AN: I'm sorry to hear that about half of the people who reviewed last chapter are sick too. We can all be miserable together. *toasts you all with a bottle of Nyquil* Cheers!

And despite my sickness, last night my muse was motivated by the fact that in seven to ten business days, I will be the proud owner of a piano keys belt just like Artie's! *squee!* Thank you again Maggie, that made my life. The awesomeness of that managed to cut through the congestion in my head so I could write this new chapter. Yay! Thank her, she saved you from the cliffhanger.

Chapter 3

The woman doesn't even pause on her way out of the door, like she hadn't heard me. I haven't seen her face straight on, but there's something hauntingly familiar in that profile. There are no colored streaks in her hair, no florescent eye make-up, and not a safety pin or chain or fishnet in sight, but I feel something in my chest leap anyway. She just keeps walking.

"No, Tina, wait!" As she vanishes beyond the doorframe, my eagerness and panic momentarily make me forget that the limbs below my waist haven't worked in fifteen years. I remember abruptly when my body crashes to the floor, landing hard on my side and knocking the air out of me.

It takes a minute for my reeling and now oxygen-deprived brain to catch back up with me. The moment it does, I'm untangling my body and pulling myself up into my chair. Disregarding the fact that I'm only wearing a rumpled white teeshirt and pajama pants, I roll out into the hall. "Tina?" I try to shout it, but it comes out as more of a breathless question because one quick look tells me there's no one in the hallway. Feeling frantic, I roll all the way to the end of the hall, checking down every side hall and in every open doorway I pass for some sign of her. Nothing.

Breathing heavily, I push myself back towards my room. I check again on my way back, but by now the spark of hope that had flared in my chest is dimmed. I had been so sure that was her. Why would she run away from me? It doesn't make sense. My Tina had never run from me before. She had always run to me.

Of course the honest truth is hovering in my mind, no matter how much I want to ignore it. That woman wasn't Tina. It wouldn't be the first time I'd excitedly mistaken another Asian woman for my missing best friend. Those had been embarrassing; seizing the arm of a random woman, shouting, "Tina!" only to realize it wasn't her. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn't caught up to that maid. I'd have only embarrassed myself again.

Shaking my head, I grab the change of clothes off my bed and steer myself into the bathroom. It's barely large enough for me to maneuver my chair in, and the only real handicap adjustment is a removable bench in the shower that feels slightly off balance, but I manage to make it work. Even though I took a shower last night, the warm water helps me clear my head.

Sitting in the shower, I think about these last twenty-four hours. Last night, after meeting Grace and her offer of something new to help me start over, Tina just had to work her way into my head again. Not that she ever really leaves it, but I normally do a better job of keeping my thoughts of her pressed into the back. With one dream, I'm suddenly the twitchy, paranoid mess that I was five years ago after she'd first disappeared. Every time I let my hopes get up like this, it's like losing her all over again. I can't keep doing this to myself.

I shut off the water and dry myself. By the time I'm dressed and out of the bathroom, it feels like the shock has worn off and I'm closer to normal. Determined that food will help, partially because I've heard somewhere that being hungry makes you delusional and mostly just because I'm really hungry, I start gathering my things to leave. I'm in the middle of tying my shoes when my phone rings. I answer it without checking the caller ID, expecting it to be my boss. "Arthur Abrams."

"Hey there, Fly Boy."

I nearly drop the phone in surprise at the woman's voice coming through my phone. Definitely not my boss. "Hello?" I reply uncertainly.

There's a laugh and I recognize her in the same instant she says, "You don't remember? Grace Michaels, from the plane."

"Oh, right, Grace, hi," I stammer out, laughing. "Sorry, it's been a weird morning."

"I was just calling to see if you were over the jet lag enough to cruise the town," Grace says. "Or are you going to be stuck in your fancy-pants meetings all day?"

I smirk at that. "No, those don't start until five," I assure her. "I was actually just on my way to grab something to eat."

"Excellent, I'll pick you up in fifteen," Grace says decidedly. I'm smiling as I agree and then she hangs up. I finish with my shoes, pull on a sweater, and with one final check that I have my wallet and keys, I leave my room.

I'm doing fine until I pass the first maid. Almost instinctively I glance up at her, but she's an older woman with dark gray hair. I shake my head, reminding myself that I'm being ridiculous. From that point on I keep my gaze firmly forward, resisting all temptation to look up every time I'm passing a gray uniform.

When I get out of the hotel and onto the sidewalk to wait, the cool air gets me a little more focused. It's still raining, but I try not to think about that. I'm only waiting under the awning for about two minutes when a blue car pulls up to the curb and Grace gets out of the driver's seat.

"Feeling better now that you're on the ground again?" she asks by way of greeting, grinning.

I laugh as I roll up to the car. "Much, thanks for asking." I open the passenger door and heave myself into the car. Before I can even turn my focus to what to do with my chair, Grace has already folded it and is stowing it in her trunk. She slips into the driver's seat, flashes me a smile, and then we're on the road.

