rolling down her cheeks like little boulders.

      Tim's face fell, "Oh, no, don't start that, we were just getting some tone back in your cheeks."  He stood up, looking for the box of tissues, and found it on the floor by the couch.  "What was it you said when you left?  It's not the end of the world?  You're such a bright, pretty girl.  Well, not now, particularly, but usually.  You'll find another job, Miss Preston, I'm sure of it.  Don't cry." 

      He dabbed at her cheeks, trying to stem the flow. "I never know what to do when women cry.  It just perplexes me."  He looked at her with exactly that expression, and Elizabeth smiled.  All on her own.  And she felt herself coming back, just a little.

      She took the tissue from him and dabbed her own eyes.  Then she looked up and said, "Thanks, Tim."

      He put his hands on either side of the table and laughed, "She speaks!  That's my girl!  I knew we could get you back if I talked long enough."  Tim walked over to the windows, flipping the blinds open to the last of the day's sunshine. "Well, you are welcome.  I've never appreciated you more than I have the last four days."  He refilled their glasses.  "You were never boring, that's for sure!"

      She looked up at him with a frown.  "I can't seem to pull myself together, Tim.  Why is that?"

      He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder.  "I've been pretty low myself at times, and I happen to believe that just by asking that question, you're on your way."  Using two fingers, he gingerly lifted a strand of her hair.  "But if you don't mind me saying so, this could use a wash."  He held her by the shoulders and raised her from the chair. 

      "I guarantee you that you'll feel much better if you go in and get yourself presentable.  I'll stay out here and wait, and then I'm taking you out to dinner.  Anywhere you want, as long as it's not over $100 for both of us.  That's all I've got in the budget."  He gave her a little push toward what he assumed was the bedroom.

      As Elizabeth padded down the hallway, she stopped and turned.  "I don't think I've been very nice to you, Tim.  Why are you doing this?"

      Tim suddenly got very serious, and walked over to her.  "Miss Preston, you are a ball buster, that's a fact."  He smiled, and continued, "You might not have always been nice, but you were always fair with me.  I think, after how hard you've worked, them just cutting you loose like that shows a real lack of class on the part of the firm.  I just thought you deserved some kindness."

      Elizabeth looked at him, and her eyes started to fill.  Tim rolled his eyes, and said, "Oh, no you don't.  None of that.  Get in the shower, or I'm not taking you anywhere."  He pushed her gently again, and she started walking down the hall, as he walked back and reached for his glass of wine on the table.  Watching her disappear into the bedroom, Tim walked over to the window, and raised the blinds all the way.  He wasn't sure what was going on here, but he knew he felt better than he had in four days.       

      Tim had taken a test once, and it assessed him as a superior "right-hand,"  meaning that he was at his best when he was supporting a leader.  Tim knew he wasn't a leader, and he was okay with that.  Being attached to Elizabeth Preston made him feel needed, and efficient, and somehow complete.  His interest was not romantic, and definitely not sexual.  She just made him feel good about himself.

      So, standing at the window, watching the capital city bustle below him, Tim made a decision.  He would follow Elizabeth Preston anywhere she decided to go.

     

---

     

      Leaning back in his chair, Walt placed his hands over his stomach.  "Grace, that was the best meal I've had in a very long time.  Thank you."  With that, he leaned forward and raised his wine glass across the table to her.  As the rest of the guests around Jamie's table joined in, Grace smiled and blushed appropriately.

      Alex stood and picked up his plate, and his mother's beside him.  Cassie stood too, and nodded her head.  "We'll clear the dishes."  She started to push through the swinging door to the kitchen.  "Anybody for dessert?"

      With a good-natured groan, Jamie said, "Later. Much later."

      After they had cleared the dinner dishes and Grace and Ellen had poured coffee, there was a short silence.  For just a moment, Walt looked at Ellen, his eyebrows raised.  Then, he took a deep breath. 

      "I invited myself here because I'm feeling like I need to do something, and I want some advice on how to go about it."  He picked up a crumb from the tablecloth and placed it on his bread plate.

      "I remember reading an article once, about Bill Gates.  He talked about the crushing responsibility of having so much money, because everybody and his brother was knocking on his door telling him he could wipe out this disease, or save that small country from starvation.  His solution was to start a foundation to make those decisions for him." 

      Walt looked up at each person around the table in turn. "Well, folks, we don't have a foundation, but we sure have that crushing responsibility."  He put his hands up in a question, "Who do we save?  Are y'all thinking like I am?  That the 'good' people get told, and the 'bad' people don't?  That we invite people who care about others, but leave the felons locked up in the prisons to drown?  And when I think that way, I ask myself, who the hell am I to be deciding?"  This last question was directed toward Ellen, and everyone turned to her.

      She smiled at each of them, her hands folded in front of her.  "The first thing I'd like to say is how grateful and proud I am to be a part of this group."  She reached over and took Grace's hand on her right.  "When I started with Grace, I had no idea where the ripples would lead.  My heart is full of all of you."  She blinked back the moisture that clouded her eyes, took a deep breath and continued.

      "Please, please remember that you're not alone in this.  There are so many others, just like me, sitting at tables, just like this, all over the world right now.  It's not up to you to decide who lives and who dies.  It's only up to you to decide if you will."

      Walt shook his head.  "I'm sorry to disagree with you, but that's not exactly true."  Ellen looked up and met his eyes as he explained. "I've worked practically my whole adult life for this planet, and I've had a degree of success at it.  That success has always come with responsibility, because, for whatever reason, people listen to what I have to say."  He paused, taking a sip of his coffee.

      "Mind you, I'm not overstating my power, I'm simply talking about the power of television, but I could call a news conference tonight, and every station would show up.  I could tell them what we're talking about here, and within seconds, they'd be shouting it out across the world."

      "Some would believe it, some wouldn't, but I happen to think it would cause a panic.  Again, some of that is because I've spent 30 years studying this planet, and people trust me.  But it's also because people believe what the news tells them to believe."

      Walt frowned.  "So, the way I see it, I have a choice to simply haul my own butt and those of my family up to safety and keep my mouth shut, or, I could hold that news conference.  Or more likely, something in that big old gray area in between.  But you bet your life, I've got a decision to make about that."

      For a beat, no one spoke, because each was really trying to imagine what their own decision would be.  Then, Robert looked up at Walt and said, "So you absolutely believe this will happen, even without the evidence of the 21st?"

