Chapter Text
“I wanna thank you, Steph. I used to worry my life would be over after high school. Now I see, the afterlife’s not so bad. It’s just poundin’ nerds!” Pete flinches with Max’s words.
“Once I’m done with you butt-nuggets, I’ll take care of the losers over at Sycamore. Then the whole damn town of Clivesdale! All the nerdy prudes must pay!” Steph’s brain rushes for a thing, any singular thing, to do. To hopefully get out of this place she’s in.
“But I’m gonna start with you,” he glares at Pete, then whips his head around. “Steph.” she flinches, her eyes stuck on his. Or, where his were.
“You lured me to that house. You betrayed me!” she tries to crawl away from him, but he just keeps on closing the gap. “You freakin’ Judas!”
“Get away from her!” a voice rings out. And Max whips around.
“Grace!” he approaches the girl, who’s trembling more than a leaf in a tornado. “What are you doing here?” he asks, almost seductively.
Steph can see the repulsion in Grace’s face and body, even in the dark.
She can see her steel herself.
“What’s right.” Grace blinks, looking like she’s begging for forgiveness. “I sacrifice what I cherish most!” she announces to the sky.
And Max scoffs.
Steph and Pete look at each other, in confusion.
What in the world is she sacrificing?
Max takes one more threatening step towards her, and then freezes. And tugs, as if his limbs are stuck against his will.
Steph stands, cautious, watching as Pete does the same.
Grace’s eyes are blank. Open, but unseeing. Steph risks approaching her, terrified, as Max screams and snarls not even two feet from her.
“Grace?” she questions, as Grace doesn’t even notice her by her side.
“‘Msorry.” Grace’s words are hardly spoken, barely muttered.
And Steph knows, in that moment, that her life is changed even more permanently, as Grace’s eyes go back in her skull, and her body starts to fall backwards.
“Fuck!” she just barely manages to catch the girl, as she starts shaking, and foaming at the mouth.
“She must be having a seizure, put her on her side and-and put your jacket underneath her head!” Pete instructs, and Steph rushes to follow. “I’m timing it, and calling 911.”
“Has she ever had a seizure before?” Steph questions the world more than anyone specifically.
“I don’t fucking know! Hi, we need an ambulance at the Hatchetfield High School football field, we have an 18 year old female having a seizure. Currently about 30 seconds and counting.”
Steph wishes she had Grace’s faith. Because she’s praying right now.
And oh fuck how she hopes she’s heard.
“I-I can try to find her emergency contacts, but her name is Grace Chasity, parents are Mark and Karen Chasity. I don’t know their numbers.” Pete explains into the phone, urgently. “No, it’s not stopped. She’s still shaking pretty bad, her eyes are rolled back.” he drops to his knees, putting his fingers on Grace’s wrist.
“Her heart is racing, tachycardia. But she is breathing. No, I’m not a paramedic, or EMT, I just… I want to be. What’s the estimate on medical?”
He finally breathes for himself. And Steph quickly reaches into Grace’s pocket, and pulls out her phone. Opening her emergency contact information.
“Okay… Okay. We weren’t planning on moving her, but we’ll make sure that we don’t.”
“Gracie?” a woman’s voice cuts through Steph’s call.
“Hi, is this Karen Chasity?” it’s the stupidest question, and she regrets asking it the moment it leaves her mouth.
“Yes, who is this? Why do you have my daughter’s phone?”
“Grace is having a seizure on the football field. Has she had one before?” Pete mentioned that he didn’t know, and she sure as hell didn’t know.
“Gracie? No, no, never. We don’t even have a history of seizures.”
“No history of seizures in her family, no previous ones for her either.” Steph repeats, hearing Pete do the same to the operator. “You’re gonna be okay, Grace. You’re gonna be okay.”
Please let her be telling the truth.
Grace’s eyes barely crack to a blinding light.
And close again to hide from it.
What happened? She was…
She was on the football field, right?
No matter what, she’s here now.
