I collapsed on the sidewalk. All of my fear and worry could now rest. It was over. Like stepping off the world's scariest roller coaster, I could wear the shirt “I Survived the Palmer District Mugger.” I had the broken face to prove it.
My body began sending messages of a malfunction to my brain. I looked down and saw drips of blood on the sidewalk. Feeling the heat from arm, I pulled up my elbow and saw the gash. The mugger had left his calling card. At that time, one of my neighbors ran out of his house and knelt down next to me. “Are you all right?”
My jaw was weak from the emotional breakdown that was headed my way. “Yeah, I think so. Can you call the police? That beast took my cell phone.”
I walked inside with my kind neighbor and waited to hear the sirens. What started out as the best night of my life, really managed to suck wind. I was pretty certain I was single, on both accounts, couldn't live at my home, for two reasons, and now I’d been stabbed. Where was my white flag? There was nothing left to lose.
“Let me get you a towel,” the man said. The round lenses in his glasses reflected light from the bright foyer sconces.
I sat on the black wicker chair next to a table. There were pictures of his grandchildren on it. There must have been six different faces. Just then a woman came from the upstairs. “Oh my Lord. Honey, are you all right? I hear the sirens coming.” She grabbed her mouth, shaking her head back and forth. Pity screaming from her eyes.
The man came from the back hallway, carrying a white towel. “Oh, no, sir. I'll get it all dirty.” I began to cry. This gracious man was trying to help me and the gesture was affecting me incredibly.
“Honey, go out and tell them she's in here.” The woman pulled her pink housecoat closed and approached me warily. “Here, dear, hold it tight.” She placed pressure on the towel. Red began seeping to the surface from the cut on my arm.
A couple of men wearing blue shirts and carrying medical bags came through the door behind the man in the glasses. They helped me walk to the ambulance, and it drove me back to the hospital I had just managed to escape. I recognized the ER from two weeks ago. This time I was the one lying on the gurney getting treatment. Luckily, I didn't recognize anyone. In a way, I wanted Mark to find me there. Then I reminded myself of how he lied to me. Couldn't I catch a break and find love that told the truth? After they stitched me up and cleaned off the blood, the police detective came in and asked me some routine questions.
“Mrs. Whitfield, if according to you, the perpetrator took the keys to your house, I would advise you to stay somewhere else tonight. And change your locks as soon as possible. We will have a car do routine checks tonight, but it isn't wise to return. Especially, as you said on record, you punched him. He could be seeking retaliation. Do you have training in self-defense? Own any registered weapons?” The older gentleman leaned against my bed, holding a pad of paper and a pen. I watched the tassel on his black shoes, trying not to think about my luck and misfortune. The bottom edge of his pants had a few stray strings from walking on them.
“No weapons and no formal training. My bad evening kicked in and I went a little hormonal. It was a surge of self-defense, so to speak. Clearly enough to make him punch me back and leave a scar for office gossip.” I touched my swollen eye. I hadn't seen a mirror yet and wasn't sure I wanted to.
The older man laughed. I stopped starring at his shoe and looked at his face. His eyes were kind. Worried eyes that told me to find an alternative place to stay if I wanted to wake up the next morning in one piece. “Could I call someone for you?”
Mark's face reached the screen of my mind before Wesley's. I drew a Ghostbusters sign around both of them. “I've run out of family, and I wouldn't know which one of my friends to bother on a Saturday night.” Then one face came to my mind. The someone who could shield me from all the badness of the world. Who wouldn't judge me, but would lend a much needed shoulder without question. Tom McTavish. If the past was any indicator of the future, he was at home with nothing better to do than pick me up. “I do have someone. But I'm afraid I don't have his number.”
I leaned back on the bed. Left with not a single person on my emergency contact list. Were my injuries too superficial to let me rent a room at the hospital until daylight squeezed out from the darkness? Convicts usually stayed holed up in caves during sunshine hours, like bats.
