High Anxiety (3 page)

Fear hit me like a brick. “No!” I yelled, jumping up as everybody in the group, including Sandra, ducked. I made a mad dive toward Bea, trying to wrestle the gun from her hand. Hal grasped her from behind, and I pulled the pistol free. Somehow, my finger accidentally hit the trigger, and a deafening shot rang out, followed by the sound of screams and splintering glass.

Sandra disappeared up the stairs.

Bea swung her walker hard, and its legs slammed against Hal’s shins. He yowled. Ben joined in the scuffle, trying to contain the woman, who was obviously not as frail as she appeared.

“Oh, my God!” Sarah-Margaret screamed at me. “You shot Jesus!”

I glanced over my shoulder. The large picture of Jesus holding the lamb lay shattered on the floor.

I didn’t have time to think about it, even as Sarah-Margaret staggered toward it, wailing.

“Somebody call nine-one-one!” I shouted. I sank onto my chair, put the gun on the floor at my feet, and waited. I suspected I was going to miss dinner after all.

Two policemen arrived
within minutes, their weapons drawn. “Everybody on the floor!” one of them shouted, his voice ricocheting off the walls. His name tag read Benton. “Facedown, hands behind your heads!”

The other officer kicked Bea’s pistol aside. “On the floor!” he echoed loudly. “Now!”

We hit the floor. Everyone but Bea, who claimed she was too old.

Sarah-Margaret lay prostrate on the concrete, still sobbing. “You don’t understand!” she cried. “She shot Jeeeesus.”

Instinct told me that managing her anger was the least of Sarah-Margaret’s problems. The woman obviously had a loose screw.

Beside me, Mona gave a huge sigh. “This could only happen to us.”

A lone reporter who had followed the police inside began snapping pictures.

I raised my hand as Benton glanced my way. “I can explain,” I said.

He regarded me. “This better be good.”

I told him my name and why I was there. “The lady with the walker tried to shoot her daughter-in-law,” I said.

Bea scowled at me. “Rat fink.”

“It’s true,” Ben said. “Dr. Holly risked her life grabbing the gun from the old lady, but it accidentally went off in the process.” The other members nodded in agreement.

“She’s a hero,” the businessman added.

The reporter snapped my picture.

“Everybody stay put,” Benton said as his partner frisked Bea.

She glared at him. “Pervert! I’ll bet you get off feeling up senior citizens.”

“You’re under arrest,” he said, cuffing her and spouting her Miranda rights.

“You can’t arrest me!” she said. “I’m too old to go to jail.”

“You should have thought of that before you tried to shoot somebody,” he said.

Benton bagged the pistol. “Everybody can get up and take your seats now,” he said, “but nobody leaves the room until we get a full report from every one of you.”

We reclaimed our chairs. Sarah-Margaret had stopped wailing, but it had given her a bad case of hiccups. She sank onto her chair, holding the framed picture of Jesus, minus the glass. Two more officers arrived; Bea cursed mightily as they all but carried her up the stairs.

“Is it okay if I make a call?” I asked Benton, who nodded. I called Jay and gave him a brief rundown of events, skipping the part where I’d actually rushed Bea and caused the gun to go off. Jay had been known to criticize me in the past for getting mixed up with crazies; I didn’t want to give him any ammunition.

“Damn, Katie, are you okay?” he asked. “Should I come and get you?”

“There’s no need. Mona will drop me off at the shopping center where I left my car. Unfortunately, I can’t leave until I give some kind of statement. I probably won’t be finished in time to meet you for dinner,” I ended on a sigh.

“There’s always tomorrow night, babe,” he said. “I just want you to be safe.”

I hung up and waited for my turn to answer questions. Thankfully, Mona and I were among the first to finish. Still, it was after eight thirty by the time we were allowed to leave. Mona was not happy.

“My brand-new outfit is filthy from lying on the floor, and I scuffed the toe of my Jimmy Choo!” she said. “And would you look at this?” She held up her thumb. “My nail is broken, and I just had them done yesterday!”

