CHAPTER NINE


    After supper, Sam sat on the wide piano bench and opened the lid of
the instrument.  He looked at the yellowing ivory keys and prayed they
were in tune.  Holding his breath, he touched middle C gently, and let
it go in relief when the note sounded true.  He played a few scales,
listening carefully to the sounds the old up-right produced, pleased
when all the notes rang out clear and in harmony.  Well, it was no
Steinway but had been well looked after and tuned regularly.  Moving his
hands ever faster up and down the keyboard, he played more scales,
warming his fingers.  He stopped and rubbed his hands against his
thighs.
    He stared at his fingers - Brian Palmer's fingers - long and bony
with nails just as badly bitten as they had been in the library.  He
knew his own hands didn't look like that.  One night, Helen had
described what she saw.  They were almost the only part of him about
which she never joked.
    "They're big hands, Sam, and very gentle, with a wide span.  The
fingers are long and strong and flexible - and they have square tips.
Musician's hands, I think."
    Al had told him he could play the piano.  He seemed to remember he
had played once in a Leap.  So let's find out if he could do it again.
He took a deep breath, emptying his mind.  Shutting his eyes, he lifted
his hands and touched the keys.
    He played for hours or, possibly, just a few minutes.  He didn't
concentrate on hitting the right notes or playing anything in particular
but simply let his fingers move where they willed, instinctively
producing glorious sounds; first soft and gentle, rising gradually to a
great, thundering crescendo of notes, before modulating to a sweet,
lyrical melody.  The music flowed through him, rose again, triumphant,
then returned to the same soft, gentle tones with which it had begun.
    As the last notes died away, he came back to earth and opened his
eyes.  *God, I'd forgotten how good that could feel.*  He looked around.
Helen was curled up on the couch with William on her knee.  They were
both watching him.
    "That was beautiful," Helen breathed.  "What was it?"  She gently
pushed William down and came over to stand by Sam's side.  He slid along
the piano bench so she could sit by him.
    "I'm not sure.  Mainly Beethoven, I think.  Maybe a bit of Beckett."
    "I've never heard anyone play like that on this old thing before."
    Sam ran his hands idly over the keys, softly playing chords and
arpeggios.  "Can you play?"
    "Me?  No."  Helen's eyes twinkled.  "Mom tried to make me and I had
lessons for a while, but whenever I was supposed to be practicing I'd
hide and she'd find me somewhere with my nose in a book.  She gave up in
the end.  Mom could play, she loved it, but she couldn't play like
that."
    She fell silent, watching his hands, listening to the sounds he made
with them.
    As Sam played, his gaze wandered over the photos on top of the
piano.  He smiled as he noticed again Helen's striking resemblance to
her father.  His gaze wandered higher, to the little oil painting that
hung on the wall.  The old woman looked down at him with her compelling
grey eyes, the expression in them kind, thoughtful, and incredibly
shrewd.
    He nodded at the portrait.  "Who's that?"
    "Old Angharad, my great, great grandmother.  You know the chest in
my bedroom?  Well, that belonged to her.  I'm Helen Angharad Carter
after her.  She was a witch.  A real one."
    "Witch!  Oh, come on, Helen, there's no such-"  At the serious look
on her face, Sam swallowed the rest of his derisive remark.  A belief in
witches.  Typical Helen.  Well, it wouldn't do any harm to indulge her.
Thinking about it, 'witch' had been one of the things Al had called her
that morning at the cabin.  "She looks too nice - too good - to be a
witch."
    "Witches aren't always bad, Sam.  Some are good, like Glinda the
Good in the 'Wizard of Oz'.  There are lots of stories my Welsh
relatives tell about Old Angharad, my Auntie Eurwen knows them all.  The
best is that she was descended from Merlin.  He was the very first time-
traveller, you know, even before Mr Wells.  He lived his life in
reverse.  That's how he knew what the future held, he'd already lived
it."  Helen grinned suddenly.  "Maybe you're descended from him, too!"
    "Do you really believe in witches and magic and things?" queried
Sam a little cautiously.  "Or are you just kidding?"
    "Am I kidding?  Here I am, sitting next to a time traveller, and he
asks if I believe in magic.  Of course I do!"
    "But time-travel's physics - not magic."
    "It might be physics to you, Dr 'Nobel Prize' Beckett, but it sure
isn't to me!  Isn't magic what we call anything we don't understand?