Wherever here is.
“Gracie? Mark, I think she’s awake!”
Mommy?
“Gracie, dear. If you can hear us, squeeze my hand.”
Daddy?
A warmth is placed in her hand, and she tries her hardest to squeeze.
“She’s here. She’s here! Nurse! Nurse!”
She feels… Spacey.
Maybe she was in heaven, for a little bit. That would explain it.
She closes her eyes, and she returns.
“Alright, how are we doing here today?” Becky Barnes, the children’s ward nurse asks. Grace wasn’t exactly sure that the children’s ward was right for her, after all, she’s not technically a child. But Becky’s bedside manner sure didn’t make her want to ask for a change of scenery.
“I’m doing alright, Ms Becky.” Grace answers for herself. A hospital visit certainly isn’t free, even if it’s only been a day and a half, and the doctors have been saying that, minus the memory issues, it's as if she didn’t have a seizure at all. So her parents both had to go back to work.
“Well, as you know, we’re hoping to get you out of here tomorrow, if all things go to plan. Which means a lot of appointments are in your schedule. Anything I can get you before that? Like, pain meds, some food, water?”
Her stomach growls.
“Some food and water would be great.” Grace requests.
“Well, I’ll make sure your guests get that right to ya!”
Guests? The only guests she’s had were her parents.
“Hey Gracie girl, how’d you sleep?” her mother asks, popping her head in. Hands empty.
“Mom! I slept good. I can’t wait to go back home.” to stop racking up costs, to get back to school.
To get back to normal.
“Well, there’s some people you’ll want to see first, dear. Come on in!” two people nervously walk through the door.
A boy, holding a hospital breakfast tray. A girl, holding a water cup.
Both with nervously terrified smiles.
Neither of whom she recognizes.
“Hey Grace. How’re you feeling?” the boy asks.
His hair is long, and soft looking. Glasses framing his face in a way that fits him so perfectly. Even if Grace doesn’t know him.
“Better than I have been.” she answers, tense.
Why would she want to see these people? Are they members of the congregation? School friends?
Why doesn’t she know them, when she clearly should?
“That’s good! You, uh. You got us scared there, for a long while.” the girl mutters, tears in her eyes and voice.
“Oh, uh… I’m… Sorry about that?” should she even mention it? “I, uh… I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are.”
Her mom jumps right in, as the two teenagers’ eyes go wide.
“She’s been having some memory issues.” she explains quietly.
Grace really doesn’t like being talked about like she isn’t in the room. Especially since she doesn’t feel like that’s correct.
Her memory is perfectly fine, to her.
“Oh… That’s okay! I’m Pete… Peter Spankoffski. And this is Steph- Stephanie Lauter. We’re friends.” it seems to hurt him to explain that.
Grace wants to say something. Because hearing him, Peter, say ‘friends’ hurts. Hurts like phantom pain, even though there is no limb missing.
“We were on the football field with you. When you had your seizure.” the gir- Steph explains.
“They were the ones who called 911, dear. And the ones who called me and dad.” her mom explains. And Grace nods.
So why doesn’t she remember them?
“We, uh… We have to head to school. But… Hopefully we’ll, you know, see you there soon?” Pete requests.
And Grace nods again. Trying not to question the flare of heat in her stomach.
“Hopefully soon.” she agrees, as they each squeeze her hand, gently.
Are they worried about hurting her, or something?
“I’ll walk them out, but then I gotta head to work, baby. I’ll see you this afternoon, okay?” her mom kisses her forehead.
“Okay mama, see you then!” she watches them leave the room, and sighs.
She should probably eat breakfast before her physical therapy.
It was awfully nice of her mom to bring it to her.
“I just… I don’t know. Are you sure that she’s ready?” her dad asks. She feels ready, there’s no reason to delay this.
“Well, to be honest Mark, I think your girl is gonna be just fine jumping right in. I mean, every test we run comes back as if she’s never had a seizure in her life. With the exception of the memory stuff, that is.” Ms Becky explains, holding the discharge papers.
