“Good night,” I say, sliding inside next to a meowing Catrick Swayze.
Oliver’s gaze lingers on me for a few seconds, and he opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something else. My breath catches in my throat, and the moment passes us by.
“Good night, Lindsey,” he says before closing me inside the car.
“So, when’s the handsome firefighter taking you to dinner?” Lucy asks no sooner than the door has shut.
“He isn’t,” I insist. “It’s not like that.”
Willow snorts. “Maybe not for you, but that man is definitely feeling it.”
The darkness conceals the flush creeping onto my neck. “He’s notfeelinganything.”
“Oh, but he’d like to,” Lucy quips, and she and Willow dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Okay.” I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Knock it off, you two.”
“Fine. I’ll let it go. For now, anyway,” Lucy says, passing her phone back to me. “You should probably call Mom and tell her what happened, though, before she hears it from someone else and freaks out.”
“She’s going to freak out regardless, but yes, I should.” I dial my mom, and it rings several times before going to voicemail.
“Hey, Mom,” I begin, “Everything’s fine, but there’s been a small incident…”
8
MJ
I wakewith a start to the sound of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” being played at an earth-shattering decibel. My glasses are halfway down my face, which is smushed into my pillow. I sit straight up and wipe my hair out of my face. A string of drool clings to my bottom lip as I push myself up and take in my surroundings. I’m in my bed on top of the comforter with all of my clothes on from the night before and the lights still on.
The room comes into focus when I shove my glasses back up my nose. Where on earth is the music coming from? Am I dreaming? Is this a message from God?
A squawking sound rises above the music, and I swing my legs over the side of the bed so fast I nearly throw out a hip. The memories from hours before trickle in. I got home from the emergency room with Rose a little after 2 a.m. It took me a few minutes to get her settled and comfortable on the couch. The last thing I remember was sitting on the bed to take my shoes off. A quick glance down tells me I was not successful.
The screeching continues, but this time I make out actual words. “Myra Jean, I’m sixty seconds from peeing my britches!”
“Oh no! Rose! I’m so sorry! I’m on my way,” I shout, jumping to my feet and hustling downstairs, gripping the railing as hardas I can. We’ll really be up shit’s creek if I manage to fall too. “God, where is that music coming from?”
No sooner than I land on the bottom step, the song comes to an abrupt stop.
“What the…” I’m losing my mind. “Did you hear that? Please tell me you heard that too.”
I enter the living room to find my sister wearing the nightgown I’d put her in and a smug smile.
“I had to get your attention somehow,” she says, already attempting to rise on her own. “It took me half an hour, but I finally figured out how to connect my phone to those fancy Bluetooth speakers the kids got you last year.”
“Why do you think I gave you Mama’s old dinner bell?” I hiss, rushing to her side.
“I rang the damn bell,” she argues as I help her stand. “Do you know how many angels got their wings while I was down here waving that thing around like an air traffic controller? I probably summoned Jimmy Stewart from the dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, securing my arm around her. “I was so exhausted, I must’ve just passed out.”
She winces as we slowly creep toward the bathroom, a crutch on her right side and me on the other keeping her steady. The giant brace on her left foot scrapes the hardwoods with every step.
“The pain’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask. “I don’t even know what time it is. You’re probably long overdue for your medication.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she says as we make it to the bathroom. “I’ve felt worse. Remember the time I fell out of the tree trying to sneak back in the house the night Martin Boswell popped my ch?—”
“As much as I love listening to you reminisce about the good ole days, can we at least wait till I’ve had some coffee?”