“Lucky for you, I'm a detective. I can find his number for you. What's his name?” He shifted his weight on my bed. I noticed a worn mustard stain near one of the buttonholes on his shirt.
“Tom McTavish.” I said it with very little belief his local number would be top on a Google search.
“Tom McTavish? I'm good friends with Tom. We've worked together on a few cases in the past. My divorce being one of the most memorable. He also has a mean golf swing. Why, me and Tom, we're good friends. I think I have his number programmed in this new dang phone.” He held it up, showing me. “Got this new thing last week. The guy at the store told me he transferred all my numbers. We'll just see about that.” He scrolled through the list, looking through the bottom portion of his lenses and straining, as though the information was encrypted. “Sure, here he is.”
He pressed the buttons and handed me the phone. It was already ringing when it hit my ear. There was no time to rehearse how I was going to jog his memory and solicit a ride. His strong voice appeared magically from the unfamiliar cell phone. “Hello.”
“Tom? It's me, Amy Whitfield. From your niece's wedding, then at the restaurant downtown?” I tried not to look at the detective's face and spoke quietly. It sounded more like a game of “Test your memory!” than “Can you swing by and pick up your old chum?”
“Amy? Are you with Ron?”
I turned my head for a five-inch differential in privacy. “I'm at the hospital with him. I was mugged outside of my house and I need a ride. I don't suppose you'd ...”
I didn't have time to finish the plea. “What? You were what? I'll be there in five minutes. Less when I run all the lights. Hold tight, I'm coming.”
The phone went silent. The call was dropped. I looked at it to make sure before handing it over to the detective. “He's on his way.”
“I gathered from the loud voice I heard on the other side of the connection. Well, I know you'll be in good hands now. I'll follow up with you if I have any further questions. And please don't go back home alone. We don't know what this guy is capable of.” I shook my head in agreement with his expert and fatherly advice.
The nurse brought my discharge papers, and I signed on all the dotted lines. It didn't seem long before a set of black, shiny shoes shuffled outside of my curtained room. Finally, his arm pushed through the opening. My eyes met his. His shoes seemed to be stuck to the floor.
“What?” Did he see a ghost?
He rushed and grabbed me like the last scene of an emotional movie. I wasn't expecting the force or the reaction. I caught myself with my hand and waited to be released.
“Amy,” he said as he looked at me with worried eyes. “Who did this to you?”
I hadn't seen myself since the last primp at the medical convention when my life was magically perfect. I figured I looked a bit worn now, but not like I'd done a round with Rocky Balboa. “I'm not sure, but I got one good punch to the windpipe on him. That was right before he became enraged and returned the sentiment with an added slice to my arm.”
“Did they catch him? Do they know who the bastard is? I'll prosecute him myself.” His rage burned through his look of togetherness.
“No. He's been on the loose for a few months. That's why I called you. He took my keys and purse and I can't go home. Would it be too much trouble to ask if you could loan me hotel money, just until tomorrow when I can go home and get my things. The detective doesn't seem to think I should return there tonight.”
“Hotel? No, you're coming home with me. I'm going to take care of you.”
It wasn't a question. It wasn't an offer. It was a plan, and Tom was the author and
executor of it. All I had to do was take the ride and the rest would be taken care of. It was a godsend. But did it seem like I was too needy?
He must have read my body language and stooped down to make direct eye contact with me. “Amy, you need someone, and I'm more than willing to be that guy. Let me take care of you tonight.”
“I'll be fine if you drop me at the Regency. Honest.” Yeah, I didn't believe it either.
He put his arm across my shoulders and walked me out. Before we exited the hospital, he put his blazer around me. His car was parked in the emergency drop-off lane. The security guard gave him a dirty look as Tom opened my car door and waited until I got inside. It was fate that I had met him.
When we arrived at his house, I was taken aback by the size of it. Obviously he was the victor of the home in the divorce decree. He parked the car and rushed to open my door. “You can stay here as long as you need.”