“But, is she ready to go right back to school?” her mom asks.
“I think she is. And, with the accommodations you’ve been telling me about, I think she’ll be more than supported. The worst thing that can happen here, in my mind? She starts having trouble, you pull her and give it a try in the spring.”
Both her mom and dad nod, so she does as well.
“And either way, there’s nothing more we can do here. Either she’ll get those memories back with time, or she won’t. And being in a familiar space can only help with that.”
“Well then… Thank you for your help, Becky.” her dad mutters, taking the papers that surely contain care instructions. As if she’s become an expensive dress.
“That’s my job. It was good to see you again, Mark, Karen. Grace, you take care now. I don’t want to see you back here, you hear?” Ms Becky teases, and Grace smiles.
“I will. Thank you, Ms Becky.” the nurse gives a nod, and walks away. Having other patients to get to.
“Well, let’s get you home, kid. And into your own bed!” her dad offers a hand to help her out. And Grace takes it.
“Only took 2 days.”
“Still 2 days longer than we’d like.” her mother worries.
“So, I am going back to school tomorrow?” Grace checks. Desperate for the normality.
“We figured we should give you a long weekend, rather than go for one day. You’ll be back on Monday.” her dad assures.
“Good.” really good.
Something in her burns to get back to those classrooms. And she’s not exactly a firefighter, here.
“Miss Chasity! It’s a wonder to see you again, dear. How are you doing?” Miss Mulberry asks, as Grace enters the classroom. A bit excessively early.
“Much better than a week ago.” she explains, blunt but true.
“Well, I’m sure you do. You remember where your seat is?”
“Mhmm!” Grace assures, already taking it.
“Good! We’ve been told you’ve had some memory issues, but don’t worry, we’ll accommodate you as well as we can. In fact, I think some friends of yours have already gotten a head start on that!” Miss Mulberry waves a folder, a relatively thick one at that, and sets it in front of her.
“Oh?” she opens it. Homework pages and notes, well labeled notes, titled ‘Economics’. Weird… She doesn’t have any friends in Miss Mulberry’s class. Not really.
There was Richie and Ruth but…
The… The murders? Right, they were murdered.
A devastating loss, truly. Had she missed their funerals because of the seizure? She’ll have to write their parents a letter, especially if she missed the one the school almost certainly sent around.
PJ is in Economics, but that isn’t their handwriting. And PJ writes exclusively in pen, this is all pencil.
“Who… Who took these for me?” she hopes that she’s friendly enough that someone in the class would have. And clearly, that was true. But she doesn’t recognize the handwriting.
Actually, there’s two different handwritings. The notes are all very neat, but the homework is labeled by day, and that handwriting is messy.
“Mr Spankoffski and Miss Lauter did.”
The… Who?
She knows Mr Spankoffski, but he’s not in this class. Why would an adult, who owns, runs, and manages a shoe parlor be in a high school economics class?
And the mayor, who… He was also murdered, wasn’t he? He must’ve been. A tragedy, so many lives taken unfairly. But more importantly, a ‘he’. And an adult who died… Before her seizure, if she’s remembering correctly.
“Who?”
“Peter and Stephanie?”
She’s never met them.
“I’ll be sure to thank them!”
But it must just be her memory going foggy. The way the doctors warned her.
Miss Mulberry nods at her, and she nods back. Turning back to the notes.
She really hopes that the other teachers at least give her the assignments she missed. Even if they don’t go out of their way to deliver handwritten notes like Miss Mulberry.
“Grace, you’re back!” an unfamiliar voice exclaims, grabbing her attention.
A tall, sweater and glasses wearing boy, hair longer than her own.
Had they gotten a new student?
Why did he know her name?
“Yeah… I’m sorry, do I know you?” she sure as heck hopes that she’d remember a boy like this.
He looks like someone respectable. Like a boy her parents would approve of, years down the line.
But his face falls with her question.
