Grace stifled a yawn as she waited for her bags. Her flight had been delayed by half an hour and it seemed as though she'd been waiting another half hour here, at the baggage carousel. She ran a hand loosely through her dark, chestnut hair and glanced at her watch. It was almost nine, but it felt like it was about one in the afternoon. Murderous jet lag, Grace thought to herself. After another fifteen minutes, she pulled her last bag off the carousel and headed to book another flight; a flight for Detroit for the next day.
After getting her ticket and confirming her reservations at the Franciscan Hotel, Grace hurried out of the airport. She didn't want to stay in the city any longer than she had to.
Howie hurried off the plane, into the airport and down a few flights of stairs. His eyes scanned the arrivals area and he glanced over at the baggage carousel. Grace was no where to be seen. Howie let out a deep sigh as security caught up to him.
"Howie man, slow down," Eric requested breathlessly.
Howie's eyes continued their search.
"Oh my God!" The startled woman at the desk exclaimed. "You're a Backstreet Boy? My daughter is simply in love with you!" She gushed.
Howie smiled politely. "Tell her I said hi - I was wondering if you could help me, I'm looking for a friend of mine in the city. She doesn't know I'm here, I'd like to surprise her, but I need to know how long she's staying. So I was wondering if you could tell me if she's purchased any tickets for any of tomorrow's flights."
The woman nodded. "Alright, I can check the passenger manifest. Do you know which flight she'd be on?"
Howie thought for a moment. "Um . . . She's Canadian - are there any flights to Canada tomorrow?"
The woman nodded. "We have flights to Ottawa, Halifax, Vancouver, Montreal and Winnipeg. What's your friend's name?"
"Grace," Howie paused. "Grace Celaka."
The woman's fingers flitted across the keys. "I'm sorry, there's no Grace Celaka on any of those flights." She told him. "You know I really shouldn't be doing this."
"And you have no idea how much I appreciate it," Howie said quickly. "Are there any flights to . . . anywhere near Canada?"
The woman gave him an exasperated look. "Which part of Canada?"
"Probably Ontario," Howie replied. He grimaced. "I think . . ."
"Alright," She thought for a moment. "Let's try Lansing . . . and . . . Detroit . . . for Grace Celaka. . ."
Howie waited anxiously. "Yes!" The woman said finally. "Grace Celaka is on American Airlines to Detroit, departing at 7:30 am."
"Thank you so much!" Howie smiled. "Can I sign something for your daughter?"
"That would be wonderful," The woman said reaching into her desk. She pulled out some Backstreet photos and flicked through to find one of Howie. There were lipstick smears on the picture. "Make it out to Clarice, please . . ." The woman requested with a sultry smile.
Howie noticed the name tag on her desk: Ms. Clarice Williams. He smiled inwardly and signed the picture. "Thank you for your time. You've been very helpful. Tell your ‘daughter' I said hi," He added with a sly wink. Howie hurried out of the airport.
Emily smiled, her boss would appreciate this so much. She might even get a raise. Emily Jordan's face lit up as her boss Clarice returned to her desk, which Emily had been covering.
"Everything go okay Em?" She inquired.
"Better than okay . . . check it out," Emily smiled, handing her boss the photograph. Her mouth dropped open as she gazed at it.
"Where did you . . ?" Her voice caught as she read the lines. "Clarice, thank you so much for all your help. You don't know how I appreciate it. Love, your constant flier, Howie D. . . . What help?" She muttered, sitting at the edge of her desk.
Emily was near tears, suppressing her laughter. As if she could ever be a Backstreet Boys fan.
"Howie," Eric said slowly, sitting down on the bench beside him. "The limo has been arranged to take you anywhere you like." He paused. "You have another seven hours before-"
"I know Eric," Howie told him swiftly. "Look, just give me a minute okay?"
Eric gave him a strained smile and walked about fifteen feet away. He pretended to be looking at the road. Howie glanced at his body guard. He glanced at the limo not four feet away. After thinking for a few seconds, Howie watched as a cab pulled into the airport parking lot. He saw his chance. In a matter of seconds, Howie flagged down the cab and hopped in.
"Downtown San Fran," Howie ordered as he slammed the car door. "Hurry about it please."
Eric felt a wave of panic rise up in his chest as he watched Howie make his escape. "Howie!" he called after him. "Howie!" He tried waving his arms to no avail. In a last, hopeful attempt, Eric jumped into the limo. "Follow that cab!" He called. Nothing. "I said, follow that cab!" Eric glanced up, the driver was no where to be seen. Apparently Howie had given him the afternoon off.
"May I ask what part of downtown were heading to?" The driver asked.
Howie sighed softly. "I'm not quite sure yet." He paused, "If you were a strong, smart, beautiful woman, where would you go?"
