Grace's stomach knotted. No turning back, no changing her mind, no place to run: she had her big-girl panties on now.

"If she doesn't calm down, we'll take her to isolation." Ms. Parker took a breath. "It's a special room we have when she's out of control. We'll remove her shoes and belt so she doesn't hurt herself...or us." The counselor gazed intently at Grace. "You sure you're up for this, Mrs. Brookfield?"

Grace realized nodding was not an appropriate answer. "Yes," she said.

"Do you have any questions? We can call this off if need be."

Grace raised her eyes to the counselor. "Could you call me Grace?"

Ms. Parker smiled and offered Grace a quick hug. "Think we'll be on a first name basis after this semester?"

Grace swallowed hard and shrugged.

"You'll have your hands full, even if you're just here one day a week," Elena Parker said. "Cherry is in dire need of someone on her side. I'm glad you decided to volunteer."

"Thank you, Ms. Parker," Grace said.

"Call me Elena."

The two women stood. Ms. Parker pointed to her office door as if offering Grace as the sacrificial lamb.

"As I said, a few minutes. I'll be in the main office if you need me." Ms. Parker left the waiting area.

Grace pulled her sloppy ponytail tighter, licked her lips and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

"You can do it," #2 said.

The words Grace most needed to hear. She slowly opened the door to the counselor's office and peeked inside. Cherry sat in front of the large desk, her back to the door, her feet swinging. Grace gently tapped the child on the shoulder, knowing approaching any deaf person from behind usually evoked the startle instinct.

Cherry swung around, her eyes dark, the "ready to fight" signal flashing. Her lips stretched in a tight line across her small face.

"Remember me?" Grace quickly signed, forcing a smile to mask her fear.

Cherry's face switched from an impish glare to surprise, then confusion. Her little eyebrows came together. "Why are you here?"

Tugging on the upper edge of her blouse, she made the sign for volunteer.

Cherry eyed Grace and mimicked the sign.

She nodded. "Your cla.s.s. Thursdays." She waited for a response, watching the little girl with the tangled ponytail and uneven bangs. She figured Cherry could teach her a slew of signs, all involving profanity.

"You didn't come to see me!" Cherry's signing angry and poignant.

Grace winced and studied Cherry's face. At that very moment, one thing became crystal clear: Do not make promises to this child I can't (or won't) keep. She's over her quota in disappointments.

"I'm very sorry." Grace exaggerated very and felt a golf ball knot in her throat. "Forgive me?"

After several long moments, Cherry seemed to weigh the situation, a look of indifference on her small face. She shrugged and tapped her chest with her thumb. "Fine."

Not realizing she'd been holding her breath, Grace exhaled. "Let's go. Your room. Okay?" Grace extended her hand.

Cherry sat perfectly still for a few very long minutes before lifting herself up and smoothing smudged fingers down her rumpled shirt. She brushed back a tangled ma.s.s of loose ponytail hair and turned toward Grace, her eyes cautious. She took Grace's hand.

Grace caught Ms. Parker's eye as they left the office, heading down the main hallway toward the Deaf Ed wing. She gave the counselor a 'thumbs up'.

CHAPTER 35.

QUINLAN AND ANGELA.

"Good afternoon, Quinlan." The greeting appeared in the text box on the screen.

"Good afternoon," she voiced to the monitor.

"You have a name to enter?" the message read.

She typed G-R-A-C-I-E and hit enter.

An immediate reply flashed back. "Do you mean Grace?"

"Of course I mean Grace, you crazy computer." She smirked and typed Y-E-S, then scanned her surroundings for snoopers. Thankfully, she found the aisle empty.

The next message appeared, listing three options causing Quinlan's jaw to drop.

Weekly Events Synopsis Current Events Her heart raced. Mere moments away from...whatever. "Where do I start?"

"Remember what you've learned." The voice filtering through her ear buds caused her to jump.

Quinlan's spine straightened, and a chill shimmered downward. "Angela? Is that you?"

"Take it slow," Angela instructed.

How'd she do that? Quinlan stood and searched her immediate surroundings for the ground patrol. Nothing. She looked again, feeling she was somehow being watched. Strange. Leaning back in the chair, she chewed on her thumbnail and tried to relax. Take it slow, Angela had said. She set her lips in a tight line and clicked Weekly Events.

The screen blinked blue, then produced a column listing every week of Gracie's life. Quinlan stared, the page numbers climbing. She ma.s.saged her scalp with her fingertips, foregoing any hairdo concerns. "I don't think...this is what I want." She blinked hard, knowing just enough about computers to get herself in trouble.

"Try the back arrow in the upper left-hand corner," Angela said.

She clicked and retrieved the three entries, releasing a barely audible thank you.

"You're welcome," Angela said.

While spider exercising her fingers, Quinlan studied the other two options and then clicked Synopsis.

The message box beamed select time frame with a pull-down menu and two small calendars to enter begin and end dates. Quinlan clicked the arrow and scrolled down till she found the time segment of her transition to as near to the present as she could estimate. She hit enter and settled back, ready to read.