Well, I don't understand how time-travel works - except it's got some-
thing to do with a piece of string - so as far as I'm concerned it's
magic.  Even some things we DO understand the scientific explanations
for are still magical - rainbows, sunsets, beautiful music.  Play some
more, Sam.  The order in which you press the keys and make the hammers
strike the strings sounds pretty magical to me!"
    Smiling, Sam complied.  For all her good intellect, no-one could
ever accuse Helen of being scientific.  She relied more on instinct and
intuition, which was fine.  Instinct was what he relied on every time
Ziggy failed to come up with the goods - and sometimes what he trusted
more than the most sure-fire odds the computer calculated.
    Helen looked up at the portrait.  "Old Angharad had a magic clock,
too."
    "Which, I suppose, kept perfect time all her life but 'stopped,
short, never to go again when the old woman died'," he warbled, unable
to resist poking fun just a little.
    "No.  It's still going - but it does keep perfect time, and it never
needs winding.  And, yes, I'm sure your Ziggy could come up with a
logical, scientific explanation for that.  Mamo - my grandmother - she
has the clock now.  She's an Angharad, too.  She's very special.  She
has Merlin's Gift.  It's only given to the eldest girl every other
generation.  It's very strong with her - she KNOWS things without being
told.  As soon as my Mom got home after first meeting my father, Mamo
hugged her and said she'd miss her very much when she went to America,
before Mom had so much as mentioned Dad."
    "Do you have it, Helen?  Merlin's Gift?" asked Sam, wondering for a
full second if that was how she knew about him.
    Helen made a see-saw motion with her hand.  "Mamo says it isn't very
strong with me.  But I don't have an explanation for how I see you so I
guess that's my version of The Gift - or maybe it's got something to do
with similar brainwaves.  I PREFER to think it's due to The Gift, and I
love Old Angharad and Merlin very much for giving it me."  She gave the
portrait a brilliant smile and nod of thanks.
    Her gaze dropped to the photo of her mother and she lifted it off
the top of the piano.  "My Mom firmly believed in The Gift, even though
she didn't have it herself."  She turned her eyes to Sam.  "She believed
in you, too, Sam."
    "She knew about me?"  He took the photograph from Helen, studying it
closely.  The woman was very beautiful; white skin with high cheek-
bones, hair so black and glossy the highlights seemed almost blue, eyes
the color of a northern sky after a storm, grey and clear, lips curved
upwards in a slight smile.  A true Welshwoman, he thought.
    "Oh, yes, she knew about you.  You see, it took twelve years of
marriage before she fell pregnant and she and Dad had resigned
themselves to not having children.  Then, in the fall of '56, completely
out the blue, she received a letter from someone who signed himself
'Sam Beckett', who claimed she was going to have a baby, a little girl,
who'd be born on Midsummer Day.  He even said the baby would look like
her husband and not at all like herself."  Helen paused for a moment to
look significantly at Sam.
    "Go on," he urged, all thought of magic flying out of his mind as
rapidly as a coven on a battalion of broomsticks.
    "Okay."  Helen folded her hands lightly in her lap and continued,
repeating the tale her mother had told her so many times.  "Mom hadn't
told anyone she thought she was pregnant, not even my Dad.  She wanted
to make absolutely sure before she told him - they'd been disappointed
so many often.  No-one knew - she wasn't even really sure herself - and
her mother, Mamo, hadn't contacted her either, which made her even less
sure.  Yet here was this man who claimed he knew because he was a time-
traveller and had met her daughter in the future.  So Mom kept the
letter and waited to see if it was right.  And lo and behold, I was born
right on schedule.  She never mentioned the letter to my Dad because he
didn't believe in that sort of stuff - said it was all hogwash.  He used
to laugh at the stories about Old Angharad - he'd even laughed a little
at Mamo - and Mom didn't want him to laugh at something she believed in.
So my Dad died without ever knowing about you.
    "As I grew up, every once in a while another letter would come and
explain a bit more about Sam Beckett, who he was and why I would meet
him, and Mom kept them all.  Then one day, when I was about eleven, I
got the mail out the box and, because one of the letters was addressed
to me, I opened it.  It was from this strange man so I showed it to Mom.