"If I were a strong, smart, beautiful woman, I would not be driving this cab my friend," The driver replied with a smile. "Got some woman problems?" Howie nodded meagerly. "Oh my man," The driver groaned, "Don't we all!"
Unknown to the driver, Howie had already tuned him out. Where would I go . . . if I were her . . . Where were we that day . . . As frightening as it was for him, Howie closed his eyes and tried to think back to that day more than three weeks ago. The day that could easily stay with him for the rest of his life. And he tried to remember . . .
He could see Grace on the road, with the little girl . . . she was holding her, and screaming out orders. Howie opened his eyes. "Take me to the corner of Talbot and Richmond."
"Wow man, you get precise fast man! Okay, we're heading," the driver told him with a nod. Howie sat back and waited.
Grace stepped out of the cab. "Wait for me," she instructed the cabbie.
"You know your-" she started.
"I know," Grace cut her off, heading into the hospital.
"Nurse Owens, I don't know her first name," Grace repeated in exasperation.
"Look girl, I've been working here fourteen years and I know just about every nurse and doctor who has ever walked down this floor!" The nurse said in a thick accent. "Believe me, I don't know no Nurse Owens!"
"Please," Grace sighed. "I know I was on this floor. I know she took care of me! I didn't imagine having to stay in this ward for three weeks!"
"Well maybe you ought try the psychiatric ward for a few weeks. Hmmm?" The nurse replied sarcastically. "Now I have rounds to do." With that, she strode down the hall.
Grace sighed deeply. She brought the flowers to her face and inhaled their sweet scent. Without another word, she left them on the nurses' desk, addressed to Nurse Owens.
On her way out, for the third time that day, Grace bought flowers, this time, three white roses . . .
Howie got out of the cab and looked down the streets. Once again, no Grace. As he gazed around in dismay, his eyes caught on the brick wall adjacent to the street corner. Mounted on the wall was a bronze plaque inscribed with the words: In the loving memory of Carrie Gregor, a longer message continued underneath. A bouquet of flowers lay beneath the sign.
Howie knelt on the ground and turned them over to reveal a long note written on a card. Against his better judgement that it might be personal, Howie read it.
Dear Carrie,
I am so sorry. I know we've never really met and now never will meet, but the accident that happened here, not a month ago, binds your memory to my life. I have tried recognize over the last three weeks, that your death was not my fault, and beautiful child, where ever you may be, I know that you don't blame me. I know that you are happy where ever you are now, in an infinite I'm sure, far away from the dark chaos of this world. I'm sure you're now watching over your family, like an angel. And I am sorry. I'm sorry because I couldn't stop your death and because now you'll never have the chance to live a life full of joys and pains, happiness and worries; your life. Even if I didn't deny you of it, I'm still sorry you could have it to enjoy. You'll always be in my thoughts, little angel whom I will never know. I hope your heaven is a beautiful place.
Love forever,
Grace
Howie put the card down and felt a shiver run through his spine. He was surprised to find his eyes watering slightly. Taking a deep breath, Howie turned away from the flowers and headed back to the cab. He had to find her . . .
"Do you want me to come back for ya?" The cab driver asked Grace after she'd been paid.
"No, but thank you for your service," Grace responded absentmindedly. The cabbie gave her an odd look.
"Suit yourself," She told her. The driver paused. "Hey, I'm sorry for your loss . . . Good luck out there."
Grace nodded and turned away, walking toward the gates of St. Peter's Memorial.
Howie's thoughts drifted back to last night. Was there any clue in what she said? She had started talking about the little girl, Carrie Gregor, her mother, her father, her sister, she was three. . . Howie racked his brain for an answer.
She walked slowly up the long, dark path, past the many granite headstones. The sun shone through the trees surrounding the cemetery, casting shadows and patches of brightness. The light reflected on the roses in her hands and across her clouded face. Grace could feel the weight of the past weeks on her shoulders, weighing her down. Somehow, she hadn't been able to release it. She couldn't let it go.
As Grace gazed over the many stone markers, her eyes came to rest on a small, white, stone angel, exactly where she'd known it would be. A basket over flowing with red, white and pink geraniums and greenery hung over it. The angel's face was solemn and very, very sad. Grace knelt before it, placing the flowers at its feet.
"I am so sorry," She whispered.
Behind her, Grace heard quiet footsteps approaching. She turned slightly to see Howie coming down the path. She felt a moment of slight surprise, which was followed by a flood of warmth. Somehow, he had found her.
He didn't say a word as she stood. He just put a comforting hand on her shoulder, then he lay the peach roses he had brought beside the others. They stood in silence.
Grace bit her lip, and spoke in a shaky voice. "A man said something to me, before I left the hospital. He said that, that the dead speak to us from beyond the grave; that's what conscience is."
"That's interesting," Howie murmured. "I never thought about it that way."
