by JB Lynn
Since my squeaking chest was starting to attract attention, I ducked into the nearest room. After peeking around to make sure no one was there, I gently closed the door so I could converse with the lizard without being interrupted. “Time for what?”
“Your act.”
I pulled my shirt away from my skin so I could look down at him. “Does that mean you’re finally ready to tell me what it is? Because I thought you were getting off on lording it over me.”
He stared up at me, not blinking. (Not that he could. Lizards don’t have eyelids.)
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Fine. What is it?”
“I want you to forgive your mother.”
A chill washed through me, leaving me feeling weak. My breathing suddenly labored, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears.
Releasing the neckline of my shirt so we could no longer see each other, I puffed out a breath, trying to regulate my air intake. I’d had no idea what he wanted me to do, but I certainly hadn’t guessed that.
“Before you say no,” he began.
I covered my ears with my hands and began to sing to drown him out, “La la la la la.”
I felt him run up my bra strap and I knew he wasn’t going to let the thing I really didn’t want to talk about go.
I lowered my hands, signaling my surrender.
“That was childish,” he lectured from my shoulder.
“That’s me, incorrigible.”
“Before you say no,” he began again. “You—”
“I can’t,” I interrupted. “How about you give me something else to do to make up for leaving you in the car? Two things,” I bargained desperately.
“No.”
“Three?” I begged weakly.
“She’s your mother.”
“I know.” I began to pace the length of the room. “And I’ve tried, I really have. I don’t hate her. I visit her. I try not to call her a crazy loon.”
“Around me,” God interjected.
I grit my teeth. “I try to be understanding. I try to be empathetic. I’m trying, dammit. Why isn’t that enough?”
“You need to forgive her.”
I shook my head so vehemently I almost dislodged him from my shoulder. “No. I can’t do it. You shouldn’t ask me to.”
“Everyone else has,” God whispered.
“Oh bully for everyone else,” I raged. “They weren’t the ones left with the fallout. They weren’t the ones stuck with the clean-up after her episodes.”
“She didn’t do it on purpose. She’s mentally ill,” he reminded me gently.
“Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think I haven’t used that excuse a million times for her?”
“It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.”
“It’s a crappy reason.” Suddenly too tired to stand I leaned against the wall and slid into a sitting position. “There’s just so much… so much.”
“So much what?” he asked.
I put my head in my hands as the familiar sensations of disappointment, fear, embarrassment, anger, loss, and abandonment swirled.
I felt like I was back at the carnival the day Darlene had disappeared so many years before. I remembered watching my mother’s antics, the same resentment churning in my gut then that I felt now. If only she’d been normal. If only I hadn’t been so worried about the trouble she was going to get herself into that I’d paid attention to what Darlene was doing. Resentment and guilt warred within me, as it had for many years. I was never sure which of us I should blame for my sister’s disappearance, myself or my mother.
After all, she had an excuse. A reason.
I just had the failure of not doing my job. If only I’d watched Darlene…
My head spun and I felt sick to my stomach.
“Breathe,” the little guy urged gently. “You’ve got to breathe or you’re going to pass out.”
I tried to suck in a gulp of air, but I was too tense. There was nowhere for it to go.
“Exhale first,” the lizard instructed. I felt the lightest tapping on my shoulder, as though he was trying to reassure me.
I forced myself to breathe out before taking a shuddering breath in.
“Now unclench your fists.”
I did as he instructed, relaxing my hands and lowering them so I could look at the half-moon indentations my fingernails had left in my palms.
“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” God admitted.
“Springing it on me or asking it in the first place?”
“I should have explained—”
The door to the room swung open and a male patient in his fifties shuffled in. He focused on me.
I waved a half-hearted greeting, scrambling to get to my feet.
“Knock, knock,” he said.
God dove under my shirt.
“Who’s there?” I played along, hoping he wouldn’t alert the staff I’d been sitting in his room, having an argument with a lizard.
“First.”
“First who?” I asked.
“You should knock first.” He made a shooing move with his hands.
I complied quickly by racing out of the room and running straight into another man’s arms.
Chapter 8
Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I ran into a human tank. I crashed into a wall of muscle and would have crumpled to the ground in a heap if not for the hands that grabbed me.
His eyes bored into mine, searching, as his fingers bit into my biceps.
A self-preservation instinct made me blink, afraid of what he might see, as I pulled free of his grasp, backing up a few steps. “Sorry about that.”
“No harm done.”
With a little distance between us, I got a better look at the tank, confirming my initial opinion that he was an intimidating package.
Olive skin, a grey US Navy T-shirt stretched across an impossibly broad chest, a shaved head that made it difficult to guess his age, and dark eyes that seemed to look right through me.
Those eyes scanned my entire body in a perfunctory manner that made me feel like I’d just stepped through one of those X-ray checkpoints at the airport.