      Walt laughed. "Son, if there are two things I know, it's the Earth and women, and I can't believe it's taken her this long."  His eyes glazed as he stared into his coffee.  "I lost my wife, Jenny, very early, but she was a pistol, that one.  She fought harder and longer than I thought a person could." 

      He looked up again, and spoke forcefully.  "It's sounds pretty bad, but the longer we live on this planet, the more I'm convinced of it.  We are a cancer on her.  And she's bound to fight us."

      Cassie took a deep breath and straightened.  "I don't think it's wrong to decide who's good and who's bad."  Everyone turned to her, waiting for her to continue.

      "Isn't that what Earth is doing?  She's deciding that the cities are bad because they hurt her, but aren't those cities bad because of decisions that the people in them make?  If she had her choice, don't you think that the people left over after all this are the ones who will be kind to her and to each other?"

      Now Cassie was getting fired up. "Leaders have to make choices.  The President has to decide every day who lives and who dies, who gets help and who doesn't, who gets sent to war and who stays home." She shrugged, and spoke more quietly. "Maybe we just have to decide to be leaders."

      Robert tilted his head at Cassie.  He was prouder of her in this moment than he could remember being of anything.

      Walt leaned back and smiled at her.  "Thank you, Cassandra.  I needed to be reminded of that.  You spoke your piece very well, I might add."  Looking around, he boomed a laugh, "Hell, there might be hope for us yet."

      Grace spoke next.  "Walt, you must have quite a mailing list, right?"  She smiled over at Cassie. "Of the good and the bad?"  Cassie returned her smile.

      Walt nodded.  "About 60,000 names of folks who have donated to my causes over the years, another 10,000 of people at non-profit organizations doing good in the world, and yes, a smaller number of those I consider to be enemies of the planet."

      Grace tapped her spoon lightly as she thought, "What about a mailing to the 70,000, just asking them to pay attention on the 21st, telling them what you think will happen.  You could include a map, with Ellen's help, of the places that will be safe, and what you think they'll need to take."

      Walt sat back. "If even half of those people believed, they and their families, that would be a lot of folks saved."  Frowning, he continued, "But something like that would hit the news pretty fast.  That mailing would be reproduced before we knew it.  Wouldn't that cause the same panic as a news conference?"

      Jamie shook his head, speaking slowly. "I don't think so.  People react differently to something in print.  They encounter it more calmly, in quiet, without the hysteria of microphones being shoved in people's faces, and flashbulbs going off."  He turned to Walt. “Those who believe in you may believe it.  Those who don’t will think it’s a joke, or a scam.”

      Philip chimed in. "OK, everybody, now you're in my territory.  This is what we do.  Walt, you send out this mailing, and then, you lay very low.  No interviews, no TV, nothing.  Shelley, in your office, she speaks for you, just like the Press Secretary at the White House.  That always diffuses the drama, because the public doesn't get to see you, and you are who they want."  Philip reached over for the bottle of wine, and poured himself half a glass.

      "We just have to be sure the mailing is complete, so that people aren't feeling the need for more information.  That way they can decide for themselves, in their own homes.  As Jamie said.  Quietly."  Philip rolled his eyes. "Oh, God, a publicist's dream, and it takes the end of the world for me to get it!"

      Jamie smiled at his friend, and then looked at Ellen.  "How do we tell them where to go?  Do you know?"

      Ellen smiled.  "I have the perfect thing.  I was sitting at the computer with Alex the other day and he showed me something he found."  She smiled over to Alex, and nodded for him to continue.

      Alex leaned forward. "Have you guys seen that map of the world from space?  The one that shows all the lights burning in different countries?  It's amazing.  The eastern part of the United States is just blazing, the coastlines and California, so is Europe, and Japan is just this pure white line in the black ocean, India is really bright, and parts of Mexico."  Alex looked at Ellen.  "Ellen says that's what will happen.  The dark places are safe, and the really bright ones will go under."

      Robert shook his head. "I've seen that map.  What does that leave us?  The Sahara Desert, the rainforest, Greenland?  People can't live in those places."

      Ellen smiled at Robert.  "You're thinking in terms of what you know now.  It will all be different.  From what I can see, an entire continent will rise up under Hawaii so that those islands are only the peaks of very tall mountains covered in snow most of the year.  The eastern part of this country will sink, but another continent will rise from under Bermuda that will reach almost to where Europe used to be.  The weather in the Sahara will change, so will the poles."

      Silence.  Then, "Wow,"  from Jamie, and a deep exhale from Philip.  Finally, Grace spoke again, softly.  "What about the cities?  They stay under water and rust?  Isn't all that stuff going to just sit in the oceans and pollute them too?"

      Ellen shook her head.  "I guess the best way to describe it is what it's like to turn a sock inside out.  She'll pull it all into her core gradually, where it incinerates, doing no harm.  It's why there's no evidence of Atlantis and other civilizations.  Over time, it simply won't exist."

      Philip looked around the table with a thin smile.  "We're going to need some new maps, but I guess the one from space will have to do for the mailing."  He looked at Walt. "Can your staff have 70,000 copies printed?"

      Walt nodded to Philip.  "I'll get them on it tomorrow, after I explain all this to them.  We don't have much time to get this whole thing together.  And while we're at it, where am I supposed to lay low?"

      Jamie smiled at Philip, who leaned in to Walt. 

      "Tell me, Walt, have you ever seen Northern Idaho?"

---

      Daniel was swimming up from a very deep, very black hole.  He could see just a pinpoint of light up above, and he sensed prayer in his head, but the words were muddled, as if they were in a different language.  His arms and legs weren’t working, so he just floated for a time, trying to will himself up, up, toward the light.

      Now he could hear a sweet voice in his ear, Marla’s, calling him.

      “Danny? Open your eyes, baby.  You’ve been asleep for so long.  Please wake up, Danny.  I’m so scared.”

      He could feel a hand on his now, and then suddenly the pain in his left knee, throbbing, sending bolts of lightning from his ankle to his groin.  The pain brought him to the surface, and he gasped, sucking in huge gulps of air, his eyes wide.  Marla jumped back, still holding his hand, and he found himself looking around her bedroom, the simple quilt bedspread, the table and chair, and directly across from him, the large print of Jesus with eyes that followed you wherever you were in the room.  Now those eyes were on Daniel, and he squeezed his own eyes shut to avoid their infinitely compassionate stare.

      “Danny?  Can you talk?  I don’t know what to do.  Please, please tell me what to do, Danny.”  Marla was crying, her sobs releasing in contractions that spread down to her hand, which twitched convulsively in Daniel’s.  He shook his hand out of hers, and looked at her as if he didn’t know who she was, a deep frown furrowing his face into an angry mask.