"I thought," Grace choked on her words. "I thought that when I came back here, when I said good bye to her, I would feel some kind of relief. But the truth is, nothing is going to take this away from me - ever."
Howie gulped slightly. "I came here to tell you something." He said, taking her arm and leading her away from the grave site. "Lou wants you to come back to the tour. It doesn't matter if you don't work for a while, or ever, or if we have an open relationship. But everyone wants you to come back . . . I want you to come back."
Grace met Howie's eyes intensely. "Howie, no matter how much we try to make this work - I can't do it now." She paused and smiled ruefully. "I once knew a lifeguard who treated an infant choking victim. The baby would have died if my friend hadn't treated her. But she didn't die, she lived. She's almost four now . . ." Grace paused and looked away. "My friend still has nightmares." She met Howie's gaze again. "And that baby lived." Howie sighed softly and looked over Grace's shoulder at the stone angel standing vigil over Carrie's grave. "I know people who have such severe stress after a victim dies, that they give up life saving. They just can't handle it anymore." She paused and touched Howie's chest. He looked into her eyes. "Maybe that man was right." She said softly. "Maybe we bury our conscience alive . . ."
"Grace," Howie murmured. He ran his fingers through her dark hair. He pulled her close, and hugged her as if she was all he had left in the world. "What happened . . ." he whispered, "between us . . ."
"Wasn't okay," Grace told him, hugging him tighter. "Howie, I need time and I need space. Last night, we just, we were overwhelmed by our emotions. Relationships based on these kinds of circumstances, they don't usually work out. I need to know that this is for real . . . not just one more reaction of the accident." Howie pulled back a little, looking wounded by what she had said. Grace sighed. "C'mon Howie, we've known each other for what? Two months now? Using this accident to pull us closer just won't work. We both need to get through this, but I need to do it on my own; on my own time. Things are different now. You've got your life and I've got mine."
Howie pulled away from her. "How can you say that?" He asked angrily. "After all we've been through?"
"Yes, Howie!" Grace returned. "After all we've been through! I need to know that all we've been through is not the only thing that is keeping us together! I can't handle this Howie! I can't deal with the stress of trying to work out a new relationship, while dealing with recovering, post- traumatic incident stress, Cora, the tour - everything. I need to get away! I need to figure this out for myself!"
"By running away?" Howie grimaced.
"I'm not running away," Grace snapped quietly. "This is better for both of us."
Howie turned away from her, staring into the trees. Then in one quick motion, he turned back to her and pulled her close, and kissed her with all that he had. After a few moments, Howie pulled away. "You're right." He told her. "You do what you have to do . . . I'm going now." Grace turned to stare at the angel, as Howie walked away, down the path.
Grace lay on the big, king sized bed in her hotel room. She felt very alone, but she knew that she'd made that choice. She'd cut herself off, knowing she needed to go home. She needed the normalcy of her old life.
Grace rolled over on the bed, and flicked on an alternative station known for playing sleeper songs. Her mind was reeling. She had completely abandoned every friend she had made on the tour this summer. ‘This is what is best for you,' Grace reminded herself. ‘You need time.'
Grace got up and started searching through her bag. She brought out a small wood box and set it on the bed side table. She knelt in front of it. Grace pulled out a white candle, some small cut crystals, and some uncut amethyst. She pulled out a stick of Fire incense and lit it. The sweet scent calmed her and she tried to concentrate on her favorite Goddess, Athena, to give her strength. The music continued to fill the hotel room. It was a sleeper song by Sarah McLachland. Grace began to cry softly as she her thoughts drifted to Howie and Carrie and Cora . . . and all that she was trying to escape.
Howie listened to the music flooding the taxi as he was driven around San Francisco. His final stop would be the air port. He thought of Grace as he listened.
Across the country, in Canada, Alison was sitting in a silent church listening to her Sarah McLachland CD in her disc-man. She was listening to the same song over and over again. Hesitantly, with tears in her eyes, Alison approached the coffin in front of her. Silently, she kissed the empty shell that used to be one of her dearest friends. The friend who had saved her life. "I should have come sooner," She whispered. "But I know you forgive me . . . I love you . . ." She began singing softly . . .
In another city, Cora sat alone in her room, staring out the window. Victoria's portable CD player was playing softly in the background. Cora lay back on her bed and listened.
Nick stood outside Cora's room. He wanted to talk to her. He couldn't understand why he had said such horrible things to her. At the time he had been angry, at her, at himself. Now he felt like a jerk. He could hear music playing in her room, softly.
Grace's mind played back to that day on the corner of Talbot and Richmond. It had happened more than three weeks ago, but it still consumed her dreams and would in the nights to come. She thought she knew that she had done the right thing, sequestering herself from him, from everything. But still . . . The song was almost over . . .
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