by Madelyn Alt
“Fine, fine.” I struggled to sit up. The edges of the room wavered a bit. I gripped the edges of the cot until they caught and held. “Where—where did everybody go?”
“Maggie! Thank the go—er, thank goodness!” Marcus came through the door bearing one end of a big plastic cooler, Charlie Howell on the other end. Marcus dropped his end and knelt by my side. “How are you feeling?”
“Everyone keeps asking me that,” I said with a shaky laugh, running my fingers through my hair.
“That would be because you tumbled down the steps head first,” Coach Abernathy said, throwing back the lid of the cooler and dipping a Ziploc bag into a mountain of ice. “You’ve got a nasty lump there just above your temple. Scared the bejesus out of all of us. Especially in light of everything else that was going on.” He gave Charlie Howell a pointed stare. Charlie had the good manners to look apologetic.
Coach wrapped the closed Ziploc in a wrinkled towel and handed it to me.
“I’m fine. Really,” I said, gingerly taking the lumpy mass from him. I couldn’t help wondering if the towel was wrinkled from sitting in the dryer too long, or wrinkled from use.
Eeeeeh.
“Well, I think you’d best be seeing the doctor for that bump, just the same,” Coach told me in his no-holds-barred way. “Who’s your family doctor? I’ll call the office and see if they can see you before they close.”
“No, really—”
He raised his eyebrows, stopping my protest short.
“Dr. Phillips,” I mumbled, feeling foolish.
Coach nodded approvingly. “Good man.”
He moved into the outer office to make the call. I looked to Marcus for help, but he shrugged helplessly. “You should probably go, Sunshine,” he told me.
Men. They always stick together. I huffed out my lower lip and settled my back against the painted cinder block wall to wait.
Charlie stood in the doorway, shuffling his feet. I glanced over at him. “You okay?” I asked him.
He shrugged, his face turning a dozen shades of red.
Marcus looked up at him, too. “That was some fight, man. You wanna talk about it?”
Charlie gave a swift, short jerk of his head in the negative.
“That’s too bad. Sometimes talking about what’s bothering you is the best thing you can do. All that emotion that’s bottled up inside of you washes away, not forgotten, just acknowledged and accepted. Your feelings are valid and real. They should be treated with respect.”
If Charlie’s face got any redder . . .
My head was spinning again. I leaned it back against the cool cinder block and closed my eyes.
Anger . . . red, hot, searing fury . . . seething rage . . .
My eyes flared open as I recognized the sudden influx of emotion into my brain and body. I didn’t have to ask where it came from. It was an echo of what I’d felt just before I blanked out.
Charlie.
I blinked at him, grief and loss crushing into my heart with tidal forces. I clutched my arms to my breasts, swallowing hard as the sensation filled my throat with choking tears.
“Sunshine? Maggie, snap out of it!”
Someone was shaking me. Big hands crushing my shoulders, shocking awareness back into my system. Oxygen surged into my lungs as I sucked in breath, long, searing, wheezing gasps that beat down the racking sobs. Damn, damn, and double damn.
I closed my eyes, dissolving at least one connection. “Charlie? If you’re going to be in here with me, I need you to do me a big favor. I need you to take a few big, deep breaths and relax your muscles. And whatever you do, try not to think about Amanda or Jordan for the next few minutes. Okay?”
The teen looked confused. “Oooo-kay.”
Coach came through the door. “Good news. Doc Phillips has agreed to fit you in before he goes home, so Quinn here’ll want to get you over there right away.”
I pushed myself away from the wall. “Well, there’s no reason for ‘Quinn here’ to do any such thing. I drove myself.”
“And he’ll be driving you to Doc Phillips’s place.” He held up a hand that had seen many a jammed knuckle, by the looks of it. “And don’t try batting your eyes at me. It doesn’t work for my boys, and it won’t work for you. Your mishap happened on school property. Thusly and therefore, you, missy, are an insurance liability waiting to happen. Quinn’ll drive you and that’s that.”