“I’m Pete... Peter Spankoffski? I-I know you’ve been having some memory issues since the seizure, but don’t worry.” he swallows hard.
“I’ll introduce myself a hundred times for you.”
He acts like a boy her parents would approve of today.
“Thank you, Pete.” she doubles down on his name, proving both to him and herself that she will remember it. “I’m really sorry that I don’t remember you. Hopefully, you know, the memories will come back, right?”
Grace really hopes that they will.
Sooner rather than later.
Because he’s acting like there’s so much more, as if she should be able to fill a book with their memories.
And she doesn’t even have any missing on her shelf.
“Yeah, hopefully.” he sounds sad.
“Well, not that it’s… ‘meeting’, but it is nice to know you… Again.” she insists. Though based on his expression, that might’ve not fixed his problem.
“I’ll, uh, let you get back to your notes.” he insists.
And she attempts a comforting smile, although it doesn’t look to have done much comforting, and a nod, before turning back to her notes.
PJ’s shoes squeak as she takes her regular seat, drawing Grace’s attention a bit.
“Hey Grace, you’re back! How did you get sick enough to miss that much school?” she asks, drawing Grace’s attention fully.
“Oh, well… I had a seizure.” PJ’s face drops. “But it’s okay! Other than some minor memory issues, my doctors are saying it’s like I never had one in the first place! Hence, why I’m giving school a bit of a test run today.” Grace rushes through her explanation.
“That’s good! Don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”
“Okay!”
Grace turns back to her notes, her eyes catching on the bouncing foot of the person sitting on her other side.
Odd, PJ would’ve told her that there was a new student, right?
Grace finds herself walking back to her mother’s car far earlier than she expected.
Thinking back on the day, she’s only been at school for at most 3, maybe just barely 4, hours.
But she remembers each class, if only for a few minutes each.
“Mama, I don’t think I can do school yet. I don’t think I’m ready.” she confesses, like a sin, as her mother waits in the car line.
“Why do you say that, peach?” her mother turns her head to listen, keeping her eyes on the unmoving road.
“Because I could swear on my life, and truthfully say with all of my knowledge, that I barely spent 3 hours in school today.”
Grace can tell that her mother is trying. Trying so hard, to not make her more upset. Holding back her reaction.
“But the clock says that it’s 2:20, so I know that a school day has actually passed. And it’s not like I’m missing anything, I don’t know what I’ve forgotten and-” but she’s made herself upset just with the clock in her mother’s car.
“Gracie, dear. You need to breathe.” and she forces herself to.
As shaky as it is.
“Okay… You’re not ready, and that is okay. Today was a placement test, and clearly your placement, and your focus, needs to be in recovery. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I’m sorry.” Grace can no longer hold back the tears.
“Gracie, it’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. You had a seizure, peach. You didn’t control that, and you can’t control how you recover from it. We’ll give it a try next semester.”
“Okay.” she’s still crying. “But what if I can’t do it next semester?”
“We’ll figure it out from there.” her mother insists, ever comforting.
“You promise?” she silently begs for a promise.
While praying for a miracle.
“I promise.”
Grace makes it her goal to recover.
To prove herself ready for next semester.
Which means memory games meant for more than one person. A matching memory game.
Simple math cards.
She even managed to find her old fake money, from when she played town with her parents, and insisted on realistic fake money.
“Grace, what are you doing?” her father’s voice calls out.
She hadn’t even heard the door open, at least not over the background Frank Sinatra she had put on, in an attempt to create a calming, relaxing environment.
“I’m testing myself… Wait, aren’t you supposed to be at work?” he normally doesn’t get off until 5. It’s noon.
“Yes, but I have a very important lunch.” his voice feels teasing, and he’s still in his suit.
Grace scrambles up, feeling a little embarrassed about playing, and being caught playing, with children’s games in an attempt to improve her memory.
“Oh! I can clean up right away, sorry, I didn’t-”
“Gracie! Pumpkin, the lunch is with you.” her father chuckles.
