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“I’m so over him.” Donja sighed.
“Hmmm, are you sure?”
Silence.
“That’ll be seventy-six twenty-seven,” the cashier said, eyeing them like circus freaks.
Donja swiped with her mom’s debit card and keyed the number on the pad, suddenly wishing she hadn’t bought the tattoos or nail polish.
She’s gonna kill me.
“So, are you over him or not?” Debbie asked.
Silence.
“You’re ignoring me…again,” Debbie whispered as she laid her head on Donja’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”
Donja pulled away and fired a look. “I’m fine, grab the bags and I’ll get the dog food.”
“Okay, but you didn’t—”
“Would you cut the twenty questions already,” Donja whispered with a bit more emotion than she intended.”
“Ouch,” Debbie scrunched her face. You’re hurting, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to—”
“Forget it, I just need a cigarette.”
Traipsing back across the parking lot, Donja’s phone beeped.
Seeing ‘Lisa’ on the caller I.D. she warned Debbie. “It’s Mom.” She stopped, lay the dog food down and raised her phone. “Hey Mom.”
“Honey,” Lisa Bellanger blurted, “I just got a call and Frankie’s at the emergency room. I’m stuck here at the boutique getting my dress altered. Can you go?”
“Yeah, is he okay?”
“I’m not sure, they just said he got in a fight at baseball practice and the coach dropped him off at the hospital with a bloody nose.”
Donja sensed her anxiety. “Deep breath, Mom, I’m on my way.”
She heard her mom take a ragged breath. “Good, I shouldn’t be too long,” she responded. “I’ll meet you there.”
Donja put the phone in her purse and snatched up the dog food.
Debbie repositioned the steel blue Walmart bags in her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“Frankie’s at the hospital,” Donja muttered without looking, setting a fast pace.
“Holy crap, what happened?”
“Seems he got into a fight,” she whispered.
“Is he hurt bad?”
“I don’t think so, but Mom’s clearly upset and the sound of her voice,” she paused, wiping at her eyes. “Whew! It got me going; the same old pain all over again.”
“Ahhh, Debbie responded knowingly as they trudged across the parking lot. Donja searched for her keys, then tossed their items in the trunk. Inside, she fired the engine and lit a cigarette with a slight but obvious tremor. She gassed the Honda, darting into traffic then sped through a yellow light, driving as fast as she dared down Napier Avenue. She tossed the ciggy out the window as they passed the St. Joseph River and rifled in her purse for a breath mint as they climbed the hill to the hospital. Outside the Lakeland emergency department she parked the car and they hurried inside, ignoring the stares. Seeing a nurse whose name badge read, C. Frizzell, R.N., Donja approached. “I’m here to check on my brother, Frankie Bellanger.”
She pointed down the hall. “Room four B, but you may have to wait, Doctor Hamel’s with him now.”
