Chapter Ten #2
Then my breath hitched until I grew dizzy as one car after another came within inches of scraping his.
My hands clenched in fists until my dime-store mood ring cut into my finger, until finally he powered past another vehicle to cross the finish line.
The checkered flag swooped through the air to declare his victory.
Attending the race this evening marked another first, in that I’d come alone.
Libby and Keith had an end-of-the-school-year function—I’d loaned her my car since she’d baked two dozen cupcakes.
Not even Russell’s grandmother had shown up for the race, which was unusual for her, but then Annette had been burning the candle at both ends lately.
This past week, I’d even manned the library’s front desk for her while she drove across the state to help launch a new women’s shelter. I envied her energy and her passion that seemed undimmed by age as she approached eighty years old.
I also admired her. Her opinion mattered to me. Annette hadn’t acknowledged the shift in my friendship with Russell to something more, and I wondered what she thought. Or had she been too busy to notice?
There was no denying, the picnic last week marked a change for us, a freedom to stop tiptoeing around the fact that we wanted to spend more time together. No more making up excuses to attend the same events.
A roar from the track drew my attention back as Russell finished his victory lap and slid the car into a showboating stop in front of the stands. The Chevelle sported a hefty amount of mud and a fresh dent on the right quarter panel, but Russell’s face shone with pure joy.
Hands in the air, I waved and cheered, my mood ring turning an excited yellow.
I dodged through the crowd, past the Tyler family and others from the paper mill on my way toward the winner’s circle.
Breaking through the last layer—who knew Bent Oak boasted this many citizens?
—I landed a prime spot to see Russell hold his trophy over his head.
Sweat streaked his temples, and his golden-brown eyes glowed. He made a slow spin to face everyone shouting their congratulations, only to pause when his gaze landed on me. I lifted my arms again, waving and whooping it up like I’d never done before. Unladylike, right? I didn’t care.
He extended a hand.
I pointed to my chest, mouthing Who me?
He wriggled his fingers, nodding.
A little drunk on exhilaration, I closed the gap between us in a half dozen strides. Hugging the trophy against his chest with one arm, Russell clasped my hand in his and raised our arms up to a fresh round of cheers from the crowd.
I arched up on my toes to shout, “You’ve had quite a winning streak lately.”
He leaned down to speak into my ear, his breath warm. “Just winning one for my biggest fan.”
“Aw, I’m flattered.”
He winked. “I meant my grandmother.”
“Oh, now I’m embarrassed.” Had I misread? Was he just glad to see a familiar face? I hated old insecurities that I’d thought were long gone.
“Don’t be embarrassed.” He set the trophy on the hood of his car. “I was joking. You’re my girl.”
He looped his arms around my waist and lifted me into a spin. Squealing, I rested my hands on his shoulders, seeing only him. The rest of the world blurred in comparison.
Slowly, he lowered me until we were face-to-face, and I planted a quick kiss on his mouth. His eyes flashed with surprise—and more.
He eased me down onto the hood of his car just as someone shouted, “Smile.”
I turned to the voice—the photographer for the Bent Oak Weekly .
My skin tingled with anxiety, for fear of detection.
I tipped my head as quickly as I could to shield my face with my hair.
The Bent Oak Weekly had a readership smaller than most high school enrollments, but I wasn’t taking unnecessary chances, not when happiness was finally within my grasp.
Russell’s hands tightened around my waist. “Are you ready to go dancing?”
Yes. Yes. Yes. I wanted to squeal in abandon but settled for a more dignified response. I stretched out my legs, wriggling my toes in my ballet flats. “I have my dancing shoes on.”
“All righty, then. Just give me a minute to head over to the restrooms for a quick shower and change—”
“Winnie? Winnie,” Libby’s voice called out from a distance, insistent and drawing closer.
I glanced at my watch. Keith’s end-of-school party wasn’t due to finish for another hour. I clenched Russell’s arm. Libby and I counted on each other for so much more than friendship.
“Over here,” I hollered back, raising a hand.
Libby angled past the reporter, tugging Keith behind her. She ran the last few feet, still wearing the jean dress and white sneakers I’d helped her choose for the school event. Her expression worried me.
“Winnie, Russell, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I know it’s a time to celebrate.” She paused, catching her breath. “But Annette collapsed at the school’s book fair. She’s on her way to the hospital.”
Russell swayed, bracing a hand on the hood of his car. “What’s wrong?”
I’d never seen him flustered before, and somehow that shook me all the more.
The world started spinning again, but in the very worst way.
I managed to hold it together enough to slide a comforting arm around Russell’s waist. I should have paid closer attention to Annette this week, should have noticed she’d stretched herself too thin.
Libby continued, “It looks like she’s had a heart attack. She was conscious and talking when they loaded her in the ambulance. But she wanted me to give you a message.”
“Yes?” Russell asked.
Wincing, Libby shook her head. “A message for Winnie. She needs you to come to the hospital right away. She said it’s urgent.”