I felt bad. Not only did Mona spend a fortune on her clothes and shoes, she took pride in her nails. I couldn’t blame her for being annoyed. Trouble seemed to follow me wherever I went. I drew the disturbed, the deranged, and the dangerous like a magnet. If I were a cat, I would have already used up about half of my nine lives.

Mona and I were quiet on the drive back to my car. We mumbled a quick good night to each other as I climbed out of her Jag. She drove away before I had a chance to unlock the door to my car and climb in. That was unlike her. Like me, she always waited to make certain I was safely locked inside my vehicle with the motor running before she went on.

Traffic was light, and I made it home in record time. Jay and my dog, Mike, met me at the car. Mike wagged her tail frantically as Jay pulled me into his arms, enveloping me in his warmth and the scent of his aftershave.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

I wasn’t
really
okay, but I decided to fake it. In her excitement, Mike began spinning in circles like a top. Finally, I reached down and petted her. I had bathed and brushed her the night before, but she was still the same wiry-haired stray who would never win a beauty contest. I’d let her inside during a thunderstorm some months back, thinking at the time that she was a he. She’d proved me wrong by delivering five puppies in my laundry room. Nevertheless, we’d bonded, and I often wondered what I would do without her. I could whine and even throw myself a pity party now and then, and it would remain our secret.

“How about I whip up a couple of omelets?” Jay suggested, once we went inside the house.

“That sounds great,” I said, hoping I could hold food down. I dropped my purse on top of the TV, which was tuned to CNN. A reporter was covering a wildfire that had struck the drought-ridden Apalachicola National Forest in Tallahassee, Florida, the week before. So far, more than fifty thousand acres had burned. It was all people could talk about. They still remembered the monster fire in 2007 that lasted for months and had burned more than 500,000 acres in southern Georgia and northern Florida. It had devastated the Okefenokee Swamp and destroyed hundreds of homes.

Jay had been among the firefighters who’d worked the fire.

“Reinforcements have been called in from neighboring states,” he said.

“Have they managed to contain any of the blaze?” I asked.

He shook his head. “High winds are whipping it all over the place. What they need is rain, and lots of it.”

“Has the weather forecast changed at all?”

“Nope. Doesn’t look like we can count on even a drizzle.”

I felt awful for the people whose lives were being affected by the fire, knowing many would probably lose their homes, but I was too frazzled at the moment to think about it and start feeling worse. I headed straight to the bathroom and washed my hands twice. I’d heard an expert on TV tell viewers that the only sure way to free your hands from germs was to use antibacterial soap and scrub long enough to sing “Happy Birthday” twice. I preferred to run through a set of multiplication tables.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a chair at the table. Mike exited through her doggie door, obviously needing to do her business. Jay poured me a glass of wine. “This might help you relax,” he said, leaning over to kiss me on the top of my head.

“Thanks,” I said and gave him my best smile. I wondered if Mona was okay.

Mike returned after a few minutes and plopped down beside me, resting her head on my foot as though sensing I was troubled.

Jay shoved the sleeves of his sweater to his elbows and pulled an onion, some fresh jalapeño peppers, a large tomato, and chopped pieces of ham from my refrigerator. He kept my refrigerator stocked these days; it had come about after he’d tasted one of the frozen dinners I often dined on.

I watched him move about my kitchen easily, rinsing, chopping, sautéing. Jay had learned to cook after becoming a firefighter. They made their own meals at the station, and most of the guys were pretty decent at the stove. Unfortunately, they seldom finished eating the meal before the bell sounded and off they went.

I continued to watch Jay as he cooked. I loved watching him. Although he had healed remarkably well from his injuries, I knew there was still some soreness because I saw him wince now and then when he moved a certain way. He never complained, though.

“Hey,” I said, suddenly feeling nostalgic. “Do you remember the first time we saw each other?”

He glanced at me, wearing a half grin. “Yeah, you were the scrawniest eight-year-old kid I’d ever laid eyes on. And I was thirteen and already fighting the girls off with a stick.”

