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Most people wouldn’t understand.
Probably not even these two, I tell myself, and then I don’t know why I do it, but I lean down, pull back the covers, and really take them in. The waxy skin, the bloated faces, or what’s left of them anyway, the transfixed eyes. You might think they look peaceful, but you would be wrong. This is the stuff nightmares are made of. And I see many in my future.
My phone dings. The sound startles me, and I practically leap into the bed with them. My knee bumps the mattress, and a hand flops over the side, brushing my bare skin. Every expletive I know floods my mind as I dance back. They’d come pouring out of my mouth, but I’m too afraid to open it. My phone dings again. I stare at the hand and think: this can’t be real. Then I back away and read the text. Where are you? I can’t believe this is happening. Finally.
He has no idea.
This is sick, he writes.
I look around the room. Truly.
Sick as in a BFD.
I know what you mean; I text back. He likes it when I’m up on my acronyms. He is not one who likes to explain himself, and he reads minds like it’s his profession.
It is a big effing deal.
It’s not every day that you hold an engagement party of this magnitude at your venue, but that is exactly what is happening in precisely twenty-one minutes. The entire town will be here. What a disaster this is going to turn out to be. Looking back, I should have said no. I tried to say no. I did say no.
It didn’t work. And anyway, as for him being here, it was a favor to make up for that other favor.
My phone chimes again. Thank God for small favors!
I shake my head. It appears a favor is what got me into this, and a favor is going to have to be what gets me out.
Chapter One
Ruth
Then
The whimpering sound is unmistakable. It sounds like a wounded animal, only different—different in the way that you know it’s human. I am casually jogging across the courthouse lawn, away from my car, making my way toward Elm Street, where the parade will start. I’m breathing hard, because I’m late and also more out of shape than I thought.
I’d sworn my phone was in my pocket until I got all the way to the main stage and realized it wasn’t. Of course, this meant I had to turn around and go all the way back to the car, and now I am jogging, which is a bit of a glorification. It’s actually more like speed walking, old-lady style. I am not old.
But I feel that way.
Man, do I feel that way.
Especially now that I’m doubled over, trying to suck in air. Now that I have an extreme stabbing pain in my side. Still, I am determined to make it back in time to see our float, even if that means I’m panting like a dog on a hot day when I get there. Even if it means having a heart attack at the halfway mark. Even if it means coughing up a lung on the courthouse lawn, and it feels like that is exactly what could happen any second. Sudden death seems imminent in a way that makes me question my attachment to my phone.
I would have just as soon left it, but Johnny’s on call tonight, and Johnny can never be trusted to answer his phone, which means leaving mine in the car was not an option. I can’t say I blame him. This thing is like a shock collar I can never get rid of. On the bright side, it has a camera, and it plays music.
That’s really a long-winded way of telling you how it was I found myself near the gazebo searching for a wounded animal that was undoubtedly human, using nothing but pure instinct, and you know, the flashlight on my phone. Another positive, another feature I couldn’t live without. I’m supposed to focus on the positive, or so I’ve been told. It’s quite a long story, but don’t worry we’ll get there. If I don’t die of a heart attack first. Which I might, because I’ve just spotted bare feet sticking out of a row of shrubs. Small feet. Feminine feet.
Upon closer inspection, I see a pale yellow dress shifted up, exposing more than should be exposed. Jesus Christ. Whatever it was I expected, it wasn’t this. The girl is laying on her side, alternating between shallow sobs and serious whimpers. Another girl is hunched over her. A small crowd gathers. There are hushed whispers and worried looks. No one steps forward to help.
I kneel beside the girl, my knees sinking into the cool earth. She must sense I’m there, but she does not move. Her hair partially covers her face. Her dress is bunched up around her waist. One sandal is on her left foot, the other is I don’t know where. As she cries, the scent of stale beer fills the surrounding air. It comes in waves.
“Hey,” I say, leaning forward. I study the girl hunched over her, who I now realize is older than I thought, and I ask what happened.
“I don’t know.” Her eyes convey fear, but her voice comes out steady. She shrugs. “I found her like this.”
She rests her hand on the girl’s forearm, and I try to place her. I assume she’s a tourist, because while she looks familiar, in the way tourists tend to do, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. For sure, we’ve never met. You don’t forget a face like that.
The girl blanches at the woman’s touch. I’m not expecting it, nor is the woman. The girl rears up and then quickly shifts, cowering like a cornered animal. Her eyes are wide and glassy. She shows her teeth. She’s panting harder than I am, and that’s saying so
mething. “Whoa,” the woman whispers. “Easy.” The woman speaks slowly as she backs away. “You’re okay. See?”
