Saving Gracie

by Terry Lee

  “You know what the problem is?” #2’s attempt at sincerity.

  “This ought to be good.” Grace chuckled despite the subject.

  “Knock it off,” #2 barked. “I’m trying to be serious.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Okay. Mom made every decision for you your whole life. So you freak out when you think you have to do something on your own.” #2 paused for effect. “You’re scared shitless you’ll screw up.”

  “Hmm.” Grace’s eyes narrowed beneath her sunglasses, contemplating #2’s words, her attention caught.

  “Listen, you think Mom went through life without making mistakes?” #2 asked. “Everyone makes’em, you know. That’s how you learn.”

  She shrugged. “What’s this got to do with Mom dying?”

  #2 continued without hesitation. “If you never have to make decisions, you forget how to think for yourself. The fear of being wrong becomes humongous. That’s why you couldn’t talk to her about dying. You were too scared you’d say something wrong.”

  Grace rubbed the tip of her nose. “I never looked at it that way.”

  “It’s not that you can’t think for yourself, you just haven’t had to,” #2 said. “Mom made you helpless. Good news is you don’t have to stay that way. You just need a little help. A little kick in the ass to get you jump started.” #2 paused. “Until, you know…that thing Janie said…about wobbly legs or something.”

  Grace spotted the girls running toward her.

  “And one last thing. That White Iced Café look you’ve got going on is in serious need of more SPF.” #2 resisted as long as she could. “Pronto!”

  Grace shook her head and smiled, realizing #2's window of sarcasm-resistance had slammed shut. She tossed towels to the girls, waited for them to dry off then handed each a Fruit Roll-Up.

  Inhaling the snack, Hannah dug through the beach bag for more food, pulling out Grace’s stash of books. She picked one up, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “What’s wrong?” Grace asked.

  Hannah pointed to the book. “I know this.” She tapped the cover with her index finger. “Can’t remember why.” She shrugged and pushed the book toward Grace. “30 more minutes?”

  Grace glanced at her watch and nodded. “30 minutes.” The girls took off and she picked up the book beside her. Gift From The Sea, by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. The well-worn copy had yellowed, frayed pages. The publication year was 1955. The aged book had her beat by almost a decade. Thumbing through, she stopped on page twenty-three.

  I want a singleness of eye,

  A purity of intention,

  A central core to my life

  That will enable me to carry out these obligations

  And activities as well as I can.

  “What obligations?” Grace tucked a strand of loose, wavy hair underneath her hat.

  I want, in fact–to borrow from the

  Language of the saints–

  To live “in grace” as much of the time as possible.

  “In grace? Wow. Weird.”

  By grace I mean an inner harmony,

  Essentially spiritual,

  Which can be translated into outward harmony.

  Grace closed the book. The words struck a chord somewhere within her. A purity of intention, a central core to my life.

  “Wow.” She felt a rush through her veins, like finding a missing puzzle piece. “I want that.” She chewed on her thumbnail and stared out over the water. “But how?”

  The question bobbled overhead when something shifted in her mind, like a TV screen pixilating in freeze-frame. She blinked. What just happened? She glanced around her. Was it a feeling? Her eyes checked the girls building a sandcastle. Adam and Josh were in her sight. Everyone was fine. A noise? No. More like…the absence of. The roar of the ocean, which she earlier had found irritating, no longer blared through her, but morphed into a soothing white noise. The sound glided across her skin and easily seeped into her mind, leaving her mesmerized. And…peaceful. Wow.

  She pushed her shades up and gazed upward. Lazy white clouds dotted the near perfect blue sky, with a constant sea breeze keeping the heat bearable. Sea gulls effortlessly soared and dipped overhead.

  Was this how Mom felt? Why she loved the beach?

  Grace usually spent beach time obsessing or fidgeting over whatever happened to irritate her that day. She’d failed to understand the attraction of gritty sand and sticky saltwater. Trips to the beach seemed more of a chore than a treat…until today.