Oh, the indignity of it all as Marcus and Charlie Howell made a two-handed cross-seat for me between them and insisted I throw my arms around their necks as they carried me, litter-style, out to Christine. Coach Abernathy, in good form, followed with my purse and Marcus’s satchel. He raised his grizzled brows when we arrived at Christine.
“She’s more dependable than she looks,” I began defensively.
Coach nodded, not really agreeing with me. His skepticism doubled when Marcus fitted the key into the lock and the tumbler wouldn’t move.
“She’s old,” I tried to explain. “Sometimes she gets a little bit touchy.”
“Right, then. Quinn, where’s your transport?”
Marcus cleared his throat and nodded toward his bike.
The coach’s eyebrows lifted further. “Jesus-Christ-in-a-box. Howell!” he barked. “You got your dad’s Buick here today?”
Charlie’s face remained carefully neutral. “Yes, sir.”
“Got any plans tonight?”
“Work later at the hotel.”
“Son, do you think you can drive this pretty lady down to Doc Phillips’s office? I’d be doin’ it myself, except Mrs. Abernathy’s flight comes in tonight and I need to be getting out of here. I’ll be in the doghouse for sure if I’m not there on time, no foolin’.”
“Yes, sir, I can do that. I don’t have to be to work until seven, so I got plenty of time.”
“Well, then, hut to, son! Why don’t you bring your car around? Marcus, you gonna follow on your bike?”
And that’s how I found myself in the backseat of an old Buick, being chauffeured across town by a boy I didn’t know to a doctor’s appointment that I didn’t make.
Welcome to my weirdo life.
Charlie didn’t appear to be any more comfortable than I was feeling. “How you doing?” he asked me in a gruff, trying-to-be-mature voice. “Okay?”
“Fine, just fine. All better, actually. I don’t suppose you’d consider turning this thing around and taking me back to the school?”
“I don’t suppose that would do much good, considering that your friend is right behind us.”
“Oh, yeah. Good try, though, huh?”
He grinned at that.
He stopped for a red light at Green and Watkins, once again distant, brooding. I couldn’t help myself. “Charlie? Do you mind if I ask you something?”
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, wary but respectful. “Um, sure.”
“What were you and Jordan fighting about?”
A surge of crimson drifted up the back of his neck. “Well, I guess there’s no harm in saying it. Pretty much the whole world knows how I felt about Amanda Roberson anyway, and there’s no use hiding from it now.” He ran his hand over the back of his head and neck. His hands were surprisingly big, the fingers long, the knuckles and wrists knobby and oversized, as though he’d not quite finished growing into them. “I loved her. I would have done anything for her. And that son of a bitch knows something about her death.”
A surge of rage. I swallowed convulsively. Breathe . . . “Jordan?”
“Damn straight. Jordan Fucking Everett. Fucking rich boy with his perfect house and perfect family.”
So much bitterness. So much resentment. But was this simply a case of the have-nots versus the haves, or was there something more to his story?
“I don’t understand. Why do you think he knows something about Amanda’s death?”
The light changed, and his foot went down on the accelerator a little too hard, enough to make the sedan lurch forward. I flinched. “He
and Amanda were arguing the night before. They’d been arguing a lot. He was always hanging out at the hotel, trying to catch her doing something wrong. Bastard. He didn’t love her. Not like I did.”
He had tears in his eyes. I could see them in the rearview mirror. My throat tightened instantly. Tears in his eyes and pain in his heart. It was a compelling combination. What was it about a man’s tears that always made me want to hug him and make everything all better? But I resisted the urge to reach out and touch his shoulder, knowing I’d just end up embarrassing the poor guy. Besides, his emotions were so raw, they were beginning to overwhelm me again. He was doing a better job of containing them this time, but I could still feel my body winding up like a coiled rubberband. I blew out my breath and concentrated on relaxing my tensely strung muscles. My head was throbbing, but at that point in time I could no longer be certain whether it stemmed from the lump or from the emotional onslaught I was subjecting myself to.