      Now Marla was speaking all the things she had held in her terror of the last week, “I didn’t know whether I should call an ambulance, but you said, no, to never call a doctor, or the hospital, or take you anywhere.  You said you’d die here if you needed to, but they weren’t going to put you in prison.”  The tears were streaming down Marla’s face now, her voice full of hiccups and gasps.  “Danny, what did you do?  How did you get a bullet in you?  Why can’t I take you to the hospital?  You said that you were doing God’s work, but why would they put you in prison for that?  I’ve been so scared, Danny, so scared!”  Now Marla just gave up and put her head on the bed next to him, pouring her tears into the quilt, shaking.

      Slowly, so slowly, Daniel raised his hand and laid it on Marla’s head, letting it rest there as he found his way back.  He still couldn’t quite catch his breath, and his heart was beating too fast, but the pain was settling into his consciousness, still sharp, but not such a surprise.  Marla’s crying calmed, and soon they both lay silent.

      “You did everything right, Marlie.  You couldn’t have done any better.  I’m alive because of you.”  But why can’t I breathe?  “Can you get me a glass of water?  I’m so thirsty.”

      Marla jumped up, tears still streaking her face, but so glad to finally be getting some direction.

      While she ran to the kitchen, Daniel, groaning, pushed himself up on the pillows so that he could see his legs.  He slowly pulled the covers back from his left leg, and looked down toward his knee.  Sighing, he leaned back, covering his leg again.  Daniel had seen enough in the war to know that he was in serious trouble.  His leg was swollen to almost twice its size, and the black skin had begun to spread as the gangrene gasses killed the healthy skin around the wound.

      Daniel lay back, panting.  Sepsis.  Septic shock.  Hard to breathe, heart pounding, fever.  All the symptoms were there.  Looking around at the table beside him, Daniel saw three plastic bottles of Isopropyl Alcohol, one half full.  Marla had done her best, but Daniel knew he had a choice.  Either get himself some antibiotics, or die. 

      Pulling himself up again, Daniel forced himself to look at his knee.  Marla came back into the room, a glass of water in her hand.  “Marlie, get me a mirror, will you?”  She moved to her dressing table, and brought back a hand mirror.  “Hold it right there, at my knee, yes, there, I need to look at where the bullet went in.”

      Daniel groaned with the effort, straining forward to look.  The gangrenous skin had peeled back around a nearly perfect circle.  No doctor in the world could mistake what had caused the injury.  He fell back dully on the pillows.

      “Oh, Danny, I tried.  I didn’t know what to do.”  The tears were starting again. “I almost asked Maddie at the church, but you said no, so I didn’t.”  She looked at Daniel with wide, moist eyes. “Danny, we need help.  I don’t want you to go to sleep and leave me alone again.  Please let me call somebody and get some help.  Please, Danny.”

      Putting his hand up and closing his eyes, Daniel spoke softly. “Marlie.  I need to think.”  His breath was shallow, and the pain in his leg was threatening his consciousness.  He knew he had to make a decision quickly.  Just like the decisions the medics made in ‘Nam.  Daniel had seen wounds like this before, when the helicopters couldn’t get there in time, and infection made it impossible to save the soldier and the leg.

      Now Daniel’s mind was separating from his body, calculating survival rates and the angle of the cut, just above the knee.  No knee, no evidence of the bullet.  Tourniquet, very tight.  Do it in the car, at the dump, and bury the leg under the trash.  Decomposition will get rid of whatever evidence is left.  Then Marla drives me to the emergency room.

      So how did it happen?  Camping.  Tree fell on my leg, I’ve been lying there for a week, Marla finally found me just as I cut the leg off.  Came straight to the hospital.  Daniel picked up the mirror from his side and looked at himself.  Except for how clean Marla had kept him, he looked like he could have been alone in the woods for a week, dark circles, beard stubble, haggard-looking.  A lot of dirt would do the rest.

      Daniel’s decision was made. Perseverence in suffering.  He looked up to the print of Jesus, whose compassionate eyes were full of love.  In his outstretched hands,  Daniel suddenly saw what he had never seen there before, The Book of Job.  A man of unwavering faith, subjected to unspeakable suffering.  But Job remained steadfast, and was rewarded with a long life and eternal glory.  As I will be.

      Once the antibiotics have done their work and the stump is beginning to heal, I will go back to my task. No more than a week.  I’ll leave the hospital whether they release me or not. And this time, I won’t be taken by surprise.  This time I will have my own gun.

      Leaning up on his elbows, Daniel looked at Marla.  She had been sitting, hardly breathing, watching him think.  “Marlie, do you trust me?

      “Yes, Danny.”

      “Then I need you to get these things and put them in the car, and not ask me any questions.”

      “OK, Danny.”

      Daniel tilted his head toward the pen and paper on the desk.  “Write it down, honey, it’s a lot to remember.”

      Marla got the pad and looked intently into his eyes, pen poised to write.

      “Garbage bag, heavy duty, one of the green ones.  Lots of rags.  A small bag of dirt from the back yard.  One of my belts, a thin one.  The long steel kitchen knife and sharpener.”  At this last item, Marla looked up at him, her eyes full of terror.

      “Do you trust me, Marlie?”  Daniel’s voice was a snarl.  “I need you to be strong.”

      Marla spoke hardly above a whisper.  “Yes, Danny.”

      “Good.  Put those things in the car, and bring me my camo shirt and pants, after you’ve rubbed them around in the mud in the back.  Get them real dirty.  And bring me my boot.  Just the right one.” 

      Now Marla was beginning to understand, and she shook her head, slowly, “No, Danny, no, you can’t, no.”

      Daniel raised his voice now, as much as his breath would allow.  “Do you have a better idea?  Do you want me to go to prison?”

      “No, Danny, but there must be another way, there must be.”

      “There isn’t.  Now go.  I don’t have much time.  I need to get to a hospital, or I’ll go to sleep again.”   The last words came out softly, with little air to bolster them.  Marla’s terror now took over, and she jumped up.

      “OK, I’ll get them.  Don’t go to sleep, Danny.  Please.  I can’t do anything without you to tell me.  Please.”

      As she moved toward the door, Daniel reached out his hand. “One more thing, honey.”

      “What, Danny?  What else?”

      “Get the Bible.  I want you to read to me.  From the Book of Job.  It will help me do what I have to do.”

      As she scurried out, Daniel closed his eyes. 

