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There’s no escaping their scrutiny. I duck my head. “It’s nothing. I’ll patch it up with concealer, and I’ll be good to go again.”
“There’s not enough makeup in the world to hide that shiner,” Val argues. “So talk.”
While I love my friends and how they notice me, interrogation in my family’s driveway will draw attention I don’t want. Most days I’m so busy morphing my personality into whatever it must be for doctors, patients, family, and everyone else that I almost forget who I really am. I most definitely don’t want a spotlight shone on my problems or analyzing those weaknesses and insecurities here. “We should go unless you want my brothers bombing your nice car with water balloons and begging you to let them take it for a joyride.”
Val glares at me in the rearview mirror, or at least I can imagine the fierce, I’ll hold you to it glare behind her movie star glasses. Putting the car in reverse, she maneuvers onto our street that’s crowded with more chain link fences, trash cans, and bars on the windows than she or Ava probably see anywhere else.
I loop my heavy bag off my shoulder and dump it on the leather seat, ignoring the crystals clanking.
Meg moves closer, her generous curves hugged by cute jeans and a top with paint stains that are green, yellow, and almost the same copper color as her red hair. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say brightly. “Or I am now that I’m with the three of you.”
“Even if we’re on our way to a haunted house?” she says with a shiver.
I grin. “I can’t wait.”
Ava studies me from over her shoulder, a crease in her brow. “You don’t have to tell us what happened if you don’t want to.”
“Yeah, she does,” Val says.
Ava shushes her. “No, it’s just that we’re worried.” The blonde wields guilt like a superpower. She’s had so much trauma in her life with a car accident that gave her brain damage yet she’s fussing over my bruise that’ll heal in a few days.
“There was an incident.” I fidget, remembering the cold word the police officer used when I described what had happened.
An incident.
As if having someone attack me after losing a patient, my job, and my dream career in one extended double shift was nothing more than a footnote in the cop’s long night. But then, the officer had looked as tired as I felt. I don’t expect the police to do anything about one of hundreds of muggings in that neighborhood. Besides, if I’d been more alert instead of moping and exhausted, I might’ve seen the guy coming. “It happened at the hospital,” I explain vaguely.
“A patient attacked you?” Val asks.
“No, I spent the night sitting with a hospice patient before he passed alone without any family or friends.” I go quiet, not wanting to share that sadness when it might ruin the trip they’ve planned for us.
Meg squeezes my hand. “He had you, and we know you did everything possible to make him comfortable.”
“I tried to.” I’m awkward when it comes to taking compliments, but these three have taught me they’ll keep saying the praise until I accept it. “I left late. Or I guess I should say I left early since it was almost dawn. A man attacked me in the parking lot.”
“Did you call the police?” Ava asks.
Ah, the immediate response of someone who grew up wealthy with a successful lawyer mom and entrepreneur dad. It’s not her fault we come from completely different worlds. “The hospital called them.”
“Any leads?” she asks, her voice hopeful.
Again, the separation of our two sides of the same town hits me hard. “No. The cameras outside the hospital weren’t working, and no one saw anything. They think they might find some fingerprints, but I won’t hold my breath.”
“Prints taken off of what?” Val asks.
Damnit, I should’ve left the last bit out. “The knife.”
Meg’s soft gasp cuts through the car. “You could’ve been killed.”
With all their attention focused on me, I clam up. No way will I mention the end of my job, the latest rejections from grad schools, or the fact that I’ll need to find a new place to live soon. Or the cut on my scalp and how I went unconscious. Or that I hit my head hard enough to imagine gargoyle guardians flying to my rescue. Nope, keeping my delusions to myself.
“You sure you’re okay to go today?” Ava asks.
I am not going to complain about hitting my head to my friend who survived having her skull cracked. If I mention a possible concussion, Ava and Val would whisk me away to a private clinic for scans and more that I can’t afford. Besides, all that remains is a headache and the pre-existing psychosis involving gargoyle fantasies.
“We can bail on the haunted house if you want,” Meg rushes to add. “I’d hang out with you.” Of course she would. She hasn’t been quiet about being a ‘fraidy cat when it comes to our trip.