Waiting room chairs weren’t any more comfortable here than back in Mobile, where I’d sat with Phillip after my father’s stroke and my mom’s cancer treatments.
Then, the latest diagnosis on my fertility issues.
Between all my lost pregnancies and my stay in the institution, I dreaded setting foot in a hospital, because every time I entered these sterile halls, I lost a little more control over my life.
Even the word launched a well of nausea that reminded me of miscarried children and the loss of my parents.
In my world, hospitals rarely had a positive outcome.
Russell, still in his racing gear, clutched my hand. Or I gripped his. Either way, we clung to each other as time ticked by until we received further news from the emergency room physician about Annette’s condition. Because yes, she’d suffered a heart attack.
And so we waited. And waited. Silence was broken only by the occasional rattling cart, voices over the PA system, and the television mounted in the corner broadcasting a football game.
A nurse rounded the corner, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum. Her name tag read Vicki Tyler . The paper mill owner’s daughter, newly back in town after completing college.
“The doctor says Mrs. Davis can have visitors now, one at a time, but to keep it brief. Ma’am, she wants to talk to you first,” Vicki said, clearly not recognizing me or Russell from the mill. “Then you can come on in, sir.”
I didn’t have the emotional energy to ponder the ironies of Vicki not having a clue who we were even though Russell and I had worked for her father for years.
I’d probably behaved the same oblivious way countless times in the past, and it shamed me to think about now.
Silently, I followed her down the sanitized corridor to a private exam room in the emergency department.
While I’d believed I’d prepared myself, I was sadly mistaken. Annette lay on a gurney hooked up to a heart monitor, with an IV taped to her hand. Her ashen skin and weary eyes shattered me. “Annette, I’m so sorry this happened.”
“Wipe that scared look off your face. I’m not fixin’ to leave this earth yet.” Annette patted the bedrail for me to come closer. “But the doctor says I’ll need to put my feet up for a little while. I’ll need some more help from you until I can get my sea legs back under me.”
I was relieved to hear her stern voice, stronger than I’d expected from her pallor. Although I was confused to think she’d turn to me first for help.
“You know I’m happy to pitch in with more volunteer hours anytime. Or run additional, uh, errands.” No great hardship at all. I had always supported the library, but in my prior life, I’d purchased whatever I wanted to read. Those days had changed.
At first, my frequent stops at the Bent Oak Public Library were to meet Annette, and each time I checked out a book or two as a cover. Over time, my choices changed from whatever I could grab fast, to escapism reading, to novels I’d read in school and wanted to reread with fresh eyes.
Annette adjusted the white sheet covering her. “This is about more than reshelving books and picking up mail.” She motioned for me to move closer. “I wouldn’t ask unless it was an emergency. We have a newcomer arriving in the morning.”
All my rambling thoughts of reading the classics scattered as I focused on what I thought she meant.
The kind of “help” she provided to other women in need.
Women like I’d once been. But while I’d contributed to those efforts in a peripheral manner, I’d never imagined I would be trusted with a more active role.
“A newcomer?” I needed her to confirm she meant what I thought.
“Like you. Like Libby. Someone who will be staying.”
The beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, chirping as her words sank in one at a time like the drip through the IV.
While I realized others had passed through, I didn’t know of anyone else who’d stayed. Or maybe their cover was rock solid. None of which mattered right now. “Tomorrow morning? Of course I’ll do whatever you need, but I don’t know how. What if I mess it all up? There are so many more ...”
“You will be just fine. I’ll walk you through it. But first, there are a few details that won’t—can’t—be written down.” Annette motioned me even nearer, until my ear was close to her mouth and she whispered, “She has two master’s degrees in math and accounting. She’s brilliant.”
“And she’s coming here because?” Would Annette answer? I’d helped in bringing her paperwork from the paralegal and post office but never opened the envelopes.
“She saw something she shouldn’t have,” Annette said, each whispered word an increasing effort as she adjusted the oxygen tube at her nose, “and the police won’t protect her.”
Talking was taking a toll. “You should rest now. Let me get the doctor—”
“No, just one more minute.” After two deep breaths, she continued, “She did nothing illegal. She was only guilty of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, with nowhere to hide.”
“Annette, what about that new Witness Protection Program?” Created earlier this decade, I’d watched news stories about how it had revolutionized criminal investigations.
“The police will assume she’s involved. That’s just how things work sometimes.” Annette gripped my hand. “Please, I know I can trust you. She’s my cousin’s grandchild.”
I understood how dangerous a powerful man could be.
My experience with my husband had given me a front row seat.
After being locked away, I was never allowed to even discuss my own diagnosis with my physicians.
Back in Alabama there had been rumors of our governor keeping potentially fatal medical information from his wife.
I’d dismissed those rumors as impossible.
Now? From my own experience, I found that the unimaginable was all too possible.
I didn’t have to think twice. I was all in. “Whatever you need.”