She decided it was time I knew the whole story, so she sat me down and
told me what she knew and showed me all the other letters.  She said I'd
been chosen to help you.  She called it my destiny.
    "I thought it was wonderful!  At eleven, I was still enough of a kid
to feel as though I was in a fairy tale.  I imagined you as a sort of
futuristic knight on a quest who rescued people and who 'righted
wrongs'.  I saw myself as the young maiden who would nurse you back to
health so you could continue your quest.  For a long time I felt very
special.  I had such an amazing secret.  It was wonderful knowing what
was going to happen in the future, my future.  I didn't have to worry
about what I was going to do, I knew.  Everything was mapped out for
me."
    Helen's gaze slid to her hands in her lap.  Realising they were
clasped tightly together, she deliberately relaxed them, laying them on
her knees.  "As - as I grew older, I began to realise what the
realities - the practicalities - of it all meant, and I - I stopped
seeing it that way."  She bit her lip before continuing quickly, "I
realised I might have to stay here the rest of my life, hanging around,
waiting for this man, this 'scientist' to appear.  But my horizons had
expanded and I didn't want to stay anymore.  There was a whole world out
there waiting for me to explore."
    Sam frowned at her change in demeanor.  She was no longer telling a
story but was reliving the past.
    "I was seventeen for Pete's sake.  There was no way I was going to
stay in dull, boring, old Truro - small-minded, sleepy suburbia - and do
 what some stupid old letters said."  No longer on her knees, her hands
punctuated her words with sharp gestures.  "Why the hell did I have to
stay?  Why did it have to be me?  All my friends were going off to
college and I didn't want to be left behind, everyone expected me to go.
Even Mom had wanted me to.  God, I'd worked so hard for it.  Mom was the
one who'd encouraged me to study - she was so proud of my grades in high
school."  Helen jerked herself off the bench and glared out the window
at the neat, smug, little houses sitting in the dark with their nylon
drapes and garden gnomes.
    Sam remained where he was.  Resentment and anger were apparent in
the inflexible line of Helen's back, in the harshness of her voice, the
way her arms were crossed tightly over her chest.
    "But when it came down to it," Helen said bitterly, "she didn't want
me to go at all.  All my work was for nothing - NOTHING.  All the
encouragement she'd given me, all the times she'd told me how important
my education was - it was all lies."
    Suddenly, Sam understood.  This wasn't about her having to give up
school to wait for him.  It was about her mother.
    "Oh, she never said anything, never did a thing that anyone could
take to mean she didn't want her clever daughter to go to college.  She
just - just...LOOKED at me, waiting for me to change my mind."  Helen's
chin jutted stubbornly at the window.  "Well, I didn't.  I ranted and
raved instead - said I wasn't going to stay and be someone's nursemaid
and - and whatever, I didn't care how special they were.  I rebelled
against everything she'd ever taught me to believe in."  She gave a
short, mirthless laugh.  "I behaved like a typical teenager, I guess.  I
did really silly stuff - stayed out late, wore the way-out clothes and
heavy make-up I knew she hated, mixed with the wrong kids at high school
- though I never let my grades slip.  I wanted to go to college too much
for that.  I was just generally obnoxious and rude."
    She turned away from the window and moved back into the room.  Going
over to the shelf that held the chess set, she picked up the white queen
and absently twisted it in her fingers.
    "She put up with all of it, never raised her voice, never objected
to what I did - which, of course, made me worse.  She just made sure she
knew where I was and that I got home safely."
    For a second, Helen's eyes focussed on her hand.  Realising she held
the chess piece, she put it carefully back on the shelf, then crossed
slowly to the piano.  God, she'd been such a stupid little brat.  She
knew Mom had been just as confused as herself, had seen the bewilderment
in the slate-grey eyes as Mom's belief in making of life what you could
had clashed with her belief in fate.  But not once, not ONCE had she
tried to understand Mom, not once had she let up with her tirade and
temper.  Instead she had made Mom's life absolute hell, despising her
for being a superstitious, credulous, old fool.
    Sam longed to go Helen, tell her she'd only behaved like any
teenager struggling with the realisation that the person they'd looked
up to as a child was not the infallible, omniscient tower of strength
they had thought.  Parents had their weaknesses, too.  It was okay to be
independent, have different beliefs.  It was okay to want more, to grow
up, even to grow away, be your own person.  But still he remained
silent.  She had more to say - and needed to say it.