“Not
that
time,” I said, remembering the incident, a picnic where dozens of firefighters had congregated with their families. Jay’s father had worked at the same engine company as mine. As with most companies, there was a strong sense of camaraderie, a bond among the men. They and their families celebrated birthdays, graduations, weddings, holidays, and summer cookouts together. I’d developed a schoolgirl crush on Jay early on.

“I’m talking about when we ran into each other at that alehouse. As adults,” I added. I had finished grad school and was working at the mental health center at the time. I’d been so naïve, thinking I could make a monumental difference in the lives of those who needed the most help. Unfortunately, I’d spent more time filling out paperwork and attending meetings than I had seeing patients.

“Oh, yeah, Paddy’s Alehouse,” Jay said after a moment, “the premier hangout for off-duty firefighters.”

“All of you were celebrating your promotion to captain that night,” I reminded him.

“Uh-huh. Only, once I laid eyes on you, I sort of forgot about everything else.”

I remembered how our gazes had met in the crowded bar where I’d gone with coworkers to celebrate a supervisor’s retirement. I’d felt a shiver along my spine as Jay’s lips had curved into the sexiest smile I’d ever seen on a man. The next thing I knew, he was standing next to me.

“Little Katie Holly,” he’d said. “All grown up.”

I couldn’t believe he had recognized me.

“Did you know then that we were going to end up together?” I asked.

“Sure did,” he said. “It was just a matter of time.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I knew that night, as a matter of fact.”

“How did you know?”

Jay gave me a look. “Babe, come on. It was meant to be.”

He was right. For me, it was the closest thing to love at first sight. “Do you remember our first date?”

“Sure do. We ate barbecue. You wore a yellow dress with tiny blue flowers on it.” He glanced at me. “You didn’t think I would remember that, did you?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “You shared a stick of gum with me later. When I kissed you, you tasted like Juicy Fruit.”

I smiled. I vaguely remembered him commenting on it. That kiss had knocked me off my feet.

“When did you know you were in love with me?” I asked.

“After I dropped you off at the end of the evening,” he said. “I drove around for a couple of hours afterward. Couldn’t get you off my mind,” he added. “Couldn’t wait to ask you out again.”

He’d called me at six a.m. the following morning and invited me to a shrimp boil that the guys from work had planned the following weekend, and I was immediately embraced by his friends and colleagues. We agreed to date exclusively. I was smitten. A month later, we spent the weekend in Savannah, where we’d made love for the first time. It had sealed the deal for me. We still visited Savannah from time to time for long weekends just to recapture the magic we’d shared the first time.

It wasn’t until after our wedding, a Caribbean honeymoon, and my move into his loft that the full impact of what I’d done hit me. I had sworn I would never marry a firefighter and risk going through what my mother and I had gone through when my father died. But that’s just what I had done. And
that’s
when the problems between Jay and me began.

Before long, the room was filled with mouthwatering smells. I finished my wine and carried the glass to the sink as Jay placed the omelets on the table, along with a short stack of toast. “Dig in,” he said, joining me. Mike got up and went into the laundry room, where she began eating her own dinner from a bowl with the word
Diva
painted on it.

“Thank you for going to all the trouble,” I told Jay.

“It’s the least I can do for my favorite gal.” He smiled.

His blue sweater was the same color as his eyes, which was why I’d chosen it as one of his Christmas gifts. It enhanced his dark hair and olive complexion. I sometimes wondered what our children would look like. I wondered what it would be like to carry Jay’s baby. The mere thought warmed my belly and gave me goose bumps.

While we ate, Jay gave me the latest on
General Hospital
. He’d become a fan during his convalescence, as had the guys who’d visited during that hour. Word spread. Half the engine houses in Atlanta had the TVs turned to
General Hospital
come three p.m., and the firefighters complained bitterly if they got a call before it ended. They’d counted on Jay to fill them in.

The wine had settled my stomach. “This is delicious,” I said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“I’ll bet you skipped breakfast and lunch.”

“Nope. I chose a healthy snack from one of the vending machines.”

“Hmm. I didn’t know the words
healthy
and
vending machine
could be used in the same sentence.” He sat back in his chair. “So, do you want to talk about it?”