When he was done, his gaze was less intense, almost friendly. “I don’t suppose you can tell me where the library is.”
“Sure,” I tried to summon a smile for him, but could feel it fell short. I turned to point behind me, relieved to not be facing him. “You go to the stairway there on the left. Where it says Exit?”
“I see it.”
“Take those stairs down a flight. Make a right down the hallway and it’s a couple of doors down on the right.”
“So basically I’m standing right above it?”
I turned back. “You are.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I caught a whiff of his cologne, something light and clean that reminded me of the sea, as he strode past.
“It’s not quiet,” I called after him.
He turned back to face me, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Libraries are supposed to be quiet, but that one never is. There’s always some sort of class going on in there like music therapy or laughter yoga. I just thought you should know it isn’t quiet,” I finished lamely.
“Laughter yoga?”
Considering the guy looked like he could bench press the average yoga instructor with one hand, I didn’t think any kind of yoga was part of his fitness regimen. I shrugged. “It’s a thing.”
“Appreciate the heads up.” Spinning on his heel, he marched toward the stairwell.
I moved in the opposite direction, toward my mother’s room. I wasn’t ready to forgive her, but I would visit her since I was here anyway.
God, in his hangout spot between my breasts, stayed mercifully silent.
My mother had her back to me when I arrived. She was staring out the window. I rapped twice softly on the doorjamb and stepped into the room. “Hi, Mom.”
I smiled as she turned.
She responded by throwing
something at me.
I was so surprised by her greeting that I didn’t duck in time. Something hard and wet hit me squarely in the chest.
God bellowed, “Attack! We’ve been attacked!”
“Bell guard!” Mom screamed as she reached for another missile to fire at me.
I was ready for her this time and easily avoided the pint of milk she chucked at my head.
“Mom,” I said, striving to sound calm, “what’s wrong?”
“Bell guard! Bell guard! Bell guard!”
“What the hell is going on?” God boomed.
My mother kept shouting as she climbed up on her bed and started jumping up and down on it.
Worried she’d end up hurting herself, I stepped closer, reaching for her hand. “Just calm down.”
For a moment I thought she was going to comply as she stopped jumping.
“Let me help you.” I took her hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
With her free hand, she smacked me in the face. Hard.
Releasing her, I stumbled backward, reeling from the blow. Shocked, I stared up at her.
“Bell guards,” she hissed as though it were the worst insult she could hurl at me.
Then the room filled with people in scrubs. Someone ushered me out of the room while the rest attempted to deal with my mother, who kept screaming hysterically.
“She’s having a bad day,” one of the nurses explained. “Maybe tomorrow would be a better time to visit.”
Nodding my understanding, I stumbled away, eager to distance myself from my mother’s screams. My cheek burned from the blow, but I made no move to soothe it.
I was dimly aware of the strange looks the staff and patients were giving me as I hurried past them, eager to escape my mother’s screams, which still echoed in my head despite the fact I was no longer within earshot.
“Miss Lee?” the security guard asked as I raced past him.
Ignoring his call, I kept going toward the door. Toward freedom.
Chapter 9
I staggered outside. The sun temporarily blinded me and I had to shield my eyes before making my way across the parking lot.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
My heart skipped a beat when God didn’t answer. I plucked the collar of my shirt away looked down. As usual the lizard was nestled in the hammock created by my bra. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” He patted my breast with one of his tiny paws. “Thank goodness for nature’s air bags.”
Half-laughing, half-groaning, I raised my head, let go of my shirt, and continued toward the car.
“But I am getting a chill,” he complained.
I didn’t answer him because I spotted my car. More specifically, I spotted my car’s flat tire. “Son of a bitch,” I raged under my breath.
“What now?” Instead of his usual snootiness, the lizard sounded apprehensive.
“Flat tire.”
“Oh no.” The little guy scampered up my bra strap. “Are you certain it’s flat?”
I walked up and kicked the deflated piece of rubber for good measure. “Yeah.”
The lizard popped up out of my shirt collar so he could get a better look. “It’s flat,” he declared.
“That’s what I said.” I frowned at the offending tire. “Where do you want to wait?”
“Wait?”
“Well you can’t stay in my shirt while I change it. Do you want to wait in the car or on top of it?”
“Inside. I told you I’m chilled.”
“You’re cold-blooded,” I reminded him.
“Ectothermic,” he corrected. “The environment regulates my body temperature.”
“Spare me the biology lesson.” Opening the car door, I reached inside so he could run down my arm and curl up on top of the dashboard.
Closing the car, I stared at the tire. I had two options, I could call and have someone change the tire for me or I could change it myself. Still shaken by my mother’s attack, I admit I was tempted to call, but I’m not that kind of gal.
I pride myself on being independent and capable.
“I can change my own damn tire,” I declared aloud.
Opening the trunk, I began to systematically empty it so I could get to the jack and spare.