I walked to the front door with him. An injured bird, seeking sanctuary. “I don't want this to be a hardship on you. Please, don't go to any trouble, Tom. I can sleep with a blanket on your couch. Morning will be here fast, and then I can get out of your hair.”
He swung the front door open, not paying any attention to my attempts of wanting nothing more than a floor for the night.
“Just slip off your shoes and I'll show you to where you can shower. I'm sure you want to get cleaned up and change into something else.”
Crap, this was what I was wearing the night I went out with him. He would think I was a charity case, only having one dress to my name. My cheek began to pound with sensitivity and my arm's numbness was wearing off. I was too tired to try and fight defeat.
“I would actually like a glass of water and to sit down for a minute. Everything happened so fast. They were tying strings on my arm, while the detective was asking me a million questions. I need to just sit down a minute and let my mind catch up.”
He walked me to his kitchen. If I thought the entryway was enormous, with hanging tapestries and rare flowers falling over glass vases, the kitchen did not fail to floor me with its sheer size, equipped with everything under the sun to properly cook a five-star meal. No doubt a Jeeves was hiding in his butler closet, waiting to come out and take care of my every whim. I waited. No little wrinkly man in a tuxedo appeared. I took a seat and looked around. The room was very white and shiny with chrome appliances. A subzero refrigerator, a double oven, white subway tile across the back walls, and a center island bigger than my bathroom; all of it was there. He pulled out the barstool next to mine, but walked toward the refrigerator. The sound of his footsteps on the floor's surface echoed in the empty house.
“Would you like anything stronger than water?” He asked, peering from behind the opened chrome door.
“I better not. They gave me something at the hospital for this killer headache of mine. It's just now easing up.”
He handed the water to me and sat down. “I'll refrain from letting my attorney-brain needle you with five-hundred questions about what happened. Tonight is about making you feel safe.”
I sipped the water. “Thank you. I'm fresh out of answers. I don't want anything more than daylight. I think I'll feel safer then.”
Tom was patient as I sat quietly in the kitchen. My mind wasn't letting me get a moment of peace. “You're safe here. Let me show you to the bathroom. You can enjoy a long shower and I'll find something for you to wear.”
“They told me not to get my arm wet. Easier said than done.” I held out the broken wing, wrapped in gauze and a bandage. Crusty blood rested on my wrist.
“Even more simple. I'll fill the tub. You can lay your arm on the side and try to relax.” He stood up to commence the new plan.
“Tom, I can't have you drawing baths for me and finding me clothes. I intruded on your Saturday. Surely, I interrupted something. I'll be out of here as fast as possible.”
“Amy, until you called, I was watching the dumbest movie to date. I had just finished a microwave meal and was doomed to fall asleep in the chair. Let me take pleasure in helping make you feel safe tonight. It would give my evening purpose and me pleasure in doing it.” He waited, never moving his eyes from mine.
Well, if you put it like that ... “Fine. But keep it simple. No candles, no jazz, and no aromatherapy. Just a simple bath.”
“Follow me.”
I followed him up the large circular staircase that wound to the top floor. A heavy banister sat on top of the white pickets and was easy to hold on to. An open balcony overlooked the lower level. The house was massive. Most of the doors, as we walked down the hall, were closed. I stepped into the third room on the left. It had powder blue walls trimmed in heavy white trim. Hardwood floors with large antique rugs were under my feet.
I walked past the huge four-poster bed on my way to the bathroom, which was the size of my bedroom at home. A modest chandelier hung in the middle of the upscale lavatory. Double sinks with ivory bowls, a clear glass shower, and a white tub with brass levers sat unused. The place amazed me.
Tom stooped over the tub and turned on the water. It began cascading down the large flat faucet, falling into the white tub. Slowly, steam rose from the flow. He opened the linen closet and showed me where the toiletries were. “Feel free to choose your soaps and lotions. And there are the towels and washcloths. Take your time and if you need anything, yell. I'll be here in no time.”