“Really?” she stands up straight.
“Yes, it is. Come on, put on your shoes! You see, there’s this new retro diner that just opened yesterday. I thought you’d enjoy it.” he insists, as she dashes to put on her shoes.
“Oh, I do enjoy retro.” part of her wonders why she didn’t know about it. Before realizing that there’s an obvious answer there.
“Besides, it was a quick, but necessary, decision. And I’d much rather go to a diner for lunch with my darling daughter, than eat it alone in my office.”
She knows the real reason.
To check in on her.
“Thanks daddy.” but she’s not going to acknowledge that.
“Hiya! Welcome to Miss Retro’s Diner, I’m Miss Holloway, what can I get started for ya?” the server asks.
“Your bacon cheeseburger meal, with all the toppings and a… lemonade would be wonderful!” her dad answers first.
“I’ll do the deluxe cheeseburger… No pickles. And a water.” Grace answers.
She could always steal some of her dad’s fries.
“Wonderful! I can take your menus, and that’ll be right out!”
“Well, this place is nice, isn’t it?” her dad starts, looking around. “Nice 80s retro feel. I’m shocked they’re not busy.” commenting.
Grace follows his lead, spotting something that catches her eye.
“They’re hiring waitresses.”
Her dad whips his head around, spotting the same sign that Grace just can’t break contact with.
“They are! I mean, that makes sense. They did just open. Having staff is very important.” he notes.
She should… She shouldn’t…
“I think I want to apply.” and her voice drops in before her brain comes to a decision.
“What?” her father questions, whipping his head back around to face her with concern.
“That’s the house rule. You’re either in school, or you’re working, or searching for work. I’m not in school-”
“Peach, that was before the seizure.” her father’s voice shuts her up. “I know that we said that. And I know that those are the rules we’ve been telling you since you were 16. But those don’t matter now.”
He swallows hard, concern in his eye that shoots through her like a guilt-filled laser.
“Your job is to heal. Put your energy into that first. And then we’ll try school again.” he insists.
“But… What happened to whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?” she questions. She’s heard that phrase, over and over.
And she’s still here, despite everything (forgotten, or not).
She’s alive…
Why isn’t she stronger?
“With time.” he answers. “With time, whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. But you need time first.”
Grace sighs.
She’s never heard that.
And she knows that it’s what she needed.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
“Do you think you could handle it?” her dad questions, after a long silence, and his own sigh.
“I think so… I think I know so.” she answers, perking up.
“What about your memory?”
“This time yesterday… I barely remembered 2 hours. But today, I… I’ve been up as long as I normally would be, and I remember every,” painfully frustrating “minute.” she admits. “And… I can ask for accommodations? The same way you and mama asked the school.”
“Here’s your food and drinks, darlings!” Miss Holloway comes back, setting their trays in front of them. “Anything else I can get for ya?”
“Do you have any paper applications for the waitress position?” he asks.
And Miss Holloway looks right at her, knowing who’s really asking.
“Of course darlin’, I’ll bring it right out.”
“Now, Grace. I see that you have marked the accommodation needed section of your paperwork. What kind of accommodation, exactly?” Grace sits in her Sunday best, for her interview.
But while expected, she hadn’t anticipated that being the absolutely first question after common pleasantries.
“Well… To be truthful with you, I had a seizure about a week ago. And afterwards, I have been suffering from some memory issues.” something in her needs to explain her, well, needs.
“I see.”
“So, really, all I would require would be notebooks and a pencil, or pen. To write every order out… The memory issues seem to pop in and out without warning, or notice. I haven’t had any for about 3 days now, but that… Well, that doesn’t guarantee that it won’t happen again.” but it’s an annoyingly hopeful sign that she’s getting better.
Miss Holloway looks between her and her paper. Once… Twice…
And smiles, sticking out her hand.
“Welcome to the team, Grace.”
Grace, stunned, doesn’t even realize it.