  Her gaze dropped to the water. “Wow, when did that happen?” And how many times had she said wow in the last five minutes? The water that had held her attention for the last couple of hours had transformed into a clear sea green. White foamy waves tumbled over one another like glittery confetti. She took a slow deep breath and could actually feel the muscles in her back and neck start to melt, like ice on a hot tin roof.

  She squinted at the horizon and then straightened in her beach chair. “Wow.”

  The redundancy of expression would have annoyed her if she hadn’t been so struck with her revelation. Her fingers tapped her chin.

  The water, here in front of her at Port Aransas, on the Texas coast, connected to all other bodies of water on the planet. Oceans, seas, even most rivers find their way to an ocean…all part of the same. Pushing herself out of the recliner she stepped onto the wet, shell-studded sand and waited for the receding water to return and cover her feet.

  One humongous body of water. In her entire life and hundreds of trips to the beach she’d never made that connection. Wow.

  She waved “time’s up” to the girls. As they dried off, Grace pointed to the water. “When did it become green?”

  Hannah and Jenn turned to the water, exchanged glances, then looked at Grace.

  “Always green,” Hannah signed.

  “But…always that pretty?” Grace asked.

  The girls nodded, looking at Grace like she’d grown a third eye on her forehead.

  Walking back over the narrow footbridge, Grace made a decision. Did she just say that? She’d definitely read Gift From The Sea. Definitely. Definitely read Gift From The Sea.

  “Okay, Rain Man,” #2 thought. Mission accomplished. “And stop saying wow. I can’t be nice any longer.”

  CHAPTER 21

  GRACE

  The rest of the week flew by. Grace read Gift From The Sea, not once, but twice. She marked meaningful passages, almost highlighting the entire book. Her kaleidoscope had shifted once more, opening the possibility to imagine more for herself. To be the person I was meant to be. The thought excited and scared her at the same time. Purity of intention danced around her head like a dizzy ballerina. And besides the weird “standing in the Gulf of Mexico talking to his office” incident—or so he said—Adam had been his old self. She hoped he stayed that way.

  ~~~

  The kids played Monopoly on their last night in Port Aransas, and Grace and Adam walked the beach at dusk. The sky darkened in the east while streaks of pink and orange stretched outward from the fiery glow in the west. The sun dipped below the horizon, ending the day and their vacation. Such a good week. She had her old Adam back. Holding hands and barefoot, they enjoyed their alone time.

  “Don’t you think it’s strange the first page I read had my name on it?” Grace couldn’t stop blabbing about her new favorite book.

  Adam untangled his fingers from hers and draped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ve heard of stranger things.”

  “What do you think? I mean, don’t you think it’s trying to tell me something?” Grace turned her gaze back to the profusion of colors to the west. “Have sunsets always been this beautiful?”

  “I don’t know. Possibly. And…yes.”

  “What?”

  “I just answered your questions.” Adam smiled and squeezed her shoulder. “Maybe you ought to do something about all this enthusiasm.”

  “Like what?”

  Adam shrugged, his hand dangling over her
shoulder. “I don’t know.” He paused as if studying wet sand. “What about going back to school?”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Why not? You just asked if I thought it meant something.”

  “You think the book’s telling me to go back to school?”

  Adam pulled his arm away and shoved hands into his shorts pockets. “It’s just a thought.”

  Grace shook her head. School? At my age? Not even a remote possibility. Damn. I can’t go back to school. Can I? No way. Shoulda kept my mouth shut.

  “Whiney-ass,” #2 sounded off.

  Grace grimaced.

  The couple’s footsteps in the sand left soft puddles of the warm Gulf water at low tide. Grace reached for what looked to be a smooth brown stone, heart-shaped, but light in weight.

  “What is this?” She turned it over.

  “Maybe it’s your gift from the sea,” Adam said.