Vacations with family at Port Aransas Concerned about Adam Gracie in charge during Adam's absence Volunteers at summer program Bonds with emotionally distraught deaf child Contemplates return to college Everything past the third item blurred. Gracie in charge? The words burned through her veins like a white-hot branding iron on a pig's a.s.s. Bile-filled panic clogged her throat. Thoughts of her grandchildren being stranded who knows where, Gracie pouring water on a grease fire...sandwiches for dinner! Could it get any worse?

"Dates. I need dates." Quinlan jerked the mouse pointer around the page, trying to manage her panic. Was she too late?

"The calendar icon in the upper right-hand corner."

The sound through the earpieces nearly catapulted Quinlan out of her chair. Bridget? Now she had two voices in her head...besides her own...that she knew of.

"Okay, okay. Calendar icon." She grabbed the mouse with both hands to steady her shaky fingers and clicked. Dates appeared beside each entry. She scanned the list until she found a trip Adam made to Chicago. She checked the month. June. She scrolled further and found another Chicago trip scheduled for August.

"What's today's date?" she yelled, not bothering to lower her voice. Relatively sure June had pa.s.sed; she only hoped she wasn't too late for the August trip.

"Upper right corner. Next to the calendar," Bridget instructed.

Quinlan's eyes shot up to the corner of the screen and gasped.

October? "How can that be?" Panic-stage resurfaced. "But...that...means...." Quinlan's excessive rapid breathing caused the oxygen level to increase, forcing out all the carbon dioxide in her system: in short, hyperventilation.

"Quinlan!" Angela's voice blared through the earpieces. "Get a grip!"

"But...you...don't...understand." The words backed up in her throat. Her hands and toes tingled.

With light speed, Bridget appeared at her side with a brown sack.

Not the bag thing again, Quinlan thought as Bridget pressed the lunch sack over her face.

"Take it easy," Bridget said. "Slow your inhalations."

Quinlan slumped back in the chair, hoping she wouldn't faint. Several minutes pa.s.sed before her breathing ebbed. She pushed the sack away...raising her eyes to Bridget she forced a sheepish smile. "I bet you have to do this a lot."

"No...not really." Bridget avoided Quinlan's eyes. "Feeling better?"

Trying the normal breathing routine several times, Quinlan answered, "I'm fine now." She fiddled with the sleeve of her shirt and then patted her hair, working to regain her composure. A final deep breath a.s.sured her the episode had subsided. She straightened in the chair and turned to thank Bridget. Once again, she had vanished.

Blinking hard at the empty aisle, Quinlan puzzled briefly over Bridget's disappearing acts before returning to the computer. The monitor screen had cleared, reverting to cobalt blue. She leaned forward and read the small text box. "Timed outgoing into sleep mode."

Quinlan shot to her feet and pointed stiff-armed at the blue screen. "No!" she yelled, "I'm not finished!"

"I'm afraid you are," Bridget piped in through the ear buds.

"But...I need more time." Quinlan's mind buzzed. "Where's Angela? I need Angela." The smoothness and finesse of this Bridget person irritated the h-e-double hockey sticks out of her.

"Quinlan. The timing is for a reason." The voice through the ear buds switched to Angela. "Trust the process. Can you do that?"

"Angela, you saw the date!" Quinlan's knees felt ready to buckle. She steadied herself, not wanting to go another round with the lunch sack. "This is an emergency. You've got to help me!"

"I am helping you," Angela said. "Now. Can you trust the process?"

Silence reigned through the earpieces. A long minute pa.s.sed.

"I know you're there. I can hear your teeth grinding," Angela said.

Her shoulders dropped. "I'm here."

"Need I repeat the question?" Angela's tone was steady.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"Of course you do," Angela said, reproach in her voice. "Free will. Remember? It's a bit early in the game to forget about free will."

"Angela, this is not a game. This is a life-or-death situation. You saw the screen...." Quinlan lowered her voice, suddenly aware of others in the library.

The audible sigh, this time, came from the earpieces. "Quinlan, listen carefully." Pause. "You can trust the process or fight it. Your choice."

Slumping back in the blue chair, Quinlan tucked her chin against her chest and stuck out her lower lip. She didn't feel like she had a choice.

"Well?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take in air. "I don't like it, but I'll try."

"Good," Angela said. "And for the record, I didn't expect you'd like it."

Quinlan rubbed her nose and repositioned her arms across her chest. "So. What now?"

"Click on the safe to remove hardware icon in the lower right corner."

When the message appeared, Quinlan yanked the jump drive from the blue box.

"Keep the media device with you. You'll find it useful. Now return to your living quarters for some RR&P," Angela said. "You can get a fresh start in the morning."

"What's RR&P?" Quinlan hate, hate, hated the onslaught of yet more instructions.

"RR&P was addressed in your FAQ pamphlet," Angela explained. "You have read that, haven't you?"

Quinlan grimaced and remained silent.

"Review, reflect and plan." Angela said. "Review your notes from your training. Reflect on the current situation. Then work on your plan of action."

"Fine." Quinlan all but stumbled out of the blue chair, feeling like she'd been sent to detention. She trudged to her living quarters, her mind riveted between the disasters she conjured in her mind and how to go about saving Gracie.

"Unbelievable." Angela sat at the computer in her office and disengaged her own jump drive. "What a trip." She removed the blue tooth device from her ear and rubbed her eyes. "I need a vacation."