      God give me strength.

---

      Robert couldn’t believe his eyes.  After hours and days on end of watching the red station wagon outside of Marla’s house, of following her, day after day, to the pharmacy, to the grocery store, to her beloved church, and days and days when nothing, nothing, would happen, it was gone.  The car was gone.  And it had been gone for the three hours Robert had sat waiting for it to come back.

      Marla had never been gone for this long, not in all the days Robert, and before that, his PI  buddies, had been watching the house.  Twenty minutes, tops, and only to go to a store to get something, then she would rush back up the front steps, panting, sometimes crying, clearly worried sick.  She didn’t even stay for the full church service.  Only communion, and a quick prayer after, kneeling in the back, eyes squeezed shut so tight that Robert imagined she saw stars, or worse.  Praying, always praying.  For Daniel.  Robert knew it, deep inside.  She prayed for Daniel.

      As Robert looked up to the dark apartment, he knew there was no one inside.  Marla never left the lights off when she left.  Always the first window on the left had a soft glow behind the shades, all night.  And now it was dark.

      Did he die?  What would she do?  A man that size couldn’t be lifted by her alone.  Would she just leave him there?  An hour ago, Robert had gone to Marla’s church, half expecting her to be kneeling in the back pew, praying for her brother’s eternal soul.  But she wasn’t there.

      He had gone back to her apartment, hoping to see the wagon, his heart sinking when the curb in front was still empty.

      Did they go to Daniel’s apartment?  Robert had driven by, and it was still pitch dark, as always.  And no wagon in front.

      To a hospital?  If he did, he would have needed to get there under his own power, because no one but Marla had gone into or out of her apartment in all this time they’d had it staked out.  There were only two other tenants, both elderly women.  Robert considered calling SFPD to get names of admissions with leg wounds fitting Daniel’s description, but that came with a whole set of questions that couldn’t be answered.  And then it involved Grace, and why he had discharged his weapon, and more time than any of them had to give. 

      Grace.  The reason he hadn’t been here when the wagon drove away.  Sometime between 4:00 p.m. and 8:30 p.m., while he was with Grace and Alex, celebrating their birthdays.  They went to Vista Point, the tourist spot right next to the Golden Gate that looked out over the San Francisco Bay and the City beyond it.  Alex’s wish for his birthday was to take panoramic photos that showed the city with Angel Island and Alcatraz, and all three bridges.  He wanted to blow the photos up, paper the walls of his room in St. Maries, and, as he put it, never forget.

      It was a celebration like all the others they had been having lately, bittersweet, moving, and full of laughter.  Teresa brought Aaron and Pauley, and for the first time, Robert met her husband, Ron, who took in the proceedings with the kind of indulgence one would give to a dotty old aunt.  Robert knew that Teresa was moving closer to a decision, and had already decided that a “visit” to Idaho with the kids this summer couldn’t hurt.  Ron wasn’t going to join them.  He called it their “holiday” and was pretty transparent about his joy at having the house to himself.  He had taken Robert aside, man to man, and mentioned that he was looking forward to being able to work as many hours as he wanted, with no arguments, and couldn’t we all use a little of that.

      They staked out a piece of the wall overlooking the water, and the increasingly tight group of Jamie, Philip, Cheryl, Christopher, Ellen, Teresa’s family, and Robert and Cassie had raised their glasses to the beauty of the sunset, and spoken aloud Alex’s wish.  Never forget.

      Walt’s letter would go out this week, and although St. Maries wasn’t mentioned by name, northern Idaho was one of the areas listed.  None of them knew what to expect, but Walt had asked if there was space there for him, his children and their families, and those in his offices who wanted to come.  The dorms were filling up fast.

      Robert already knew he cared deeply for Grace, and his respect for her had been growing as each day passed.  He hadn’t been exposed to the process of caring for people at home, but he thought running a home care business was nearly the best preparation for what she had taken on.  Everything she did was fueled by her desire for people’s comfort, whether physical or emotional.  And Robert found himself wondering who was going to take care of Grace when all was said and done.

      He saw the pain wash over Grace as she stood at the wall and watched her son gaze out at the water, sparkling gold and red in the sunset.  He turned to Cassie then, to see the identical look in her eyes. Without thinking, he linked his arms with Grace on one side and Cassie on the other, and Grace put her arm around Alex.  The four of them stood, silent, and he felt, suddenly, that they were a wall, strong enough to withstand the rise of the water. 

      Staring upwards at the red tower of the Golden Gate almost directly above their heads, Robert remembered a time when he was a boy, sinking on purpose to the bottom of a friend’s swimming pool.  He had sat there in the deepest part of the pool and looked up to see the surface rippling above him.  It was indescribably magical to him, with the sunlight making shimmering patterns on the bottom and sides of the pool, and on his arms and legs.  And so quiet, with just the muffled noises of his friends playing Marco Polo above, and the tiny bubbles escaping from his mouth and nose.  Remembering the peace and solitude of that moment, Robert’s eyes blurred, and then everything, up to the tops of the bridges, seemed to be under water.

      When he brought his eyes back down, Grace was looking at him, her eyes wet, with a depth of feeling he couldn’t begin to explain.  Unblinking, she simply said, “I know.”

      And he fell in love with her.  That was that.  He knew that he was going to Idaho, that he would follow her to the end of the earth if he had to.  That he wanted to keep her safe, and hold her always.  And that moment went right to the top of the charts.

      He turned to Cassie still looking out over the water, and leaned in to her, whispering in her ear. “You still want to go, Cass?”  She looked up at him, hope in her eyes, and nodded.  All he said was, “OK.”  Both of her arms flew around his waist as she hugged him tightly, and Robert turned to Grace.

      He gave her a crooked smile.  “If there’s room, we’d like to come with you, Cass and me.”  Grace threw her head back with a deep sigh, laughing.  “Well, it’s about goddamned time!’

      After that, they had birthday cake, shielding the candles from the wind off the Bay by creating a circle with the cake in the center.  Grace and Alex kneeled in the circle and blew out the candles as everyone sang.  And every person there, in their own varying degrees, knew that any birthday that followed this one would be different, harder maybe, more or less beautiful, but important, unusual and precious.  Grace hugged Alex for a long time before anyone realized that they both were crying.

      The group broke up slowly, each finding their way to their cars, some making the big turn back to the City, some on to their homes on the north side of the Bay.  As Grace packed up, Robert moved behind her and put his arms around her to warm her in the wind.  She leaned into him, and he whispered, “I need to talk to you.”