    "It ended with my leaving and going to Penn. State to do an English
major.  I'd been accepted by the University of Virginia as well but
Charlottesville wasn't far enough away from here."  Helen's voice was
dreary and tired.  "Mom didn't try to stop me, even though she believed
I should stay - that it was my fate to meet you, my 'destiny'.  I think
she felt that I still had to CHOOSE to do it.  I had to stay of my own
free will, or it wouldn't have been right - that somehow, if I was
forced to stay, it would all have failed."
    She paused and it seemed to Sam that she was now holding herself
aloof, separating herself from what she was about to say.
    "I didn't even kiss her when I left and I never came back."  She
gestured impatiently.  "Oh, I wrote a few letters and managed to phone a
couple of times, but I always made myself too busy to come home.  I
either visited friends, went to summer school or worked in the
vacations.  She wrote asking me to come home for the summer vacation
this year and I said I would, but I'd no real intention of coming and
sent her a note at the last minute saying I was going to a girl
friend's."
    Helen stood by the corner of the piano, staring at the highly
polished top of the old instrument her mother had loved so much.  Her
arms were wrapped around her ribs but Sam could still see her hands.
Her nails were digging into her palms, her knuckles were white.
    "On the last day of the semester, David phoned saying that Mom was
in hospital and that I had to come home - now.  He sounded so upset and
angry.  When I got back he was waiting for me at the airport and drove
me straight to the hospital.  She had cervical cancer.  She'd known
about it even before I'd left for college.  David said she didn't tell
me because she hadn't wanted me to stay home and miss school just
because she was sick.  But I know it was because she wanted me to make a
completely free choice, stay and wait of my own free will."  Helen gave
a self-conscious little laugh.  "I'd never known David be so angry.  He
called me a selfish little bitch.  He'd wanted to tell me lots of times
but Mom wouldn't let him.  She kept hoping I'd come home on my own."
    Helen's voice was now completely devoid of expression; even more so
than before.  It was flat and detached, as though she was speaking about
something that meant nothing to her.  Only her tightly clenched hands
betrayed her inner anguish.
    "She was hooked up to all these machines.  I hardly recognized her
she looked so small and thin.  Fragile - so fragile.  I was almost
afraid to touch her in case she fell to pieces.  Her face was blank, as
though she'd already gone somewhere else, and she had this horrible cap
on, like a baby, because all her hair -" Helen's voice cracked.  She
swallowed hard.  "All her beautiful, black hair had fallen out.
    "She was unconscious with all the drugs, so I just sat and held her
hand, willing her to wake up so I could say how sorry I was for leaving
her - but she just lay there.  I sat and prayed.  I prayed so hard.  I
promised I'd do whatever He wanted as long as He made her get better.
I swore I would stay and wait for this man, whoever he was, be what He
needed me to be just as long as she got well, as long as she opened her
eyes - even if it was only for a minute, but she never even stirred.
    "Every so often a nurse would come in and fuss about her bed but she
still never woke up.  Eventually, David forced me to come home and go to
bed.  Just as we were leaving in the morning, I got a phone call saying
she was gone.  She'd never regained consciousness, just slipped away
when no-one was there."
    Helen finally looked at Sam, her expression bleak and wretched.  He
reached out and wrapped his hand around one tightly clenched fist.  He
wanted to tell her everything would be all right now, but knew it would
be a long time before the pain went away.  So he said nothing, simply
trying to soothe her with his presence.
    Helen looked at the big, strong hand surrounding hers.  She
unclenched her fingers just enough to grasp Sam's, holding fast to him.
    "Oh, Sam," she whispered.  "I never got say good-bye."
    "Oh, my poor, darling girl."  Sam rose quickly and folded his arms
around her.  Thank God he'd been given a second chance, a chance to tell
his father how much he loved him, a chance to say good-bye.  He wished
desperately that he could do more to help Helen but knew he could not.
It was too late for words.  So he silently held the rigid body, stroked
the red hair.
    Surrounded by Sam's loving arms, Helen's control deserted her.  She
made one, small sound of relief, then wept; weakly, haltingly at first,
then with huge, racking sobs, clinging to him as she released the grief
and guilt she had hidden for so long.  Sam sat back on the piano bench,
lifted her onto his knee and held her even closer.  He rocked her while
she sobbed, waiting for the storm of emotion to subside, wondering if he
had Leaped here simply so that she'd have someone to hold her while she
cried.