"Wow, you're efficient," I note in surprise. She just smiles again. I glance out the windshield. "So, where exactly are we going?"

"Well since you're completely at my mercy, I was thinking about dragging you to the ballet and the newest chick flick and other equally sappy things," Grace says but she's having a hard time keeping her face straight. She takes one look at my mock terrified expression and laughs. "For starters, there's a really nice café a few blocks down. You can't come to Seattle without visiting a good coffee shop, and they also happen to make some of the greatest lunches this side of the ever-elusive fifth star."

"That's a very interesting way to put it," I muse and then settle back into the seat for the drive. Grace chatters happily about different lunches they offer and then about attractions I need to visit before leaving. She talks about the Space Needle a lot, and I try not to look too mortified by just how tall that thing is. Did she not figure out yesterday that I don't get on well with heights?

The café we stop at really is a nice little place. Really laid back, with wrought metal tables, painted white, that look like they belong in the conservatory room from the Clue board game. Grace drags one of the chairs away from the table so I can maneuver myself in, and we both order our drinks while we peruse the menu.

"So you're a musician, right?" Grace asks a minute after our coffees arrive and I look up from the list of sandwich styles curiously. "You have some highly developed guitar calluses on your fingers, and you've been tapping your fingers to the tempo of the ambiance music since the moment we got in here."

"You are almost freakishly perceptive," I inform her, embarrassedly forcing my hand to still on the tabletop. Grace just smirks and takes a sip of her soy latte. "Yeah, I am. Not quite as much as in high school, but because of work I still play guitar a lot."

"So what do you do again? Because you told me yesterday but I think the altitude was getting to you because you weren't speaking fluent English and I didn't really understand it," she says and I laugh.

"I work for a music technology company in Chicago. They create programs that make it easier to work music through computers," I explain. "You know, plug the instrument into the computer and it writes up the sheet music for what you're playing. That sort of thing. Lately we've been working on a lot of programs to help teach music to kids, make it more exciting and easier for them to learn."

"So you're a computer geek?" she asks with an arched eyebrow, smiling.

"No. Well yes, but that's not my job," I answer. "I'm in the public relations half. I go around to market the programs to other music companies. Recording studios, music schools, places like that. And visit grade schools to try and get kids interested in music. That's where most of my music playing comes in now, playing for kids."

Grace is smiling really softly now, not like the teasing smirk earlier, and she nods. "How sweet," she says and I busy myself with my coffee when I feel my cheeks heating up. "You really like your job, don't you? This helping kids discover music thing."

"It's a godsend," I agree. "I can't imagine anything else I'd really rather do. Well, except maybe Hugh Hefner's job."

"Hm, that's charming," she comments, laughing. We're distracted from the conversation for a moment when the waiter comes by to take our orders, but the moment he's gone Grace is picking up the thread again. I'm getting the impression this woman is one of those people who's afraid of the quiet.

"So lemme guess, you were a superstar rock musician in high school, right?" she asks and raises her eyebrow again, grinning almost cheekily. "Total stud, garage band, playboy, compulsive partier, ridiculous piercings, the whole she-bang."

I snort into my coffee. Wiping away the hot droplets that ricocheted up onto my lips, I glance over at her skeptically. "Yeah, and then I traded it in for this look," I say sarcastically, adjusting my glasses on my nose to emphasize the point. "It's very geek chic."

Grace laughs. "Just checking," she says innocently. "So then you've always been a nerd?"

"Until I was eight, I was determined I was going to be a Power Ranger when I grew up," I say by way of answer. Grace just nods, biting her bottom lip to stop from laughing. "What about you, have you always been a crazy people profiler?"

"I'm offended by the use of the word crazy," she says with feigned hurt. "Eccentric is the socially accepted term." I smile and nod, humoring her, so she continues. "I've always been a people watcher, ever since I was a kid. People don't appreciate how much you can learn about a person just by watching them for a few minutes. Now I'm a social worker, so it helps to be able to understand and relate to people. And yes, I've always been eccentric too."

"So that's how you can guess all these things about me before I say anything," I say, and I'm admittedly impressed. Grace smirks at me around her drink. We're interrupted again as our lunches show up, and for a moment my attention is too focused on the beautiful smell coming from my sandwich. You know you're starving when suddenly a simple club sandwich smells like heaven. Grace must be using her Sherlock Holmes mind powers to tell that I'm solely intent on my meal, because she lets me devour a full third of my sandwich in complete silence.

"Do they not have food where you're from or something?" she asks jokingly when the consumed third starts heading towards being half.

I swallow and blush. "I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday, except an extremely wilted salad at the airport," I explain sheepishly.

Grace wrinkles her nose. "You actually dared to eat airport food?" she asks and I can't tell if she's awed or disgusted. Probably the second.

"I was hungry," I shrug. I abandon my sandwich for a minute and go back to my coffee. "So those people watching powers, what else do you already know about me?"

