Chapter 56
Annie vaguely remembered the bumpy ambulance ride. Good thing there was already an ambulance close by. Mostly, she remembered wanting to sleep and the paramedics asking questions over and over again: What’s your name? What’s your birth date? Do you have any children? What are their names? Ages? Turned out that was a technique to keep her awake—because not only had she been shot, but she had also suffered a concussion from DeeAnn and Sheila trying to pick her up and get her to the van, then stumbling over themselves and dropping her. Annie was glad she didn’t remember that at all. But it was a weird feeling to have only spots of memory about an incident. She hadn’t even realized she was shot until she was in the ambulance.
“No,” she’d managed to say. “Not shot. I just . . . just . . . fell down . . . again.”
The paramedic had laughed. “No, honey. You were shot in the back.”
Mike was asleep in the chair beside her when she opened her eyes. Where were the boys? She wanted to wake him. She reached for him and found she was heavy with wires and tubes. Her arm fell back down on the bed. Her eyes felt heavy, and she closed her lids to the murky depth of a fitful sleep, where she dreamed of giant Mennonites chasing rabbits and Hasidic Jews dancing around a bonfire. At first the heat drew her in. God, she was so cold. Then the firelight mesmerized her—the way it flickered and shapes would move around within the center of it. A bird. A witch’s hat. A star. But the light started to hurt.
“Annie?” Mike’s voice called out to her.
Where was he? She looked around the bonfire, didn’t see him.
“Annie!” he said, touching her.
She opened her eyes to the harsh light. She squinted.
“Does the light bother you?”
“Yes,” she managed to say with a dry mouth.
She watched him close the heavy curtains.
“Sweetie?” he said as he came back to her bedside. “How do you feel?”
“Thirsty.”
“You can have some ice,” he said, turning around and reaching into a bucket. “No water yet. You just came out of surgery, you know. They don’t want you getting sick.”
“Surgery?”
“Yes. They removed the bullet,” he said, then placed an ice cube in her mouth.
It felt so good, so cool and wet. Such a relief on her dry, thick tongue.
He smiled. “You know a lot of guys would never imagine saying that to their wives. I’ve imagined it a thousand million times.”
She chewed the ice, relished the feel of the cool little chunks sliding down her throat. “Sorry,” she said.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice cracking. “I thought moving here . . .”
“I know,” she said with a sinking feeling. “Where are the boys?”
“With Sheila today. They want to see you, but let’s, ah, give it one more day,” he said.
“What’s happened? I don’t remember much.”
“Everybody is safe, though your friends spent some time in jail,” he said.
Annie smiled. She couldn’t imagine.
Mike placed another ice cube in her mouth.
“The police had a couple of men at the station. The guy who shot you claims you were trespassing, so they let him go.” He rolled his eyes. “The police will be around soon enough to see if you want to press charges and all that. But I figure that’s hopeless. They are still questioning this Luther character, though, last I heard from Bill,” he said.
“Luther? But what about Zeb?”
“They questioned him and let him go.”
“What about Cookie?”
“Nothing. You can’t do anything but rest now,” he said. “So I wish you would.”
Man, her head hurt. She looked around the room and suddenly saw all the flowers.
“Flowers.”
“Yes. How about that?”
“Oh, look at those beautiful yellow roses,” she said.
“Yes, those are from Beatrice. She dropped them off on her way out of town.”
“What? Where’s she going?”
“To stay with her cousin Rose.”
“Rose?” Annie said. Damn, her brain ached, and it felt like there was cotton in it. Who was Rose? Why did that strike a chord with her? Oh, damn! Beatrice was heading up to Jenkins Mountain! What was she up to?
Annie tried to sit up.
“What are you doing?” Mike said, gently pushing her back down.
“When did Bea leave?”
“A little while ago. Why?”
“I think she’s heading up to Jenkins Mountain.”
“So?”
“She’s up to something.”
“You know what? She probably is,” Mike said and smiled. “But it’s not your problem. You can’t do anything about it. You just got out of surgery. Got it?”
Annie’s brows knit as she nodded, not meeting her husband’s eyes, unable to get the image of Beatrice, with her handgun, traipsing around Jenkins Mountain out of her achy, fuzzy brain.