      She snuggled backwards into his shoulder, saying, “Having second thoughts?”  But he could hear the smile in her voice.

      “No.”  He held her for a moment, nervously trying to find the words.  “I just wanted you to know why I decided to come with you.”

      Still not looking at him, she teased, “Because you can’t live without me?”

      His voice low and serious, Robert said, “As a matter of fact. Yes.”

      Grace whirled around, her eyes bright. “Really?”

      Robert nodded, smiling.  The wind was creating something with her curls that he wished he could capture on canvas.  He felt her shiver, and pulled his coat around both of them.

      Grace leaned into him, tickling his cheek with her hair.  “I’m glad.  Because although I could live without you, I don’t really want to.”

      He tipped her chin up and felt the warmth of her lips, so delicious in the cold of the wind.  Into her hair, he murmured, laughing, incredulous. “Has it only been a week?  How is that possible?”

      She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Strange times.  That’s what makes it possible. Everything seems to be going faster.”  With a flicker of green, her eyes danced as she spoke very slowly and deliberately. “That, and the fact that you…keep…kissing…me.”

      They had said goodbye, reluctantly, as he felt the pull of the surveillance.  Now the guilt was starting to seep in.  He had called a few friends, but everyone was on jobs.  Robert thought it would be okay for a couple of hours.  Because you didn’t keep your eye on the ball, boyo.  Shouldn’t have gone.  Now maybe he’s loose, and she’s in danger again.

      Robert pulled out his cell phone and pressed in Jamie’s number.  Better to give them a warning.  If Daniel was well enough to walk out the door, he was dangerous to Grace and Ellen. 

      And Daniel knew where Jamie lived.

---

      Grace sat back from the computer, rubbing her eyes.  She had found the definitive website for what was called “simple living.”  Lehman’s.  She discovered it by starting with the research Alex had done, and just about everyone in the homesteading message boards swore by it.

      But what Grace was discovering was that simple living didn’t really seem all that simple when you got right down to it.  Or inexpensive.  A composting toilet cost over $1,200, and how many of them would they need?  Wood cookstoves were between $3,000 and $5,000, and most of them were backordered.  Fortunately, Jamie had said that money was no object, and he was already stirring up the industry press by selling off his entire inventory at bargain prices.  Next would be the designs, and after that, the brick and mortar.  So they had plenty of money to work with, and more than once as she placed an order for supplies Grace was very thankful for her brother’s success.

      Whenever Grace thought about Angel’s Grace, however, she was sick at heart.  She knew every client personally, and every aide.  The clients were elderly, sick, demented, and generally unable to travel. Although it was hard for her to voice, Grace knew that their lives would be very hard, if not impossible, without modern hospitals, drugs, and machines that needed power.  Just trying to explain what was happening to them and to their families was more than Grace could accomplish in the time she had left.     

      Although Jamie suggested that she sell the business, Grace couldn’t bring herself to do it.  Not because she believed she would come back to it, because now she was deeply convinced that everything Ellen was predicting would come to pass.  She couldn’t sell the business because somehow it meant giving up on the 53 lives she currently held in her care. 

      Cheryl talked with a group of aides that she and Grace most trusted, and gave them the option of coming to Idaho or taking over the business if they decided to stay.  It looked like there were three who wanted to share the responsibility, and, if the fantastic stories Cheryl was telling them were actually true, they pledged to make everyone as comfortable as possible for as long as possible.

      Grace was so grateful in the difficult moments for Ellen and her higher view, and she hoped that she wasn’t just grasping for something to make her feel better about leaving them all behind.

      “This isn’t going to be a world for the very sick, Grace.  Better for them to move back over to the other side and join us later in strong, healthy bodies.  Bringing them with us would only prolong their pain and yours.”

      One afternoon at Jamie’s, Grace had talked with Ellen about her meeting with Abby in the train tunnel, and the joy she felt in her presence.  “I love life, Ellen, but I didn’t want to come back.  I wanted to stay there with her, to see what was beyond her, to experience everything you’ve talked about.”  Ellen smiled and put her warm hand gently on Grace’s cheek. “I know.  It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

      “So that’s where they’ll all go?  Those in Angel Grace’s care?”  Her eyes pleaded with Ellen for absolution, asking forgiveness for what Grace considered abandonment.

      “Yes, Grace.  It’s where we all go.”  She took Grace’s hand in hers. “You’ve done all you can for them.  It’s time to let go.  Do you know how many lives you’ve already saved?  What a difference you’ve already made?  It’s impossible to calculate.”

      Grace’s tears had started then. “Not enough.  I don’t think it’s enough.”

      Ellen had held her and rocked her like a child.  “It’s enough, Grace.”

      Reining in her thoughts, Grace stared at the computer screen, pulled up her list again, and double-checked that everything had been ordered.  Thank God for Marjorie Cramer.  Grace had talked with Marjorie for over three hours on the phone, and even passed the phone to Ellen for a time.  Matthew’s parents turned out to be the best allies Grace could have hoped for, and their response to the news still made Grace smile.

      After an intial reaction that consisted of “Oh, dear!”  Marjorie had sighed and said,“Well, it’s not surprising, now is it, Gracie?”  With a chuckle, she said, “John and I always knew that St. Maries was Heaven, and we’re glad Mother Earth agrees.  We’ll be glad to have all the company, to tell you the truth!”  So John and Marjorie were overseeing the builders, allowing Grace to stay in San Francisco to tie up loose ends.  Grace put funds into the Cramers’ bank account so that they could purchase additional cows, sheep, ducks, chicken, geese, and turkeys for the farm.  John would be acquiring the horses, mules and equipment they would need for farming and transportation.  Grace shook her head, thinking about it.  They’re actually having fun.  After so much sadness in their family, Grace did think they looked forward to the crowd.

      Maggie was a different story.  Her reaction was what Grace had expected, and in fact, Grace hadn’t even been able to tell her everything before Maggie cut her off.  “Look, you, this is my house.  I know you think you own it, you and that brother of yours, but your father left this house to me, whether he wrote it down or not.”  Grace had purposely called in the morning, hoping to get Maggie before she started on the bourbon, but it was clearly too late.

      “You start bringing people here, and I’ll throw them out on their goddamned ears.” Maggie’s voice rose another octave in her anger.  “And while we’re at it, what the hell are all these people doing out there in the field?  There must be a hundred of them, crawling around out there, them and their noisy equipment, they wake me up at dawn-friggin-thirty every morning with beep-beep-beep, and yelling to each other.  I want that to stop!  You make that happen, miss, or I call the police!”