I’m not one of those people who keep an empty trunk. I like to be prepared in case of emergency. Usually being so well-prepared serves me well, but this time it hindered my progress.
I had to take out an umbrella, twenty rolls of toilet paper (because you can never stockpile too much), two changes of clothes including two pairs of sneakers (sometimes a hitwoman needs to be a quick-change artist), the dog’s leash and bowl, a rope ladder, a blanket, a case of water, a box of food that would ward off starvation in case of a flood—or sudden snow storm, or massive traffic jam—and a book I only read in the car because I didn’t want my nosy family knowing about it.
By the time I was finished emptying the trunk, it looked as though I’d set up a mini-garage sale in the parking lot.
Finally, I pulled the false bottom out of the trunk, revealing the tools and spare tire.
Removing the wrench and jack, I placed them on the ground beside the toilet paper.
Taking a deep breath, I bent over, reached for the tire, and tugged.
Nothing happened.
It didn’t budge.
I tugged harder and it moved a little.
Not only was it wedged into the tire well, but the damn thing was heavier than I’d expected.
Cursing and muttering, I braced one foot on the back bumper and pulled as hard as I could, dislodging the tire from its storage place. Which was great and all, except for the fact I then had to lift it over the well of the trunk.
I paused for a moment to catch my breath and regroup. I second-guessed my decision to change the tire.
“Don’t be a wuss,” I lectured myself, tightening my grasp on the tire and giving it a mighty heave, lifting it over the well.
Then unable to stop the momentum of the heavy moving object, I lost my balance.
I’m not sure if I screamed out of fear or frustration or pain as I tipped backward, the tire pushing me to the ground. I heard the horrible sound clawing its way out of my throat as I fell.
I lay there for a second, the air knocked out of me. I struggled to breathe with the heavy weight pressing down on my lungs.
Footsteps pounded toward me.
Feeling like I’d suffocate under the weight of the tire, I tried to shove it off, but I couldn’t move my arms to get any leverage. Panicking, I began to thrash, desperate to rid myself of it.
“Don’t move,” a soothing, velvety voice murmured. A warm hand touched my shoulder, stilling my frantic movements.
I squinted into the sun, trying to see the face of my rescuer.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Can’t breathe,” I gasped.
“I’m going to lift it off of you,” he instructed, “but I don’t want you to move when I do. Do you understand?”
I nodded, gritting my teeth against the pressure pressing down on me.
“On three.” My rescuer changed position, straddling me and bending to pick up the tire. “One.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating on not moving.
“Two.”
I held my breath.
“Three.”
And suddenly the weight was gone.
I exhaled and gasped for air in short, choppy breaths.
“Easy now.” My rescuer put aside the tire and squatted on my other side.
I opened my eyes. Now that I was no longer looking into the sun, I realized he was the human tank I’d run into earlier. “Thank you.”
I moved to get up, but he placed a firm hand on my sternum, pinning me just as effectively as the tire had. “You’re hurt.”
“No I’m not.”
He frowned. “You’re sticky.” He tilted his head to get a better look at me.
“I really don’t think—”
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“Shhh.” He leaned closer and sniffed. “Sweet.”
Realizing what was sticky and sweet, I closed my eyes. “Gelatin.”
“What?”
“Gelatin. I’ve got gelatin on my shirt. Let me guess. It’s red?”
He took his hand off my chest and raised it toward his face so he could sniff it. He grinned. “Cherry.”
I struggled into a sitting position.
He inched closer, putting a supportive hand against my back. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“No.”
His dark eyes examined me intently. “You’re sure?”
I nodded, suddenly aware of the heat radiating from his hand on my back. Flustered by the contact, I leaned away under the guise of getting to my feet.
Hooking his hands beneath my elbows, he hauled me upward as he stood.
I swayed unsteadily and would have stumbled if he’d let go of me. But he didn’t. He just waited for me to get my feet under me, standing so close that once again his sea-like scent tickled my nose.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I am.”
Releasing my arms, he backed up a step. Far enough to give me some personal space, but close enough to grab me if I passed out.
I tried to ignore the way my stomach fluttered at his nearness. “Thanks for your help.”
“Rescuing damsels in distress is my specialty.” His eyes glinted mischievously and I was struck by the thought that he reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on who it was. “Especially those who are covered in gelatin.”
Grimacing, I glanced down at my shirt, noticing for the first time it was stained. No wonder God had complained of being damp and getting a chill.
“You work here?” my rescuer asked.
“Just visiting.” I gestured at my ruined shirt. “It didn’t go so well.”
He nodded sympathetically.
“What about you?”
“Visitor also.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. My cousin was in a great mood.”
“That’s great. Well if you don’t mind, I’ve got a lot to do.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, almost causing his shirt sleeves to burst, but he didn’t move out of the way. “Want some help?”