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Not only was Kenzie the historian for Southwood, she also taught history at the high school. Every year each of the schools hosted a holiday dance. The teachers got a kick out of the parents coming and the students being on their best behavior.
“Ramon and I are chaperoning.”
British pushed away from her car to give her friend a hug. “All right, well, we’ll catch up soon enough. Tell Mr. Mayor I said good-night and that I voted for him.”
“I will,” said Kenzie, returning the hug. “He’ll be thrilled to know.” Earlier in November, Ramon became the first person in over a hundred years to not be born in Southwood to win the mayor’s seat.
Before putting her car into gear, British made sure she had the right song selection programmed into her system. She chose a few oldies to take her home—New Edition heartbreakers “Is this the End,” “You’re Not My Kind of Girl,” “Tears on My Pillow,” “Can You Stand the Rain,” and a few of the solo cuts. Once she had her song choices, she pulled out of the circular driveway. Ramon had joined Kenzie’s side and the two waved British off until they disappeared in her rearview mirror.
Heartfelt lyrics belted out of her mouth as British drove down County Road 17. Something about Johnny Gill’s deep voice blended with the melodic pitch of Ralph Tresvant’s soothed her. She needed to hear it one more time. A light flashed from inside her purse seated in the passenger’s seat, exactly where she intended it to stay. British pressed the repeat button on her stereo to sing the song again. She remembered she needed to add Bobby and Whitney’s “Something in Common” song. For one brief second British took her eyes off the long dark road. And that was all it took.
* * *
Donovan waited on British’s stoop until three in the morning. She never arrived. Despite being frozen with the thirty-degree weather, he didn’t plan on budging until they spoke. Common sense told him to at least sit in his car with the heated seats on full-blast but he felt he needed this punishment. The list of reasons why he blamed himself. He never should have used Christian against her. He could have worked harder to keep British from walking out on him. British looked past his physical scar and his emotional ones; he should have known better than to scramble and find the one thing to make her hurt before she hurt him. In the end, they both lost.
The last time he looked at her played over in his mind again and again. The hurt look in her chocolate-brown eyes haunted him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep again—which was fine with him. Staying up gave Donovan a chance to watch Southwood settle down. The lights on the giant tree in the town center went off shortly after midnight. The Christmas carousel stopped around the same time. The city went to sleep. So where was British?
Somewhere down the end of the street a garbage truck made its rounds. Just beyond townhome-style businesses, the full moon disappeared and on the opposite side of town threats of yellow streaked the sky.
“Donovan?”
Donovan lifted his head. Maggie and Tiffani from the bakery stopped in front of him. “Hi, ladies.”
“Have you been out here all night?” Maggie asked, pushing a white foam cup in his face. The smell of strong coffee wafted through the little hole at the top of the lid.
Nodding, Donovan accepted the cup and mumbled thanks before taking a sip. “Define being out here all night.”
Tiffani and Maggie exchanged a look. He’d seen it before. His stomach dropped as he rose. “What happened? Why are you guys here? Where’s British?”
“We’re here to get a few of her things,” Tiffani explained.
“She’s staying at her parents’, isn’t she?” he guessed. Gun or no gun, Donovan fished his car keys out his pocket. He was going to see her tonight.
“Donovan,” Maggie said, stepping in his way. “British isn’t there. She’s in the hospital.”
“She was in a car accident earlier tonight,” Tiffani provided. “And I’ll be damned if it was close to the same spot where Christian wrecked.”
“What? Are you serious?” Donovan didn’t believe it. “What hospital?”
“Four Points General,” said Maggie. “I’ll show you. Tiff, you grab her stuff, mmm-kay?”
“‘Stuff’?” he repeated. “What happened? How long is British going to be in the hospital? Is she okay?”
Maggie grabbed the keys from his hands and he let her. “I’ll drive. I don’t think you’re in the shape for it.”
“Maybe not.”
Instead of driving in silence like Donovan hoped, Maggie filled the compartment with idle chatter. She knew Tracy through social networks and did not appreciate the way the starlet had come waltzing into her town. Maggie was actually thinking about making a return to the spotlight just to take it away from Tracy.
Donovan half listened and glanced out the window. Some of the shop owners were getting ready to open. The bread store put out warm smells. The lights over the high school’s track flickered on. Life was going on while his stood frozen. He needed to know British was okay. Panic pulsed through to his fingertips. History repeated itself again in the form of a car accident. His. Christian’s. And now British’s. He needed to see her with his own two eyes.
It didn’t dawn on Donovan how fast Maggie drove the Jag. It didn’t matter. She got him there and half parked in the lines of the parking space. Inside, the scents of antiseptic and cleanser assaulted his senses. Bright fluorescent lights stung his eyes.
“This way,” said Maggie, guiding Donovan through the halls and elevators.
The doors to their floor rang and announced their presence. Donovan found Joan leaning by the window, wrapped in Levi’s arms. All of British’s siblings were there, as well. His eyes didn’t spy any of her in-laws but he figured they were home with the children. Finn and Cree sat across from each other in a set of blue seats with oversize armrests, their legs stretched out on the shared metal coffee table between the two of them. Irish paced the floor and chewed on her fingernails. Scots stood by the nurses’ station, tapping his fingers on the desk.
Maggie cleared her throat and announced their presence. “Found someone y’all may know.”
