Phyllis Mathis is a writer, a psychotherapist, and a life coach, living and working in Arvada, CO. Her novel is entitled Cold Counsel. Check out her website: Resonance: your life, in tune.
Read earlier chapters of Cold Counsel here
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Chapter 17
Susan awoke with a start, pushing herself upright and wiping a bit of spittle from the corner of her mouth. She shivered, cold from the lack of covers, suddenly aware she was not where she should be.
“Now that’s a sight. You’re cute when you’re drooling, just thought you should know.”
It had to be Liz.
“Thanks.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned, her memory trying to arrange itself like a jigsaw puzzle in her mind. “Oh, wow,” she said, stretching, “I must have fallen asleep.” She shivered again.
“We both did.” Liz was standing over her, coat buttoned, purse over her shoulder. “It’s two in the morning. I’m starving, I’ve got a crick in my neck, and a bed waiting for me at home. Rosie’s in good hands, so I’m going home. You should too, before the pattern of that armrest gets permanently etched into your skin.”
Susan’s fingers moved gently over the side of her face where she had rested it on the arm of the sofa. The scratchy tweed upholstery had embossed a series of miniature tic tac toe grids on her skin from temple to cheekbone. She blinked hard and looked up at Liz.
“OK… yeah…I guess I should go too…um…huh?” asked Susan, shaking her head, reaching for clarity.
“I know, I was wigged out before. I always feel better after a good cry, some first-class sympathy, and a long nap. I’ll come back tomorrow and worry some more if you like. For now I just wanna go home. Are you coming? I don’t want to go out into the cold by myself.”
Susan scrambled to keep up. She patted herself from shoulders to knees, as if checking to make sure all the parts were in place. Sliding her feet into her boots, she reached for her purse and stood up, a little shaky. Her eyes darted around the room, trying to gather enough information to orient her to time and space. The lights were dim, the room was quiet. She still couldn’t quite remember what she was doing in this place.
She tried running a hand through her hair, but it was no good. Her curls seemed to have grown thicker with sleep. She cast about for her parka, too hurried to be able to see much of anything, but Liz was waiting. It was time to move.
By the time they reached the parking lot, saying goodbye with a hug and a plan for tomorrow, Susan was fully present. She remembered why she had been there, remembered Liz’s distress, her crying, her worrying, predicting the worst. She remembered they had spent some time in Rosie’s room, listened to the nurse explain her condition, as Susan asked the questions Liz didn’t know to ask. She remembered talking quietly in the waiting room afterward, each lying on her own uncomfortable sofa, facing each other over the cheap laminated coffee table between them. She remembered Liz falling asleep. Then nothing, until their abrupt departure.
At home under the covers, after a hot cup of chamomile and a bit of poetry from the anthology she kept on her night table, Susan felt herself sinking into sleep, her date with Kevin lingering at the edges of her consciousness. She surrendered to the pull, the ghostly image of Kevin in a police uniform drawing her into the night.
story by phyllis mathis, all rights reserved
June 21, 2010 at 2:23 pm
What? No comments yet? I say, keep up the good work, and I’m looking forward to the next installment already!
July 8, 2010 at 10:44 pm
I was too overwhelmed by the ghostly image of Kevin in a police uniform to say anything.
Love you,
Kerry