The craftsmen checked the kitchen floor tiles, then got lunch and wandered out to the tables in the large room. As soon as no one was watching, Maria danced around her make-shift kitchen with happiness for a moment.
Heather chatted with the men about the laundry room and sleeping rooms, which they expected to finish that day, easily. Then she apologized, but absolutely had to get some other things done.
The foreman ruffled her hair. “I think we can do our jobs without you . . .
but you have to be here tomorrow to carry that new stove up the stairs for us!”
Heather grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it!”
Lisa wasn’t surprised when the girl slipped into the seat beside her. “I had a hunch we’d be going somewhere today.”
“I need to open a bank account.”
“Only if you want to do something with your paychecks.”
“I do. Lots of things.”
The adults at the table laughed.
Sarah caught Lisa’s eye. “I have the guardianship documents — all the program officers and Corporal Do-forva.”
Lisa nodded, then looked at Heather. “Right after lunch?”
“Sure. I just want to talk to Susan for a little while. I think . . . we’re going to need each other.”
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The bank was happy to open a savings account for the little girl with her mother signing everything and making all the real banking decisions.
When Priscilla Ka-mentha presented her I.D. card and stated, in no uncertain terms, that only a checking account would be useful, and they’d be happy to go elsewhere if necessary, the account officer looked at Major Ka-markla, in uniform.
The major nodded agreement with Priscilla, and the account officer quickly got her supervisor.
The account supervisor emphasized that every check would have to have her mother’s signature.
When Major Ka-markla brought out the guardianship documents and revealed that there were actually five people who could each function as a guardian, the account supervisor didn’t know what to do, so she got the branch manager.
The branch manager prepared five signature cards, but then stopped and explained that the account could not be opened until the signature cards were complete.
Major Ka-markla whistled.
General Bo-seklin, Colonel Ba-kerga, Major Ma-soran, and Corporal Do-forva, all in uniform, emerged from the waiting room and crowded around the account desk.
The branch manager looked up and swallowed.
Priscilla turned and looked at them with grateful eyes. “You guys are so sweet!”
“We were on our way to the air base,” Sam explained as military I.D. cards were shown and signatures given, “and had a hunch one of our own would need a little back-up.”
Sarah looked at Priscilla with smiling eyes. “In recent days, we’ve seen how dedicated you are to your work, even when that means juggling two or three projects at once.”
“And it’s a pleasure,” George added, “to arrange security for someone who actually cooperates with us.”
Ginny grinned. “And besides, you’re an awesome skater!”
Everyone chuckled until the branch manager cleared her throat. “The
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minimum deposit to open an account is one hundred.”
Priscilla pulled her first check from her shoulder purse. “What will the hold time be for this check?”
The woman raised her eyebrows at the size of the check, then remembered that a general and several other military people were still looking at her.
“Well . . . um . . . it’s a local check from the base, so . . . um . . . no hold time.”
“Great! In that case, after you deposit it, I’ll need a counter check to make a withdrawal!”
With enough money in her purse to do a great deal of damage in any store, Heather scribbled a list as Lisa drove.
“There’s a shopping center just down the road,” the major offered.
“Not today, thanks. Mostly I want to work with the guys on the sleeping rooms. Tomorrow the new kitchen stuff’s coming, so we won’t get anything else done, and I’ll have to prep for a session at the same time.”
Lisa pointed the car back toward the facility.
Heather continued scribbling. “Let me see, I owe Sarah for the record player, you for a bunch of stuff — I kept a list — and Ginny a little . . .”
Lisa said good-night shortly after delivering Heather back to the facility.
The craftsmen, with help from their young supervisor, finished the safe-house sleeping rooms and departed.
Only Corporal Do-forva remained on duty.
Doctor Susan Bo-kamla, the psychologist on the team, arrived just as Heather was finishing dinner. The three of them got slices of apple pie from the make-shift kitchen and sat down in the temporary dining room.
“Susan’s agreed to be my therapist,” Heather explained. “I’m really glad I can talk to all of you — well, I have to be a little careful with George . . .”
Ginny smiled with understanding.
“. . . but I need someone who really knows how to spot mental ruts I might be getting into. I hope you understand,” she said, looking at Ginny.
“Completely!” the corporal assured the seven-year-old. “And I promise you, the others do too. We’re all amazed at what you’re doing. Everyone —
even the general — thought you’d just be making little predictions, you know,
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next week someone’s gonna highjack flight 123, and we could do something about it, or not. I’ve overheard the officers saying their heads are spinning with the new perspectives you’re giving them.”
“Well . . . they’ll have to get their own therapists!”
Ginny and Susan both laughed.
“We’ll probably meet in the bomb shelter — I promised Lisa I’d tell someone when going downstairs.”
“Okay. That’s probably the best place for privacy.”
Heather nodded. “Mmmm, I love Maria’s apple pie. She’s gonna be a very happy cook tomorrow!”
Susan had never been fond of creepy basements, but as they descended the steep stone steps, she took Heather’s word that it was completely bug-free and rodent-proof.
Heather gave a tour and explained all the supplies, but didn’t ask the psychologist to crawl to the end of the long tunnel.
Susan looked askance at the porta-potty. “Um . . . if it’s okay with you . . .
I’ll use the one upstairs.”
Heather snickered. “As long as there’s no radio-active fallout up there!”
They got comfortable at the table in the middle of the room.
“I’m going to need a friend who’s not in the military,” Heather began.
Susan nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”
“I do need a therapist, but I also need much more than that. I need someone who will stick with me through thick and thin, help me at certain times when no one else will, and keep everything we talk about between you and me.”
Susan smiled. “That’s what confidentiality is all about!”
“Before you make the final decision about being my therapist and . . .
friend . . . I need to tell you two things. All other details will be filled in as they become known.”
“O . . . kay.”
“There will come a time when the survival of our civilization will depend on my memories.”
Susan’s mouth suddenly became so dry, she couldn’t have spoken even if
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she knew what to say.
“And at that time, I’m fairly sure the military will turn against me, and I will have to leave here, and do what needs to be done, by myself . . .”