December:

"Come on….come on!" growled Michaela, viciously turning the key. The engine whined painfully before giving out completely. Michaela slammed the steering wheel in frustration before tipping her bag out on the passenger seat and rooting around for her cell phone.

"Please be at home," she willed as the line finally connected. Her heart sped up at the sound of the familiar voice and she instantly cut off his friendly greeting.

"Thank god, Sully, you've got to help me."

"What's up, are you ok?"

The concern in his voice was evident but she was desperately late; a cliff notes version would have to suffice.

"The car's bust and I don't know what's wrong. I have no idea where the nearest auto shop is and I'm supposed to be there in 20 minutes."

"Where are you?" queried Sully.

"The corner of Portland, just past the big coffee place."

"I'm googling it now," assured Sully, and Michaela caught the staccato clatter of his fingers on the laptop.

"Sully," moaned Michaela, as she glanced at the clock, "fifteen minutes. I can't be late!"

"Ok, ok, I've got one," replied Sully quickly, "I'll call them and tell them to come pick up the car. Just leave the keys behind the front wheel guard and get in a cab."

"I can't just leave the keys!" exclaimed Michaela, "what if someone steals the car?"

"No one is going to steal that pile of junk," laughed Sully, "trust me. Just go.

"And good luck!" he added but the line had already gone dead.

Stumbling slightly as she ran up the stairs, Michaela felt her chest contracting. Unable to stay in the cab as it crawled its way to the red lights, she had leapt out and pelted down the last block to the meeting rooms. Hurtling into the atrium, she caught sight of the various other candidates, each sporting a crimson badge and slowed her steps. Her muscles protested as she sucked in a deep breath, trying desperately to calm her racing heart as she approached the sign in desk. All too aware of her hair that had slipped out of its elegant knot and was now sticking unflatteringly to her sweaty face, she hastily pulled out the clip and let it cascade over her shoulders instead.

"Michaela Quinn," she began in what she hoped was a reasonably composed voice, swiping at her forehead, "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"Ah, Miss Quinn," replied the administrator as she checked her list, "how are you feeling?"

"Your uncle was good enough to telephone us," she explained kindly, as Michaela simply stared at her blankly.

"My uncle?" she queried uncertainly, "but I don't…"

"Yes, your uncle," continued the administrator, pulling out a welcome pack and handing it to Michaela, "he explained all about the accident and how you might be a bit late. He seemed quite concerned that you had hit your head quite hard and that you might be a little confused."

At this she turned to gaze sympathetically at Michaela who's features did indeed look plausibly puzzled.

"Sully," breathed Michaela as the pieces suddenly fell into place, before adding quickly, "I'm fine, thank you. It was nothing."

"Well, just take a seat over there then," smiled the young woman, pointing at a row of seats to her left, "they'll call you in shortly."