Page 63 of Restored Dreams

“Don’t panic. I’m sure she’s fine.” Hank greets me as he stands inside the doorway to my office the next morning. I don’t know who he means, but the look of fear on his face tells me it isn’t good. He motions for me to come into the waiting room.

“I keep calling,” Midge says to Hank, her eyes shifting to me and back to the television set. It isn’t Midge’s day to be here, but sometimes they grab coffee together, and she drives him to work.

The TV is a new addition to our waiting room, suggested by Midge as a way to pass the time for our customers. I don’t really want customers hanging out all day, but we have a few who need minor services like oil changes or tune-ups, and she recommended the television might be a nice touch. I warned her if I caught the guys taking breaks to watch soap operas or porn, the set goes.

Something in the tone of the news report catches my attention.

“And onSacramento. A series of break-ins occurred in the early morning hours. Crews rushed to the block to find several small businesses vandalized. The extent of the damage includes broken windows, smashed doors, and one minor fire. Police are still searching for a suspect, possibly two, and a motive. Gang initiation is the current suspicion.”

I freeze, staring at the image of the torn Because Cupcakes awning, dangling in front of the window, which hosts a giant hole. Firetrucks stand outside Lily’s place. There’s no sign of anyone.

“Brut,” Hank calls my name, but I’m racing out the front door without looking back. Jumping in my SUV, I pound the steering wheel as I curl through the streets of Pasadena, hoping to get to LA in a timely manner.

The last thing on my phone to Lily read: What’s up, cupcake? And her response of Muffin much. I want to smile at the playful silliness, but my chest squeezes my lungs too much. I can’t breathe.

Please let her be okay.

The thirty minutes to her place are the longest thirty minutes of my life. When I reach the crime scene, I argue with two firemen before they let me inside Lily’s shop.

“We haven’t been able to move her,” one tells me, and my heart races. Is she trapped? Is she hurt? Did they get her? If someone shot her in this godforsaken neighborhood, I’ll kill them.

I push a policeman, sprinting through the missing door to find Lily kneeling among the broken glass. Giant shards and smaller chunks litter the faux wood flooring. Her main display case, the one I had her pinned against and fucked her hard, is missing all the glass. The shelves are broken, falling in on one another. The place looks like the crime scene it is.

My eyes bolt to Lily, rocking back and forth. Her arms cross her chest as if she holds something to her. The shards crackle under my feet as I take slow steps to her side. Squatting down, I gently say her name.

“Lily pad.” My hand automatically goes to her back, rubbing her spine a second before she registers someone near her. Her head turns in my direction, and my chest feels like someone stabbed me as I see her grief-stricken, tear-stained face.

“Brut,” she whimpers. Her eyes are glazed, and her lips quiver. “Why would they do this?”

Now isn’t the time to remind her she’s located in a terrible neighborhood, one rather unsafe. Instead, I wrap an arm over her back.

“I don’t know, sugar.” I wish I had answers for her, wish I could erase the heartache she feels. The garage was broken into once, and the violation is hard to explain even though it was never physical. Another thought occurs.

“Lily, are you hurt? Were you here when this happened?”

God help whomever if someone touched her.

“I was upstairs when I heard the crash. I ran downstairs without even thinking. I startled him.” Her face returns to mine, staring blankly at me, confusion and frustration filling her expression. I shudder to think she was upstairs, remembering the entrance to her loft apartment has no door. What if someone had gone up there?

“Lily, sugar, come with me, okay?” I’m asking, but I’m not leaving her any room to refuse me. She absentmindedly nods but returns her gaze to the floor strewn with large chunks of her window and the broken display case. Relief fills me when I consider the brick that caused such damage did not hit her, nor did the punk she startle shoot her. Thankfully, nothing worse happened other than broken objects that can be replaced.

“Where’s Ester?” She comes as an afterthought, and I’m hoping Lily’s catatonic state isn’t from something happening to her co-worker and friend.

“I gave her the morning off. She wasn’t here.” Telling me this brings a new set of silent tears.

“Okay, baby. I’m going to pick you up.” We don’t need to talk. We need to get out of here. She kneels upward, and I hear glass crumble under her. My chest pinches with the pain she must be incurring. Keeping my arm around her back, I scoop under her legs and hoist her up. Jostling her a moment, I see the large cuts along her shins and wince, knowing it can’t be good. Glass is stuck to her skin, and I’m certain some has dug into her.

“Oh, baby.” I kiss her temple as I carry her out of the storefront. An ambulance is waiting to inspect her lower legs.

As the medics look at Lily’s shins, they suggest a visit to the hospital. Lily agrees but doesn’t want an ambulance ride.

“My insurance won’t cover it.” I’m stunned by the admission. Does she not have medical insurance? A million more things run through my mind. Does the business have insurance? Does her landlord? My heart races with the knowledge Lily could lose everything from some asshole kids trying to be part of a defunct group so they can feel like someone. I might complain about the garage, but I understand that if something occurred—a fire, a theft, a natural disaster—destroying the place would not break me because I have insurance. These thoughts riddle my mind as I drive Lily to the emergency room where I then sit and watch as my brave girl endures them numbing her skin and working with astute attention to remove each minute piece of glass.

For a moment, Lily makes me leave the room as she answers some personal questions about her health history. I don’t question it, allowing her privacy, but later I wonder if something greater is wrong. I know Edie, Tommy’s wife, is a breast cancer survivor, and new concerns fill my already packed mind. Does Lily have some condition that prevents her from taking certain pain meds? Does she have a pre-existing condition that conflicts with this emergency? Is she suffering from something extreme? And my greater concern—why won’t she share anything with me?

I realize Lily and I have gotten a little lost as our vacation ended and we returned home, but I want to be there for her. I walked away because she asked me to, but I knew it was only going to take one look, one touch, one moment, and we’d be together again. Somehow. Some way.

When Lily gets the okay to leave with instructions for aftercare and a prescription for pain relievers, I drive her to my home. She doesn’t speak much other than an occasional hum to agree with me or a snort to disagree. I typically love all her little noises, but right now, I want her voice. Instead, she remains silent. There are a million questions to ask, but I decide tomorrow will be a better day to tackle all the necessary issues of filing insurance claims and confirming the police report. For today, she’s going to settle in my bed, and I’m not leaving her side…ever again.