  ~~~

  The kids slept most of the way home, huddled together like puppies. Grace looked in the back seat and a smile pushed up the corners of her mouth. Besides the occasional Cherry blurb or nostalgic “mom-moment” darkening her mood, her week had been perfect. And best of all, the barrier between her and Adam had dissipated, like the tide washing away footprints in the sand. She had her woobie back.

  She snuggled in the front seat of the SUV, relishing her relaxed state of mind. Life was good on the island. Many sea-worthy locals in the Port Aransas area modeled a Jimmy Buffett mentality. Sand, sun, ocean, tequila and salt, flip-flops, tattoos, lots of tattoos and smiles…all ingredients for a Parrothead life.

  Climbing the corporate ladder didn’t appear high on their priority list. Yet the local islanders possessed their own education, their own stories, their own social integrity. Move to the big city? She knew they’d rather be lost at sea. Even a local looking for “three hots and a cot” would undoubtedly spout, “What? And leave all this?” People on the island generally seemed happy and for the most part…content.

  What was it about being near the ocean? She rewound her mental recorder to her revelation of the ocean-connectedness thing. She had to admit being at the beach this past week felt different. And for once different didn’t feel scary.

  Reading one of the brochures at the beach house Grace learned that Port A, labeled by locals, was a small community nestled on the northern tip of Padre Island. The long sliver of land surrounded by water ran along the lower Texas Coast, separated from the mainland by the Laguna Madre.

  Padre Island—Father Land. Laguna Madre—Mother Water. Grace’s eyebrows pulled together, her mind clicking to the yin-yang symmetry of her thoughts. She felt connected to everything around her. “Oh. My. God.” Grace slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing she’d spoken out loud.

  “What?” Adam’s voice held panic as he panned the highway. “Did I hit something?” He checked his rear-view mirror.

  “No, you’re fine.” Grace’s hands clamped her head.

  “What?” Concern filled Adam’s eyes.

  “I don’t know. What a minute, let me think.” Grace’s voice edgy, her eyes blurred behind her large sunglasses.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute.” She tried focusing on the passing scenery out her window but felt her head spin. Her pause lengthened. She squeezed her eyes shut. A long minute passed before she lowered her sunglasses and turned to Adam. “It can’t be.” Her voice shot out in gasps, her eyes rounded.

  “Grace, what is it? Should I pull over?”

  “I’m turning into my mother.”

  “What?”

  “I’m turning into my mother!” Her mouth puckered like she’d sucked a lemon.

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am.” Grace massaged her forehead with the heels of her hands. Her throat felt gritty. She needed water…or a shot of tequila.

  “No. You’re not,” Adam repeated. “Why are you saying that?”

  Grace shook her head to clear her mind. Thoughts needed to be put into words. “It’s the connection thing.”

  Adam reached over and playfully touched her forehead. “No fever.”

  She batted his hand down. “The thing! The thing Mom used to always talk about. You know, about how we…everything is connected. Blah, blah-blah, blah-blah. She used to go on and on. It sounded like such bullshit.” Grace winced, glancing toward the backseat. Good. Everyone was still asleep.

  Adam’s eyes narrowed. “And now you don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Think it’s bullshit.” Adam’s voice tuned much lower than hers.

  “No. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I think I finally get it.” Well, maybe she didn’t totally get it, but at least now ‘it’ had a shadowy outline.

  Grace sat straighter, trying to articulate her thoughts. “This sounds crazy, but remember that first day when you and Josh went fishing and I had the girls at the beach?”

  Adam nodded.

  “Well, I tried reading a magazine, but the noise of the waves drove me nuts. And the sea gulls….” Grace pulled her fingers through her hair, trying to recapture the beach scene, “Were cackling, loud, almost like they were laughing at me.”

  “The sea gulls were laughing at you.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I stopped trying to read and just focused on the water.”

  Adam chose silence.

  “After a while the waves didn’t sound like noise anymore. They almost sounded like, like….” she couldn’t believe the word she almost said.