I looked around at the unfamiliar place. The water was gushing in the tub, awaiting my troubles to slip down the drain. I felt small and out of my element. Lost and confused. I wondered if Mark had gone looking for me. I questioned if Wesley was thinking about my reaction to his other life. A quick glance at my reflection forced me to yelp. My hair was a stringy mess, my eye was surrounded by a darkened halo, and blood was smeared across my chin and arm. My dress was even torn on the shoulder. I wouldn't have acted so together had I seen myself earlier.
“Why didn't you say something about how bad I look, Tom? I'm a complete mess.” I stroked my hair, my fingers snagging in the knots.
He walked closer and raised my chin with the tips of his fingers. “Amy, you could never look a mess. Through an attack, a mugging, and fresh scars, you still look amazing.”
He actually looked as though he believed every word he was saying. “Thank you. I didn't think you'd agree with me anyway. I won't be long.”
He pulled the door shut behind him, and I pushed in the lock. Not that I feared he'd come in uninvited. It was habit from home. I was guilty of being modest to the extreme. I unzipped the back of my dress and began to feel the ache of my muscles from the assault.
I tossed some lavender cubes I found in the linen closet into the water, watching as they fizzed from the heat. I hoped the scent would help ease my frayed nerves. I stepped into the warm, sudsy water and sank down until the surface became a necklace around my throat, being careful to leave my arm resting on the side. It began to burn from the freshness of the stitches and the steam from the water. As my eyes closed, I saw Mark's face. Met with the euphoric feeling of finding my missing piece in life. Only to have it not fit, after all. What made him find Wesley's affair? Why would he do something that would hurt me so much? And then not to tell me the moment is was confirmed? To have me blindsided. Oh, no. I finally got it. It was her, the new girl. The new girl woke Wesley from the coma. It must have been her. I'd never know for sure, but it was going down in my head that Violet was obviously his missing piece. At least one of us had located our counterpart.
Turning off my mind from the single worst day in my life, minus the day my parent's plane crashed, I dozed off. I’m sure it was only for a few minutes. The loud knocking woke me. I popped the drain and stood. “Sorry, Tom. I didn't hear you at first. I'll be out in a minute,” I yelled out, hoping he wasn't the type to bust down a door if he got no response.
I jumped in the shower and with one hand, washed my hair and showered off the lavender bubbles from the tub. After I dried, I realized there was nothing
for me to wear. Putting my hair into one towel and wearing the other fluffy blue one, I opened the door to the bathroom. The difference in temperature made me shiver.
Halfway to the door of the bedroom, Tom walked in. He stopped abruptly, seeing me half dressed. His eyes darted around, probably not knowing where to safely land. “I ... I brought you this robe. I'm sorry I don't have something better.”
“Would you happen to have an old shirt that you no longer wear? I'll take the robe too.” I reached out and took the robe he was offering before he turned and left. It took only a minute until he was back with one of his button-down dress shirts. It looked like he pulled it from the drycleaner bag, smooth and bright. “Okay.”
“I'm sorry, you meant something more comfortable, didn't you? Here, let me go and get you something else.”
I kept a tight hold on his shirt. “I won't hear of it. This one is fine. Thank you. I'll change and be out in a minute.”
“I'll be downstairs. Come down when you're ready.”
I buttoned the shirt and put the robe over it. One could never have too many layers at a strange man's house. I favored my right arm as I walked downstairs, cradling it like a newborn baby. Tom was waiting for me in the informal living room. A silent picture played on the television screen. I sat on the sofa next to his chair, looking around at the dimly lit room. A sculpture of a crane sat near the French doors, perched on a piece of wood. The pictures hanging on the walls were nautical in theme too. Beach scenes, painted in a rough artist's hand. The light brown sand and blue water gave away the location, but the other images were fuzzy, like an impressionist painted them, decades ago. Large glass lamps sat on the tables on either side of the sofa.
Waking Amy (Amy #1) Page 21