Leann Sweeney - Pushing Up Bluebonnets

In this tiny interaction, I could see her physically withdrawing from me—this after I mentioned her appetite.

I gripped her arm. "Look at me, Kate."

"What?" She tried for a clueless expression and failed miserably.

"It's time you let me in."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're thinner than ever, you say you have no appetite and you don't share your feelings anymore. I want you to talk about how that man shattered your belief in yourself."

She blinked away the sheen of tears. "Okay, but not tonight. I have work to do."

The walk to where I'd parked in a garage several blocks from Kate's office did nothing to rid me of the worry I felt seeing my sister still hurting after so long. She'd been duped into believing a man cared for her, fell hard and then was forced to face the truth.

And then it dawned on me. Why should I be surprised she went straight to the con angle with JoLynn? Duh. Sometimes I think I'm about three-fourths of a half-wit.

It was eight o'clock and the sun was about to give up for the day, but the heat and the traffic left the air thick with exhaust and humidity. Just breathing made me tired, but then this had been a long, difficult day.

I reached the garage, took the elevator up—way, way up—then walked toward my car. The Camry looked lonely in its far-off corner. I'd had to crowd into that spot when I arrived, but now most people had left. My hollow footsteps on the concrete were joined by another sound.

I looked back, saw no one.

But I was certain I wasn't alone.

I picked up my pace, fumbling in my bag for my remote and car keys.

Too late. When I turned this time, I saw him coming at me fast. The man was quick and efficient. He restrained me from behind with a damp, gloved hand over my mouth and a muscular arm around my chest and shoulders. He pulled me against him and whispered, "You need to quit digging around in her past. You don't know what you're getting into. Stay away ."

Over the noise of blood pounding in my temples, I thought, Dugan? But then the man's hand pressed harder against my nose and mouth. Sweet and wet. So sweet . . . and then . . . nothing.

My alarm was going off, and I thought, I sure as hell need a new mattress. This one is as hard as bricks. But then I realized I wasn't in bed and the muffled alarm was my ringing phone.

I managed to sit and press my back against something as equally hard as the floor. Either I was as drunk as a waltzing pissant or something bad had happened. My vision was so blurred I couldn't see much but blended gray and black. I blinked several times, trying to focus.

The smell of mildew, car fumes and garbage surrounded me. The parking garage. That's it. Kate and I had dinner, I walked here and then . . . what?

Since the world remained fuzzy and dim, I felt around to my right like the blind woman I'd become, and touched a car bumper.

That's when the real alarm started up—the extra-fancy and very loud car alarm I just had to have. You're a little late in the help department, dear Camry, I thought. I reached in the direction of where my phone had been ringing . . . wasn't ringing now, thank goodness, because I couldn't handle any more noise. I found my bag and pulled my remote and car keys out. I jabbed at what I thought was the alarm silencer. Nothing. Bad aim.

Damn it, I was about to become deaf as well as blind if I didn't shut that stupid thing off. Another button poke and this time I got it. Blessed silence.

I sat there, and thank God, my sight slowly returned. I realized through the haze of my thoughts that I was near the passenger side of my car up against the parking garage wall. How in hell had I ended up here?

I didn't remember being hit on the head—but then, would I remember? I reached up and felt around for bumps or cuts. Nothing hurt . . . no swelling or blood. Same head you've had for years, Abby, I thought. Yup. Same old head. Then I laughed—the sound echoing around me like I was in a carnival fun house. I felt groggy as all get-out, but laughing felt good.

"Maybe you should get your little old self out of here, Abby Rose," I said out loud. But the words didn't come out right. They slid together and I laughed again. You need a nice long nap, I thought. Then everything will be fine.

But when I tried to stand, I discovered that even if you haven't been bashed senseless, your brain can be as screwed up as if someone had removed it and put it in backward. My legs reacted like I'd tried to stand on teddy bear legs. Well, hell's bells, I sure can't drive, at least not yet. My phone rang again. "Why can't I have some peace and quiet?" I said as I dug around in my bag. Again, the words came out like one big slurred word.

"Hi there," I said after I opened it and put it to my ear. Yup. I even sounded as drunk as that pissant. What is a pissant anyway?

"Where are you, hon?" he said. "I've called, like, six times."

I smiled. Jeff. God, how I love Jeff. I took a deep breath and tried to pronounce each word carefully. "I am sitting on the very nasty parking garage floor in the Medical Center and I have no clue how I got here. But you're a fabulous investigator, so I'm sure if I—"

"Abby? Where are you exactly ?" He was using his best cop voice now. Jeff has the best cop voice in the world.

"Next to my car, you best cop ever. You are the best cop ever, you know that? Anyway, my new alarm is sure loud when you're sitting on the ground right next to it. I tested it tonight and—"

"I mean what parking garage? What level?"

I pulled the phone away for a second and looked at it, confused, then said, "You sound upset. You're not mad at me, are you?" Suddenly I felt like crying. What in God's name was wrong with me?

"I am not mad. I want to come and get you, okay? So tell me where to find you, Abby."

I squinted at the number on a beam several feet away. "Level ten."

"Which garage, hon?"

"You're asking me? I'm a waltzing pissant. Did I tell you that?"

"You probably have a ticket in your car. It will tell me which garage. Can you get to that?"

"Sure, Best Cop Ever." I fumbled again for the car remote and this time I could see well enough to hit the little lock symbol for the doors. I heard them click open and I slid on my bottom, then opened the passenger side. There was the ticket. I took it and held it close, using the light from the open door. I read him the garage number and he said he was on his way.

Jeff's trusty Nissan with the hundred million miles on the odometer pulled up behind my Camry what seemed like many, many minutes later. I'd stayed in the same, smelly spot even though I now recognized I'd parked close to a discarded bag of fast-food leftovers. Jeff had told me several times to stay put as he talked to me on the phone on his way to get me. He sounded all worried, probably because I still sounded drunk enough that he thought he might need to take me straight to rehab.

Jeff was out of his car quick as a rabbit on a skateboard and Doris hurried right behind him.

"She's here, Jeffy!" Doris stopped near the Camry's trunk.

Jeff knelt next to me, lifted my chin and looked in my eyes. "You look sleepy. Does anything hurt?" His cheek was fat with probably a Guinness World Record wad of gum.

"No. I just feel . . . drugged. Was I drugged?"

"I've never seen you like this, so my guess is yes. I'm gonna pick you up and put you in my car, okay?"

"I think my legs will work now." I used Jeff's shoulder to brace myself as I started to stand.

"I could carry you, Abby—like I carry Diva." Doris was imitating Jeff's studious examination of me.