“W-what?”
“You’re hired. Full time waitress, and if you go back to school, we can move your schedule around to work.” Miss Holloway insists.
“E-even with my?”
“Your resume is stacked, your references are glowing. And your accommodation is understandable, acceptable, and very very small for what I honestly believe you should be asking for. I’d be honored to have you on my crew.” Miss Holloway explains, soft and caring.
“I’m honored to be joining it!” Grace holds back her freak out, instead shaking her new boss’s hand in as professional a manner she can manage.
“How do you feel about starting training on Monday? Oh, and let me get you our uniform shirt and apron.”
Maybe, this memory hiccup can be just that.
A hiccup.
For some reason, waitressing clicks into Grace like a puzzle piece. She’s a natural, according to Miss Holloway. Like a fish to water.
A kind, upbeat demeanor. Patient with kids and adults alike. A smile always on her face, but never forced.
Attentive, knowledgeable, making her guests feel at home.
“Grace, are you gonna greet the kids over at table 5?” which is why Miss Holloway is a bit shocked to see her ignoring a table.
Sure, they’re supposed to greet guests as quickly as possible, but Grace had been talking with her for 5 minutes, and table 5 had already been waiting for 10.
“What?” Grace turns to look at the table in question, and almost jumps in alarm. “I hadn’t even seen them come in!” she worries, already walking over there, flipping to the section of her notepad that was dedicated to the table.
“Hiya, sorry for the wait. Welcome to Miss Retro’s, I’m Grace, and I’ll be your server today. What can I get started for you?” it’s a script that quickly became natural to her, alongside a smile that never fades.
“... Grace.” the girl looks as if she’s seen a ghost. Well… Not quite a ghost. More a friend she hasn’t seen in a decade.
Which is odd. Because Grace doesn’t recognize her.
“That’s my name!” this is going off script. She doesn’t know the correct way to respond here.
The boy sighs, the air riddled with disappointment.
Over what? That, she has no clue.
“Your memory’s not come back.” he mutters.
But now she does.
“Oh… No, uh… It hasn’t. I’m assuming I am supposed to know you two, then?” Grace really wants to apologize for that.
Whether or not she has control over it.
“Yeah, uh…” the boy mutters.
“I’m Steph. S-Steph Lauter.” it looks like saying her last name causes the gir- Steph to be in pain.
“Pete Spankoffski.” the boy rushes out.
Grace quickly jots down their names, with plenty of space.
She’ll take their orders, and she will remember their names, if it’s the last thing she does.
“Can… Uh, can I get the chicken tenders meal, with a Diet Dr Pepper and barbecue sauce on the side? And a slice of pumpkin pie, no whipped cream, please.” Steph requests, getting to the orders.
Grace nods, writing it down while keeping her face up. A skill she’d picked up remarkably fast.
“The club sandwich meal, uh… hot chocolate, if you have it, and a cinnamon roll.” Pete adds.
“I’ll have those right out to you. And, I am sorry for not remembering you.” she doesn’t step away quite yet.
“It’s okay… We were on the football field with you. It’s understandable that your memory would be… missing.” Pete mutters.
And Grace doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she simply turns, forgetting to even grab their menus.
Why was she over here anyway? Had she just walked away from her conversation with her boss?
Oh, that’s not appropriate, or polite. Could she be fired for that?
She should apologize right away, who walks away in the middle of talking to someone?
“I can ring it in, what’s their order?” Miss Holloway asks.
Grace blanks.
Who’s order?
No one had come in for the past 30 minutes, a slow hour, even for the slow paced Miss Retro’s.
All of her tables had been served, gone, and cleaned for the past 15. That’s why they had been talking at the bar.
“Who’s order? Did someone come in?” she whips her head around, spotting a young couple at table 5.
A young couple who looked comfortable, talking to each other. Settled in.
How long had she been making them wait?
“Oh!” she turns back to Miss Holloway.
Why had she exclaimed?