  “Like what?”

  “Music.” Grace leaned back in her seat, deep in thought.

  “And the sea gulls?”

  Grace gulped. “Singing.”

  “First they laughed at you and then sang?” Adam glanced at his wife with a straight face. “Too much sun?”

  “Never mind.” Grace smiled sheepishly at Adam. She slipped into silence, her thoughts on a planet far, far away.

  A few minutes later she bolted forward. The seatbelt locked across her chest, throwing her back against the seat. Every muscle in her body tensed. “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?”

  “That smell.” Grace lifted her chin.

  “I don’t smell anything.” Adam eyed her strangely.

  “I smell perfume.” Grace sniffed the air like a bloodhound.

  “The kids have their shoes off,” Adam kidded. “Maybe you need something to eat. I’ll stop.”

  Their usual return lunch place was still thirty miles down the road. “No. I’m fine. Let’s wait.” Grace readjusted the seatbelt. “I’ll just…close my eyes…for a few minutes.” She needed alone time. Her? Needing alone time? Wow.

  The whiff of Obsession penetrated her senses…her mother’s signature scent.

  ~~~

  Trying different exercises from the book, How We Connect, Quinlan mistook the word “sense” for “scents” and spent an entire day trying to send Gracie the only scent she could think of…her favorite perfume.

  CHAPTER 22

  QUINLAN

  Her obsession with accessing the Earth homepage paralleled Quinlan’s fixation on Gracie; an online junkie: an old lady online junkie…shameful.

  She’d almost been busted twice, which had her radar on high alert. Ruby had caught her at the computer one day. Fortunately she had bookmarked the Food Network homepage and quickly switched to a Barefoot Contessa live stream segment. Another time she failed to notice the approaching tap-tap-tap and swore she had a mini stroke when George passed behind her, his cane leading the way. She had no idea if he noticed what she was up to. Only after he turned the corner did she break out of freeze-frame and release the air locked in her lungs.

  The online snippets Quinlan pieced together escalated her determination to return. Gracie’s life appeared to be in shambles. Her mission to save her daughter took on a life of its own, controlling her every thought. Somehow, she had to get back.

  Quinlan re
ad, took notes and plotted her strategy between classes or at night after Meghan had gone to bed. Her major, Where Do We Go From Here, turned out to be a relatively decent option, giving her some insight on choices others make at this time, and would have been even better if she’d been more diligent about class attendance.

  She spent countless hours working on exercises from the book, How We Connect. “Sending Signals” seemed easy. Not so. After each attempt to connect with Gracie, she’d sneak off to the library to see if any of her experiments worked. She could zip her CI card as efficiently as cha-chinging the arm on a nickel slot machine. But nothing she found gave her a clue whether Gracie received any of her signals.

  Locked in her room late one night, Quinlan read over the list she’d made from Rules of Return Engagement.

  -Get return packet (check)

  -Complete and turn in packet (check)

  -Receive permission to appear before the Advisory Council

  -Present case at scheduled time (be prepared!)

  -Tell Meghan

  She’d made a decent start on her case presentation, which eased her apprehension…a little. The rest of the time she resorted to the one thing she used to do when nervous. Quinlan cleaned. The kitchen pantry, her closet—she even washed and ironed the kitchen curtains. She had to stay busy while waiting to hear when and if she’d get to meet with the Advisory Council. Her nerves wouldn’t be so raw if only she could talk this over with Meghan. She stopped, mid-swipe of yet another layer of lemon polish on the kitchen table and weighed the scenario.

  “Nope.” She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  Meghan would blow a fuse, no doubt. However, the fact remained Quinlan had always been able to untangle Gracie’s life dilemmas. Even Meghan couldn’t deny that. Pulling a small notebook from her pocket, she reread her reasons to return to Earth.

  -Gracie sleeps too much (could she have mono?)

  -Why all the take-out food? (she has all my recipes)