                       * * * * *

    It was a long time before Helen quietened down.  She felt exhausted,
drained, her head hot and throbbing.  Yet somehow, deep down inside, she
was more at peace than she had been for months.
    She lifted her head from where it rested against Sam, reached out,
and carefully set the picture of her mother upright.  Smiling crookedly,
she gently touched the face in the photo, as though caressing the glossy
black hair.  "I'm sorry, Mam.  I didn't understand how it would be."
    The clear, grey eyes of the picture smiled at her.
    "She wanted so much to meet you, Sam."  Helen's voice shook as she
realised how much she wished she could have seen her mother and Sam
together.  Seen her mother getting to know him, watch her coming to love
him for the MAN he was, not just respect him for WHAT he was - a clever
scientist, a time traveller with a very special job.
    Sensing Helen's distress, Sam tightened his hold on her.  "I wish I
could have met her, too.  I'm sorry I didn't get the chance."
    Helen pulled in a big breath, picked up the photo and set it back
in its proper place on the piano, opposite the photograph of her father.
"She's with my Dad now.  I think maybe she wanted that even more than
she wanted to meet you."
    Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sniffed.  "Oh Lord,
I'm sorry, Sam, your shirt feels as though you've worn it in the shower,
I've made it so wet.  I could do with a hanky.  Have you got one,
please?"
    "Yeah, sure."  Sam shifted her onto one knee, dug into his jeans'
pocket and pulled out a nice, big one.  "Here.  I always keep one handy,
ready for damsels in distress - though, of course, for really big jobs
they're welcome to use my shirt."
    His mild joke was awarded a weak smile.  Helen wiped her face and
gave her nose a good blow.  Feeling much better, she pushed her damp
hair out of her eyes.  "You know, David was wonderful after Mom's death,
Sam.  He dealt with everything, all the funeral arrangements and stuff.
He's good at that sort of thing."
    "Yes, he looked pretty capable at the hotel.  I'm glad he was there
to help."
    Helen nodded.  "So am I.  I didn't seem able to do anything, I felt
so numb.  Nothing was real.  I shut myself away in the house, dragging
up all the memories of Mom that I could - talking to her as though she
was still here, playing her favorite music.  Her room still smelled of
her and I even slept in her bed to make her feel closer.  I thought that
if I tried hard enough, remembered her well enough, she'd come back and
I wouldn't be alone any more.
    "I was like that for weeks.  David kept coming to visit, talking to
me, trying to make me go out, start living again, but I pushed him away.
I wanted to be with my memories of Mom."  Helen grimaced and looked a
little ashamed.  "I suppose I wallowed in my misery.  Isn't that
terrible?"
    "No, Helen.  It isn't.  It's quite normal.  People need time to
grieve.  If that was your way of dealing with your mother's death, then
that's fine."
    Helen made another face.  "Yeah, I guess.  It's just so unlike ME.
I'm usually pretty capable, too.  Maybe that's why David wouldn't leave
me alone.  I must have had him really worried.
    "One day he came in with all the mail I'd left piling up in the box
and threw it on the table saying that I'd got to wake up, start dealing
with the present, that I couldn't live in the past for ever.  I just
wanted him to go away but I knew he wouldn't until I did something so I
opened one of the letters."  She rubbed Sam's arm.  "It was your letter,
Sam, the one I showed you telling me when you were coming.
    "I sat for a while in a daze, staring at it, while David talked at
me across the table.  I've no idea what he said, I was remembering
everything Mom had ever told me about you and the part I was supposed to
play.  I realised she was right, that I needed to stay and follow the
path laid down for me."  She paused, remembering.  "It was wonderful!  A
revelation!  Everything seemed crystal clear.  I knew exactly what I had
to do."
    She caught hold of Sam's shirt.  "Don't think that I decided to stay
just for Mom, because she'd wanted me to, or in memory of her.  I just
knew it was right.  I made a free choice."  She gave a little laugh.  "I
startled the heck out of David by asking him to help me find a job.  I
surprised him so much that he didn't even mention my going back to
school.  He was so glad I wanted to do something at last.  He actually
found me two jobs - the one at the library and the one at the Health
Club.