There was a reason, it was on the tip of her tongue, the front of her mind.
How had she forgotten it already?
She’s been doing so good, her recovery has been so close to perfect, why now?
Grace knows that there’s panic in her eyes as she looks at Miss Holloway’s calm ones. Not just calm… Knowing.
“Grace, I want you to turn around again. But don’t turn back. I’m going to keep talking to you, okay?” Miss Holloway instructs.
And Grace nods, slowly turning.
It had to be something bad.
But… Nope.
Just a young couple sitting at table 5.
She hadn’t even heard the doorbell ring, but they’re not sitting looking at the menu.
Their menus are to the side, and they’re talking to each other from across the booth.
They’re acting like they’ve already ordered, but Grace hasn’t even been over there yet.
She didn’t even hear, let alone see them come in or take the table.
“Don’t move.” Miss Holloway instructs once more.
And Grace breathes.
“Keep them in your line of sight.”
“I should be taking their order.” Grace counters, trying to not sound bratty.
She should be doing her job, but here she is. Staring at customers, as her boss gives her instructions in the gentle tone one would use for a frightened kitten.
“No, keep them in your line of sight, and check your notepad.”
Grace raises her notepad to her vision.
Which is ridiculous. The most that will be there will be the words ‘Table 5’, and nothing but an empty page the rest of the way down.
She flinches at the fact that it isn’t.
Steph - ckn tndrs meal, BBQ side, ddr, pmkn n/w
Pete - club meal, hotc, cin roll
“Okay, now turn back to me.”
Grace does, unintentionally closing and lowering her notepad.
What had they been talking about?
Oh, right, they were brainstorming new pie flavors to test.
“Grace, it’s been slow for a while, go take your 30. I’ll take your notepad, if you don’t mind.”
That’s a sudden shift.
“Alright..?” she sets the notepad down, despite the confusion.
Miss Holloway has never had her do that before, but, the boss is the boss! No matter how kind she is.
“Steph, look at the logic, look at the path. The evidence! It has to be us.”
“I don’t get it, how could we be what she cherished most-?”
Miss Holloway puts on her best understanding, yet adult face.
“Your food. Apologies, it was time for Grace’s break. I’m Miss Holloway.” the boy, Pete, according to Grace’s notepad, almost jumps out of his socks.
“Thank you ma’am.” he manages to get out.
“Thank you.” the girl, Steph, mutters it in turn.
“Now, I know it’s not exactly proper to be eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear.” their faces go into panic, but she can handle that.
What she can’t handle is having only the limited knowledge their private conversation has given, and the even more limited knowledge she can assume from Grace’s circumstances.
“If I may suggest, it may not be your own physical self that she cherishes most. I believe your answer would be the ability to know you two.” Holloway had seen this before. From the other side, from their side.
The difference is that she remembers, and she knows.
They have theories. And Grace has gaps.
She’s far more in the know than any one of the three.
“W-what?” Pete stammers, looking at her with confusion.
“I don’t think I can give much more explanation, darlin’. But I might have a way to help. Meet me back here, 5 minutes before close. With the book. Now, unless you can finish eating in about 15 minutes, would you like some to-go boxes?”
The teenagers look at each other, back at her, and then nod practically in sync.
Her job is never quite done. Certainly not in Hatchetfield, that is.
Miss Holloway keeps her eyes open near the front door, as Grace closes up the kitchen.
And before long, a car pulls up, with two nervous looking teenagers stepping out.
“Is she going to be back to normal?” Pete asks, handing the book over with the fear of the Lords in his eyes. Miss Holloway takes it, feeling its power pulling her.
“I’ll do my best.” that’s all she can promise.
“Should we-” a sound from the kitchen interrupts Steph’s question, although Miss Holloway knows what she was going to ask.
“I can handle this, trust me. It’d be best if you didn’t see it.” and before either teen can protest, her front door is closed and locked, the open sign turned off.
If it goes well, hopefully Grace wouldn’t remembering seeing it either.