      Once Grace realized that Maggie had hung up on her, Jamie called the St. Maries Police Department, and had a nice talk with Chief Marsten.  Fortunately, or not, the Chief had already had a few dealings with Maggie Hamilton Delaney, most involving the phrase “drunk and disorderly.”

      Jamie was glad he had spent some time looking up old friends when he was last in St. Maries, and he was at his local-boy best on the phone. “Thanks, Steve, I appreciate it.  No, just rebuilding the barn, and putting in a little more storage.  Oh, I know, that barn has been standing for a lot of years, it could use a little help. Uh, huh, you’ll find the deed is in my name and Gracie’s, on record with Benewah County.  Oh, gosh, the city is just getting too crowded.  Thought we might spend a little more time in that beautiful country up there.  Yeah, we’ll do our best to keep Maggie out of the tavern.  Should be up there within the month for sure.  Thanks, Steve.  Say hi to Nancy.”

      Grace and Jamie really had no idea what they would do about Maggie.  Her name moved over to the list headed “Deal With Later.”

      Aside from Cassie’s high school graduation on Friday, which Grace and Alex planned on attending with Robert, there were just two pieces of unfinished business for Grace. 

      In a deep hole under the oak tree in Inverness, there still lay a small wooden box wrapped tightly in plastic.  Inside the box, placed carefully on its padded satin interior, was a plastic Zip-lok bag that held Andrew’s ashes, sparkling with glitter.  Grace knew he wasn’t in the box, and that she could find his spirit anywhere, but she still wanted very much to  place this symbol of Andrew under a tree in St. Maries to keep it dry.

      The second was a memory she wanted to take with her.  When Alex was little, they had often gone to Fisherman’s Wharf to enjoy the free entertainment of jugglers, the callers in the fish market, and the myriad of tourists that filled the streets on weekends.  But their favorite thing to do was to walk down toward the Maritime Museum and sit on the cement steps of the amphitheatre at Aquatic Park and listen to the drummers. 

      People would come from all around the Bay Area to join in, with bongos, metal pipes, large African drums, cymbals, wood blocks, tambourines, congas, broom handles, steel drums, and whatever they could get their hands on.  In the naturally exceptional acoustics of the semi-circular arena, a beat would start.  Then, as people moved up the steps and sat with their instruments, it would take on a life of its own, moving the rhythm through Grace’s skin and into her bones as she and Alex sat, eyes closed, and listened.  No, more than listened, they felt. And long after they had taken the cable car back up the hill to Jamie’s, they could feel the drums moving through their bodies, vibrating.

      Grace and Alex wanted that feeling once more, and Ellen, who had never experienced it, was fascinated by the idea.  Jamie, Cassie and Robert had heard about the drummers in Aquatic Park, but had never gone.  So, on Sunday the 10^th,  it was decided that the whole group would venture down to the Wharf, eat fresh crab, throw coins in the hats of the street musicians, and sit with the drummers before they left for St. Maries.

      Grace stood up and stretched, walking toward the window.  The fog had rolled in, and she knew it was cool outside, although Jamie’s apartment was cozy.  Grace kneeled on the couch, placing her chin on her hands over the back cushions, pressing her nose close to the cold window.  Her breath rose and fell in a foggy circle of its own on the glass.

      Worrying never helps anything.  A month ago, she had just the barest of plans for her summer.  Update the scrapbooks.  Take some golf lessons. Look at colleges with Alex.  And she had thought, distractedly, that it would be nice to be in a relationship again.

      Now the scrapbooks were packed, more precious than ever.  Golf would be in the apple orchard at the farmhouse.  Alex would learn what he needed from daily life, and the huge supply of books she and Jamie had chosen to be shipped to St. Maries.  And Grace was pretty sure she was in love with Robert Hart.

      Pretty sure.  Everything was moving so quickly around them, and Robert and Grace were, if nothing else, normally level-headed.  But nothing was normal anymore, and they clung to each other for buoyancy as if the water were rising around them already.

      Grace closed her eyes and let the chill run down her spine again as she remembered their conversation at Vista Point.  With Robert’s arms around her, the salt tang of the wind and the sparkling lights of the City in the distance, he had said he was coming to Idaho because he wanted to be with her.  And when she looked into his eyes, she saw, and felt, love.

      And because they were so level-headed, they were still dancing around it, unable to say the words.  Too soon.  Those were the words that came to mind.  But she wanted to know everything about him.  What his dreams were, what he was like as a child, everything.  So far, they had only kissed, but Grace knew they were headed for more, much more.  She felt safe in his arms, and found she longed for him, to know all parts of him, and to wake up in the morning looking at his sweet smile and tousled hair.

      There will be time.  Long evenings by firelight in St. Maries.  No TV, no CDs, no DVDs, no cable, no radio.  At least for a time.  Teresa’s brother Gerald was an electrical engineer, and his task was to formulate the way they would ultimately create power sources.  Possibly wind and water.  Solar was a given, and the panels were being shipped to go on the dorm roofs, but Ellen told them that the shift might be violent, so everything would stay packed away safely until things settled.  It was a scary thought that anything lost would be impossible to replace, especially to people raised through generations of abundant supply.

      Again, she told herself, worrying never helps anything.  So, Grace, the ultimate planner, was taking each minute as it came to her.  Gather as many things as we can, then batten down the hatches.  We have each other, and we have Earth.  She will guide us, through Ellen.

      The fog moved slowly across the Bay, obscuring the water from Grace’s perch up on the hill.  A mail truck made its way slowly up the street, stopping at each box and  moving on.  Grace pulled her sweater on and went to the door.  I wonder if it will be today. 

      Grace peered down the street in both directions.  Robert had told her never to open the door or go outside alone.  Daniel still hadn’t surfaced.  Grace knew she should call Jamie from the back of the house and have him get the mail, but she was tired of being cooped up.  No one was coming from either side, and the cool, damp air had discouraged people from going outside, so the sidewalks were empty.  Everyone is just being overprotective.

      Walking down the steps to the box, Grace felt her heart beginning to pound, wondering if the letter was there.  Why does this make it more real?  Because more people will know now?  She reached into the box and grabbed the mail, looking left and right, and then ran back up the steps into the safety of the house, locking the door behind her.

      Breathing hard, Grace leafed through the catalogs and bills until she found what she simultaneously hoped for, and dreaded.