    "I had so much energy again!  I cleaned everything in sight and
planned every little detail ready for your arrival.  I still felt
terrible when I thought about how I'd behaved to Mom those last couple
of years, but it helped a little to imagine how happy she'd have been to
know I was doing what was right - following my destiny."
    Helen gave her mother's picture one last look, then turned her head
so Sam could see directly into her face.  All traces of sadness had
gone.  She was transfigured by a brilliant, incandescent light.
    "Oh, Sam, I'm so GLAD I made the choice to stay."  Her voice was
full of fierce joy.  "I wouldn't have missed being with you for
anything.  Not for the whole world.  I don't know how I ever existed
before you came."
    Her eyes shone with such love Sam couldn't bear it.  *Oh, God, how
can you give me this and then take me away again?*  He wrapped his arms
tightly around her again, not daring to let her see him, not trusting
himself to hide the agony which sliced through him at the thought that
soon he would leave her.
    He rocked her again, this time because HE needed comforting.
Forcing himself to hide his misery, he mastered his emotions because he
knew that, for the moment, Helen was happy.  He stroked her hair away
from her face.  Pale cheeks and dark stains under her eyes showed how
exhausted the emotional outpouring had left her, but she was calm now
and relaxed against him, eyes closed.  He stroked her hair once more,
then stood and carried her into the bedroom.  Pulling back the covers of
the bed with one hand, he laid her gently down, then carefully tucked
the sheet and quilt around her.  She snuggled down into the pillows,
murmuring, "Thanks, Sam."
    He stood looking down at her, then turned to go back to the living
room where he would not have to hide his feelings, where there was no
danger of her seeing his anguish.
    "Sam!"
    Helen's eyes were wide, her hand reached out to him.  "Don't go
away, Sam.  Not yet."
    He took her hand and sat on the edge of the bed.  "It's okay.  I won't.
I'll be right here.  You need to sleep now," he said softly.  She smiled
before closing her eyes once more.

   * * * * *

    Al stepped through The Door.  The room was dark, except on the far
side where a single bedside lamp cast a pool of soft light around the
girl lying in the bed, her face very white against her tumbled red hair.
Sam sat motionless beside her, holding her hand, his head bowed, face
shadowed.  For a moment, Al thought the girl was ill.  Then, in the
stillness of the room, he heard her deep, even breathing, saw the quilt
that lay over her breast rise and fall slowly, indicating she was merely
asleep.
    Sam stirred and turned his head.  The light caught the angles and
planes of his face, threw them into sharp relief.  His eyes were full of
pain.  Haunted.
    "How much longer do Helen and I have together before I Leap?"
    Al tore his eyes away from his friend.  He pushed hurriedly at the
handlink.  "Ziggy says he's not sure," he lied.  There were some things
it was better not to know.  "Probably a few more days."
    Sam gently disengaged his hand from Helen's and stood.  Looking Al
straight in the eye, he asked, "How long are you with her?"
    "About four months."  He dropped his gaze from Sam's intense
scrutiny, feeling guilty he'd had more time with Helen than the man who
truly loved her.
    "Why didn't I Leap in here earlier, Al?  I might have been able to
save her Mom."
    "No, you wouldn't, Sam.  The cancer was too far advanced."
    "But if I couldn't do that maybe I could have gotten Helen home in
time to say good-bye."
    Al shook his head soberly.  "No, Sam.  It wasn't meant to happen
like that."
    "Then why was I sent here at all?  And don't you even THINK about
mentioning the word 'vacation'!"  Anger rose in Sam like a flood-tide.
"Helen's never going to meet anyone else, is she?  She's never going to
fall in love and get married.  She can't - because she's given her heart
to me!  So don't you DARE tell me I'm here for a 'vacation', for a good
time, finally doing something that's for me when it's at the expense of
her happiness.  What I'm really doing here is ruining her life!  Why
couldn't I have been sent some place where I could do some good?"  If
the Bartender had appeared he would have choked the life out of him and
enjoyed it.
    He strained up, towards to the Someone who controlled him.  "I don't
want this!  Send me some place I can help, not harm!"
    "And how many more times do you think you could have helped?" came
Al's harsh voice.  "Have you forgotten the mess you were before you
Leaped here and met Helen?  You needed this time with her, this space,
to heal, Sam.  You needed the love she's given you."
    "And what have I given her in return?  Nothing!  Except an ache
instead of a heart and a life alone!"