“It must be hard for you,” I said softly, “losing someone you loved. But I was under the impression . . . well . . . that Amanda and Jordan were an item.”
His jaw clenched, lean and hard with youthful muscles. “They were together for a while, yeah. But they were on the outs. Amanda told me so.”
“When did she tell you that, Charlie?”
“She told me that lots of times. We were friends. More than friends. We really talked about things. We used to . . . We—”
He turned off the road suddenly. I looked up, surprised to find that we had arrived at Dr. Phillips’s office already. How time flies when your senses are being overloaded.
“We’re here,” he said unnecessarily.
“Thanks,” I told him as I opened the car door, “for everything. You’re a good kid. Your mom must be proud.”
He nodded, the picture of humility. “Ms. O’Neill? Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I paused with my hand on the doorknob. “Shoot.”
“Girls are . . . I don’t know. I think . . . no, I know Amanda liked me. It was all in the way she talked to me, you know? She’d tell me things. And she really trusted me. Not like Jordan. He . . . he didn’t understand her like I did. God, do you know how many nights she cried on my shoulder because of the way he treated her? He didn’t deserve her.”
I nodded and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “What did you want to ask me, Charlie?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, shrugged uncomfortably, then finally blurted out, “I think she wanted to be with me, not him. But I’m not sure now, you know? I mean, how’s a guy supposed to tell? She hugged me, she’d hold my hand when she talked to me, but she never . . . you know . . . kissed me or anything. Because she wasn’t like that. She’d never do anything like that if she was with someone else. But maybe . . . once she’d let Jordan go . . . I think she might have . . .”
He met my eyes in the rearview, just the briefest flash, then cast his gaze down to where his knuckles were turning white on the steering wheel. “I’m sure you’re right about that,” I told him with only the barest glimmer of conscience for the little (oh, all right, major) white lie. “It’s just too bad she’ll never be able to tell you herself how she really felt about you.”
He clenched his jaw and nodded, miserably.
“That’s why it’s so important that the police find who did this to her, Charlie. No one should be allowed to get away with what was done to Amanda. I know the police talked to you as her friend, but . . . if you know anything about any of the people Amanda hung out with . . . anything at all . . .” I let my voice drift off, my meaning clear.
“I wish I did know for sure who did it,” he said after a long pause. “I just wish I did. There’d be no need for a trial by jury, that’s for damn sure.”
And on that note . . .
“Ready, Sunshine?” Marcus appeared at my elbow, bending down to slip his arm around my waist.
Embarrassed, I waved him away. “I’m perfectly capable of doing for myself, you know.”
“Now, Sunshine,” he said as he helped me to my feet and settled me against his side, “when a man goes out of his way to play knight-in-shining-armor, the least you can do is humor him. Am I right, Charlie?”
Charlie grinned. “Right, Mr. Quinn.”
“That’s settled, then. Thanks, Charlie. I’ll take it from here.”
I thought of something as we got to the door, and turned back. “Oh, Charlie? One other thing. You don’t happen to know anyone who has a pontoon boat, do you?”
He looked at me as though suddenly wondering if I might have hit my head harder than they’d thought. “Yeah, sure. Lots of people.”
“White one, blue and green trim? Goes by the name Shady Lady?”
He appeared to think for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Nope, it’s sure not ringing any bells. Why?”
I shrugged but kept my eyes on his face. “Nothing important. Just some photos Amanda had. I was just wondering where they were taken, is all.”
“Oh, okay. Glad it wasn’t something more serious.” He raised his hand to wave at Marcus. “See you around.”
“Smooth,” Marcus drawled as we watched Charlie back his Buick out of his parking space.
“I was just checking. Mostly I wanted to see if he knew about the pics.”
“And? What do you think?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t seem to be lying. At least, I didn’t sense it if he was. And the boat’s too expensive for Charlie’s family, based on what you’ve told me. Ah, well.”
As Marcus guided me through the door, his arm a comfortable weight around my waist that was not at all unpleasant, he shook his head and muttered, “Mr. Quinn. Mister Quinn. Who’d’a thunk it?”