"If I took a guess, I'd say you're about twenty-three, twenty-four," she says and then raises a questioning eyebrow, so I nod. "Catholic, although judging by your foul mouth on the plane, not exactly the most God-fearing of followers. Total nerd, you probably have Star Wars memorized word-for-word. The good ones, not the new ones. You're a musician but not one of those hyper-confident-bordering-on-arrogance ones, so I'd guess you were more into ensemble groups. Band or choir maybe. If you'll excuse my frankness, you've been in the chair since you were young. While you're self-conscious about your condition sometimes, you are overall well-adjusted and comfortable with who you are."

By this point I'm basically gaping open-mouthed at her, my lunch forgotten. This woman isn't Sherlock Holmes, she's a mind reader!

Grace smirks like she knows she's won, which my expression is probably a pretty good indicator of, and then she leans forward placing her elbows on the table and giving me a more serious look. "And there's also a look in your eyes that makes it seem like you've seen a ghost," she says pointedly. I close my mouth very quickly, the irony in that statement hitting me pretty hard. "How did I do?"

"Creepy good," I answer after a steadying breath. "Emphasis on the creepy."

"Thank you," Grace says and smiles. "So, you want to talk about it?"

"About how creepy your Jedi mind powers are?" I ask in confusion.

"I knew you were a Star Wars nerd," she says triumphantly. "But no, I was talking more about this mysterious ghost that's got you all jumpy."

"I'm not jumpy," I say defensively.

"Every time the shop door opens you glance over at it, and the look on your face is like you're half-expecting someone to show up, even though I know you don't actually know anyone who lives in this city because you told me so yesterday," Grace says and I flush, looking down at my food but not feeling much up to eating at the moment. She's got me thinking of her again and that has a tendency to kill my appetite. "You may as well get it over with because as I'm sure you've noticed I am insanely annoying and persistent."

"Yes, I'd deduced as much," I reply with a smile. "It's nothing, just thought I saw someone this morning I haven't seen in a while and never expected to see again. Weirded me out." Grace arches an eyebrow. "I think there's some unwritten rule where you're not supposed to talk about your exs while out on a date."

Grace pouts thoughtfully for a second and then says, "Well then this isn't a date." I look up at her curiously. "This is just a friendly lunch and a generous soul helping an outsider to get acquainted with the town." She smiles playfully and says, "Care to talk now?"

"City of miracles, my ass," I mutter with a laugh. Strangely enough, this whole change doesn't really bother me. Sure, it's a little weird to be told on your date that you're not actually on a date, but I've admittedly had stranger things happen. And while I'm still not fond of telling anyone about this, let alone Grace, it's also pretty tempting. She's easy to talk to and I'm not really afraid of her judging me by it either.

"Don't give up on those miracles yet," she says and reaches across the table to squeeze my arm. I don't fail to notice that there's no sparks or flurries in my stomach at the contact. Unfortunately. "So, who's the mystery girl? It is a girl, right? I'm not discriminating if it isn't."

"I shouldn't be laughing about the fact that you're questioning my sexuality," I say, not able to hold back the laughter anyway. "Yes, it's a girl." Thinking about her sobers me up a bit and I twist the little red stirring stick around in my coffee thoughtfully. My dream last night and the delusional breakdown this morning are both filling my head and making it hard to focus. Grace is giving me a sort of reassuring look and I take a deep breath. "She was my best friend, and my high school girlfriend."

"It ended bad?" she asks curiously.

I grimace. "We'd been dating for about two years, and then one day she just vanished. No runaway notes, no ransom calls, no signs of what might have happened. It was like she disappeared into thin air. Her parents skipped town a few days after, and my hopes of her coming back went with them. I haven't heard from her in five years." I pause, clearing my throat and glaring more intently at my coffee cup. "I thought I saw her this morning at the hotel, and it freaked me out. It's happened before though. You'd think I'd be used to it. I've accepted that she's dead, honestly. I think I just want to know for sure so I can get over it and move on."

"Wow," Grace says quietly, her voice awed. "You've got a life right out of a Nicholas Sparks."

For some inexplicable reason, I laugh. "Yeah, something like that," I concede. "Unless you suddenly whip out a knife and then it'll be a Stephen King." I haven't talked to someone about her in years, and weirdly enough it actually sort of helps. Or at least my appetite comes back enough for me to continue enjoying my sandwich.

"I'm sorry, about your girl," she says sincerely and I look up. There's a bit of a sad smile on her face, but for once the pity doesn't make me feel bad. Pity for my condition drives me insane, but this doesn't. "You really loved her, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I agree blankly, looking down at my plate and nodding. "Like I didn't think it was possible to feel." I blink quickly a couple times because my eyes are itching, and then look up at Grace again. "So, I still have two hours before I need to get back and get ready for work. What else is on your devious agenda?"

Grace smirks playfully and refuses to give me any more than a, "You'll see."