    Al shook his head.  "No, Sam, you've given her something very
special - your true love.  Not many people are lucky enough to have
that."  His expression softened.  "I'm lucky.  I have Beth's.  Tell me
something, Sam.  Can you truly say you wish you'd never come here?
Never met Helen?  Never seen her, touched her, breathed in the scent of
her?  Truly?"
    "Yes!" answered Sam, fists clenched tight.
    Al silently held his gaze.
    Sam's eyes slid away, down to the sleeping girl.  The light from the
lamp caught at copper highlights in her hair, the lashes that hid her
beautiful eyes cast feathery shadows on her cheeks.  Her face was
utterly serene.  His hand slowly reached out and barely touched a red
curl.  "No," he whispered.  "Not for the world."
    "Do you think it's any different for her?  She'll carry the memories
of her time with you for the rest of her life - and she'll treasure
them, they'll help her live.
    "Stop wasting your time feeling sorry for her, Sam.  She isn't going
to shut herself up and fade away after you've gone.  Give the kid some
credit, she's a stronger person than that.  She'll get on with her life,
like her mother did when her father died.  People do, you know.  It's
part of the human spirit.  Helen's not the only person who's been left
alone.  It happens all the time, all over the world.  People learn to
manage without, to make something of their lives, even if they never
forget what they once had.  Helen's luckier than some.  At least she'll
carry good memories with her, some people don't even have that."
    Sam remembered a man, an Al, who'd carried some memories, bitter
ones, who'd learned to manage, not without, but with what he could get.
An Al who'd still made something of his life - with maybe a gentle shove
in the right direction from a friend.  And he also remembered that Al
almost crying, telling him how those same memories, before they had
become bitter, had helped him live.  For the millionth time since Sam
had met his friend, he sent out a silent 'thank you' to whatever agency
had first brought them together.  Wishing he could hug the hologram, he
said quietly, "Thank you, Al.  I don't know how I'd do without you.  You
always help me see things straight."
    "That's what I'm here for," replied Al, back to his usual, light-
hearted self, his serious look gone.  "Best damn hologram in the
business!"  He puffed on his cigar importantly, before giving his friend
a knowing look.  He decided to admonish him for one more thing.
    The cigar stabbed in Sam's direction.  "And stop wasting the time
you have with Helen feeling sorry for YOURSELF.  Enjoy it, savor it -
while you have the chance."
    Sam acknowledged his rebuke with a rueful grin, remembering another
time when Al had given him similar advice.  "I'll try," he promised.  He
looked down at Helen's peacefully sleeping figure.  "I think she'll be
okay now."  He resisted the temptation to stroke her hair, not wanting
to risk disturbing her.  Though if she'd slept through him yelling like
a deranged maniac, nothing was going to wake her.  "Come on, come and
see what I found."  He went down the hall to the living room and crossed
to the stereo.
    Al followed curiously, walking, not bothering to shift location with
the handlink.
    "By the way," Sam asked, "did you enjoy the next class at the Health
Club?"
    "Oh, I didn't stay very long.  I was taking Hel - an old friend out
to dinner."  Al looked sharply at Sam, wondering if he had noticed his
slip, but he was busy lining up the stylus of the turntable.  He
grimaced.  Helen had spent most of dinner trying to persuade him to let
her meet Beth and it had ruined his meal.
    The record sleeve Sam had propped up by the side of the stereo
caught his eye.  "Oh, wow!  'Man of La Mancha'!" he exclaimed, glad to
find an excuse to push aside something that was threatening to give him
heartburn - literally and figuratively.  He'd forgotten about Helen's
LP collection.  Not that 'Man of La Mancha' had any significance back
then.  It had only been later, after he'd met Sam, that he'd come to
know it so well.  He hadn't had a lot of choice about listening to it.
"Do you remember playing that when we were -"
    "- building the Project?" Sam finished for him.  "No.  But it
doesn't matter.  I remember you telling me I did, and I know all the
words and the music makes me feel good somehow when I hear it."
    The strains of the introduction began.  The two men looked at one
another, their faces full of fun.  As Richard Kiley began to sing
'Impossible Dream' Sam and Al sang along, too.  Quietly at first, then,
as the music swelled, so did their voices, louder and louder, until the
room rang with the sound of clear tenor blended harmoniously with husky
baritone.