“Sounds good, though, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe so,” he mused, grinning. “Maybe so.”
Chapter 17
The mid-December air had grown a toothy bite, its icy breath swirling around us as we stepped into the lobby before the glass door settled back into its aluminum frame. Marcus made me sit in a chair before heading up to the counter to wave at the receptionist. “Hey, Kate, how’s it goin’, girl?”
“Things are great,” I heard the receptionist purr. Same old Katie. “God, I haven’t seen you in ages, Marcus. You’re looking good. Still making the bar scene with that band?”
“In my off time, yeah.”
“And what are you in for today? I don’t see you on Doctor’s schedule.”
Marcus angled his thumb over his shoulder at me. “We had a little accident over at the high school. Coach Abernathy called it in.”
Katie stuck her head out through the receptionist’s window. “Well, well! Maggie O’Neill. Long time no see.”
I waggled my fingers at her. “Hey, Katie.”
“So you’re the accident at the high school.”
“Guilty as charged.” I made a sheepish grimace. “I’m afraid it wasn’t exactly in my plans to be back here so soon. I was forced.”
“Bad luck,” she agreed good-naturedly. “You’re our last appointment for the day, so I’m sure the doctor will see you shortly.” Her duties thus discharged, she angled a sideways glance in Marcus’s direction. “Soooo, Marcus, where are you playing now? Maybe I’ll have to get out to see you. I just love watching you . . . fiddle.”
I had never seen Marcus blush before, but the color that crept up his cheeks certainly qualified. He mumbled the name of a bar two towns over, but mentioned he’d have to check his schedule to be certain. Before I knew it, he had joined me in the uncomfortable lobby chairs, slouching his long body down as though hoping to disappear.
“Margaret?” A nurse wearing white pants and a surgical-style shirt covered in pink teddy bears came to the door to call me back.
Marcus made a motion to assist, but I placed a staying hand on his arm. “I can make it, Marcus, thanks.”
His sideways glance toward the avid-eyed Katie made me think this latest show of chivalry was somehow less than altruistic in n
ature. Ha. It was his own fault for being so intriguingly dark and dangerous. Let him suffer.
The nurse showed me into a different examination room this time, but it had the same requisite examination table, twin metal folding chairs, scrub sink, and biohazard box. “Doctor will be in with you in a moment,” she told me, placing my file in the letter box outside the door and gesturing for me to climb up on the table. “You’re our last patient today.”
Terrific.
Going to the doctor, even when I was as sick as a dog, had always felt uncomfortably like complaining. Not to mention the fact that I’d just been there the other day. Two trips in a single week were enough to give any healthy girl the heebie-jeebies, right?
With a resigned sigh, I edged onto the examination table, feeling the pristine paper liner crinkle beneath me. At least the nurse hadn’t forced me onto the scales first, like they usually did. Thank God for small favors. I mean, really, how many women needed the reminder that they were no longer their lean, mean, teen selves?
The only window in the exam room was small and too high to see out of, so I turned my attention to the personal photographs lining the industrial gray walls. This exam room had even more candids than the room I was in the other day. They were the only signs of energy in the otherwise airless room, all of Dr. Phillips at various stages of his illustrious life. As a college graduate, waving his tasseled hat over his head. Several pictures of fish of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, jubilant male faces mugging for the camera. A favorite dog, a yellow Lab that almost appeared to smile, all soft eyes, big teeth, lolling tongue. Next came a couple of pictures of the doctor’s beloved lakeside home, viewed from the water, double-hung windows glowing golden with light from within. It was gorgeous, just the right blend of wealth and comfort and down-home charm. Last, a picture of the lake itself, fall reds and golds reflecting back on the still water. Sheer heaven.
There was a knock at the door. “Everyone decent?”
“Come on in, Dr. Phillips.”
Dr. Phillips entered the room, looking every bit as brawny and barrel-chested as always. He consulted my chart. “So, what happened to you, young lady?”