      The envelope was green. Nice touch. On the outside, in bold letters, next to the “blue marble” photo of the earth were four sentences, stacked one on top of the other: “What’s inside this envelope is for you.  I’m not asking for money.  I’m offering you a chance to live.  Please read what I have to say.”  The return address said simply, Walt Bonertz.      

---

      I really should be looking for a job.  Instead, Elizabeth Preston was surfing the internet.  Not doing research for a brief.  Not looking for dirt on a prosecutor.  Just surfing.

      Instead of the flannel pajamas, she wore jeans and a tee, and since her dinner with Tim last Friday, she was steadily moving toward joining the living again.  Elizabeth still felt strange about not getting up and going to work, but this morning she was actually relaxed as she sipped her freshly-ground French Roast in her mostly tidy apartment.

      She certainly had enough money to warrant some time off work.  But most of all, Elizabeth felt, for the first time in her life, as if she were at a crossroads.  A place to make choices.  Choice had never really figured into her life, because her goals always gave her a straight line to follow.  Her designer shoes had walked that line religiously for so many years that it was slightly terrifying for her to step off.  Well, I got pushed off, didn’t I?  Now what?

      And who would have thought that Tim Bradshaw would be her savior?  As an Associate-trying-to-make-Partner, Elizabeth had never looked at Tim as anything but her assistant, a means to an end, not even a person, really.  Now she shuddered, wondering where she would be if Tim hadn’t shown up the way he did.  Probably still on the couch, mumbling to myself. 

      Tim had pulled her back, slowly, spending almost the entire weekend making sure she got up, got showered and dressed, and went out into the world.  They shopped, ate lunch, went to a movie, had drinks, then went to the theatre on Saturday.  Sunday they got coffee, went to the Lincoln Memorial and ate deli sandwiches by the reflecting pool, drinking in the sunshine.

      Elizabeth had a bit of a relapse as she read the words behind Lincoln’s head, “In this temple as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the Union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever.”  Her tears fell, and she tried to remember why she became a lawyer, as Tim literally talked her through her depression.

      “Miss Preston, you are one of the best, and I’ve seen my share, let me tell you.”  When she smiled and asked him finally to call her Elizabeth, Tim smiled and said, genuinely,
“Thank you.”

      “Elizabeth,” the name sounded stilted coming from him, but he shyly soldiered on, “Elizabeth, I think you need to keep using that gift of yours.  Don’t even think about not being a lawyer anymore.  But find someone who appreciates you.  Don’t waste your talents on assholes.”  Tim surprised himself and Elizabeth with his profanity, and both laughed out loud.  Somehow, Elizabeth couldn’t wallow when she was with him.  It just seemed silly and self-important.

      They talked for a long time then, about how she started in law, and what her hopes were.  She surprised herself by telling him everything, and somewhere in the middle of her story, she thought, this must be what it’s like to have a friend.  But just a friend. 

      Elizabeth had a serious boyfriend in high school, and all the drama that went with it.  Once she started on her path with real ambition, she realized that there was no room in her life for either the boy or the drama, so aside from a few no-strings dates that furthered her career, Elizabeth hadn’t been romantically involved in many years.

      And although she was out of practice, she knew she and Tim weren’t attracted to each other in that way.  They just fit together, and neither of them asked why.

      He listened so well.  And asked real questions, like he really wanted to know how she felt, and that made her ask herself how she felt, something she didn’t often do.  Elizabeth couldn’t put words to it.  The closest she could come was that it was like talking to herself, but a self that cared, and Elizabeth hadn’t even done that for herself very much.  Her mind twisted in circles, and her emotions roller-coastered, but in her loss, she just floated with it, knowing that Tim would pull her back down if she got too far away.

      And they laughed.  The sound of her own laughter pleased Elizabeth, because it was so new.  Not the forced giggle she’d used with male clients, or the masculine humph she copied from the partners as they told off-color jokes.  No, this had music to it, like the high keys of the piano, and it bubbled up from a place that wasn’t forced.  It just happened.

      When Tim brought her home on Sunday night, she said offhandedly, while getting out of his car, “What are we doing tomorrow?”

      “Well, Elizabeth, although you are a lady of leisure, I am a working stiff.  I have to go to work.” 

      That fact clearly hadn’t occurred to Elizabeth, and she said, “Oh, right.  Sorry.  Well, have a good day at work.  Maybe I’ll talk to you tomorrow night?”

      Tim smiled and nodded.  “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”  As she got out of the car, Tim angled down to peer out the passenger side window at her.  “Elizabeth?”

      She leaned on her arms on the window frame. “Yes?”

      Tim swallowed. “When you get another job with another firm, would you consider taking me with you?”  He misread her silence, and kept talking somewhat nervously, “I really liked working for you, and I think I won’t be staying at WLG much longer.  And I’ve really enjoyed the last two days getting to know you better.”  He smiled kindly at her.  “I just think we’re a good team.”

      Elizabeth smiled back at him. “Have I thanked you yet, Tim?  For pulling me back from the brink of insanity?”

      He looked down at the steering wheel, a tinge of red in his cheeks. “Well, yes, a number of times.  But you’re welcome.”  He looked up, adding quickly, “You weren’t really insane, you know.  They just broke your heart.”

      That’s exactly what they did.  But it proved I had a heart to break.  “I’d like to continue working with you, Tim.  I’m not sure where I’m going, but wherever that is, I’ll try to have you to join me.”

      They had talked briefly on the phone each night since then, and were going to take a White House tour on Saturday.  She felt like a tourist in the city she’d lived in for 6 years.

      Elizabeth took a sip of her coffee and stared at the computer screen.  On a whim, she typed “nervous breakdown” into the search field.  After determining that she was still too functional to qualify for that term, she started exploring.  “Unresolved family issues and grief” caught her eye, and led to “Mother-Daughter Relationships.”  From there, it was hours before Elizabeth looked at the clock again.  Her coffee was stone cold, her neck stiff and her stomach rumbling.

      As she got up to make a tuna sandwich, Elizabeth had one phrase rolling around in her head. If we as daughters don’t acknowledge our relationship with our mothers, we can never really grow up.  Why that stuck in her head was a mystery to Elizabeth, but she couldn’t shake it.  And if ever she had felt like a little girl, it was the last few days.

      And, again, Walt Bonertz’ face looked back at her from the tuna bowl.  “Visit your Mama!”

      Out loud, Elizabeth said, “That’s easy for you to say.  I don’t even know where she is.”

      Walt looked back at her and drawled,  “Ah, but Grace does, and you have her number.”

      Deciding that talking to tuna salad might, in fact, qualify her for the aforementioned nervous breakdown, Elizabeth quickly placed a slice of swiss cheese on top of her open-faced tuna sandwich and popped it in the microwave.  Needing movement for her stiff body, she decided to head down to get the mail while the cheese melted.

      As she rode back up alone in the elevator, Elizabeth whispered, “Weird,” as she pulled out a letter from the very person she had just talked to over her tuna sandwich.  The green envelope and its cryptic message sent a shiver down her spine, as she expelled a deep breath. “He’s really doing it. Oh my God.”

      In one swift movement, Elizabeth put down her keys, pulled the sandwich out of the oven and sat down, opening the envelope.  How many of these did he send out?  Clearly it had to be a form letter, but it didn’t look like it.  It was addressed directly to her.

Dear Elizabeth,

     I hope that over the years you have come to think of me as a trusted friend, and it is my hope that your trust will allow you to remain open to something truly fantastic that I believe is going to happen very shortly to our planet. 

     If you don’t read further, read this.  Watch the weather reports on June 21^st, and you will see evidence that what I am saying is true.  I will explain more about this further in this letter.

     My love for Mother Earth has driven my thoughts, my passion and my work for over 30 years, and my staff and I have fought hard for her safety.  At times it has seemed as if we were losing the battle, and now I fear that we have.

     I have it on high authority, which I am unable to cite, that the Earth is very angry with us for the way we have spoiled her skies, poisoned her soil and abused her living creatures, both flora and fauna.  Periodically throughout history she has healed her wounds by shifting, and she is preparing to do so again.  Very soon.

     As a testament to my belief, I will be moving with my family to a place that is safe.  I am hoping that you will take this opportunity to do the same.

     The enclosed map is one that you may have seen before.  Taken from space, it shows the most populated areas of our planet, lit by the electricity to which we are so addicted.  Within the next 5 months, every light will be extinguished by water, which will rise over the most damaging areas of the Earth, the “wounds” she feels are killing her.  The dark places on the map will, for the most part, be safe.  Other areas, new continents, will rise out of the oceans and be habitable, but that shift will be unimaginably violent and difficult for humans to survive.

     I have also enclosed a list of items you may want to take with you if you go.  So much is available to you now, and so little will be when manufacturing and power is no longer abundant.

     Although this scenario is nearly impossible to believe, it is real.  This is not a joke.  My offices will stay open until July 1st in an attempt to answer any questions you may have, at which time, my staff will pack up their families and head to safety.

     I, however, will not be available.  I do not wish this letter, or myself, to be surrounded by the media circus that will ensue once it becomes public, as it most certainly will.  My staff members will be helpful and have all the information I have, but the press will largely leave them alone because it will be my voice and face they want.  I will not cheapen this message by giving that to them.

     I want you, in the privacy of your own home, surrounded by the love of your family, to make this very personal decision.

     Now, as to June 21^st.  This is the Summer Solstice, and on that date, every capital in the world will record a temperature 10 degrees higher than ever before.  Any statistician will tell you that this is an impossibility, and cannot be random. The Earth is giving us a gift to help convince us that she is serious about this shift.  By that time, it is likely that this letter will have been broadcast around the world, so I encourage you to make your preparations before that date.

     I ask you to go to a quiet place, search your soul, and ask what you would do in Mother Earth’s place.  And then I ask you to take a chance, like the one I am taking in sending this letter.  That chance will save your life and those of your family and dearest friends.

     May you travel in safety and above all, be kind to others.  This will be an inconceivably difficult time for all of us.  The way we react to it will in many ways define our humanity.

                                                                                                     Walt

      Elizabeth read the letter three times before looking up.  Her stomach rumbled, and she absently took her fork and cut off a mouthful of her cold sandwich. 

      Last week, the Elizabeth Preston who sat behind the desk at WLG would have two words to say: professional suicide.  This week, Elizabeth’s heart was open just a crack, and she thought: Wow, that man has some balls.

      It was still probably professional suicide, but the kind of courage it took to throw away a reputation built as painstakingly as Walt Bonertz’ was not lost on Elizabeth.  For a fleeting second, the old Elizabeth surfaced, thinking, Could you have waited a week to take me down?  Because after this letter, there would be nothing Bonertz could say to Bill Williams that he would believe.  In fact, Elizabeth might be able to take this letter to the Managing Partner right now, today, and have all forgiven.

      But then Walt’s voice, which seemed to have taken up residence in Elizabeth’s brain, reminded her, You’ll sleep better nights not working there.  And on some level, Elizabeth knew that was true.  She couldn’t go back, because she was different.  She felt like she’d lost her edge, and no matter how hard she tried to care about it, whether or not Manny Foods put its store on a little square of land in Virginia just didn’t seem all that important anymore.  The numbness she felt extended everywhere, through her intellect, her training, her drive, right down to her toes.

      Elizabeth took another bite of sandwich and read the letter again.  Who did he send this to?  And then, the next logical question, How the hell did I get on this mailing list?

      The answer could only be Ellen, and for some reason, a big tear plopped right onto the melted swiss cheese of Elizabeth’s sandwich.  As she watched it slide down over the oil and onto the plate, Elizabeth could think of only one thing.

      I need to grow up.

      Calmly wiping her mouth, and then dabbing her eyes, Elizabeth did something she never did, at least up until now.  She acted impulsively.  She picked up her cell phone and dialed WLG.

      “Tim Bradshaw in Mr. Wentworth’s office, please.”

      When Tim answered, Elizabeth asked him one question.

      “Have you ever seen the Golden Gate Bridge?”

      “For real?  In person?  No.”

      “Well, there are those who say it may not be available for viewing much longer, so I think if you’re going to see it, you should come to San Francisco with me.”

      She could hear the broad grin that was spreading across Tim’s face.  “When?”

      “Would tomorrow be too soon?”

      Tim laughed.  “Miss Preston, I will be right there.  I think I’m quitting my job in the next ten minutes.”  She could hear papers shuffling. “Where will we be working?”

      Elizabeth suddenly felt very free.  Exhilarating.  “I think I’ll just freelance for a while, but I’ll need an assistant.  Does that sound okay?”

      “Absolutely.”

      Elizabeth paused. “I’d also like a friend, Tim.”

      “Elizabeth, like I said, we make a good team.  I made the decision last week that I would follow you to the end of the Earth.”

      Laughing, Elizabeth said, “Be careful what you say, Tim.  I may just take you up on that.”

~~~~~