Читать книгу Abbey Burning Love - Donan Ph.D. Berg - Страница 3

IN THE FADING ILLINOIS TWILIGHT, Melissa Malone’s right thumb spun the wristwatch minute hand backward. Despite a prayer, the rewind couldn’t erase memories of ex-boyfriend Attorney Mark Brooks. When her gaze lifted from the 18-karet Everose-gold-encircled dial, she gasped. Mark scurried with long strides in her direction along the cedar-mulched garden path beneath The Abbey bell tower? Molars crunched a green-striped breath mint; it’s aftertaste as unpleasant as the expected confrontation.

“Refusing my invitation was rude,” Mark snarled. “I bought a table.”

“Please, no new heartaches,” Melissa whispered. She gazed up at the treasured gothic tower, a Boulder Isle landmark and her childhood escape and fantasy playhouse. She swallowed hard; her balance on heels unsteady.

Mark’s muscular abdomen didn’t bulge; what was that bump under his gray suit coat a right hand clamped tight? “Casting me off one thing; embarrassing me in public unnecessary salt to the wound.” He bit into his lower lip as if to dam the venom Melissa expected. Within earshot, chattering escorted female gala arrivals, in floor-length satin bustier dresses and embroidered chiffon skirts bunched in clenched wedding-banded hands, tiptoed through dusty parking lot gravel to The Abbey ballroom entrance.

“Now’s not the time or place.”

“Lately, never is.” Mark bumped Melissa’s shoulder causing knees to twist as he strode off, elbows pinched to his sides. Without a caustic word, he faded into the darkness between a parked black Cadillac and Hummer.

Alerted by renewed gravel-crunching footsteps, Melissa clasped both hands behind her back to hide an elbow’s non-tender, bumpy, red, stress rash.

“Find Rob Campbell?” friend Sarah, in a gala volunteer blue vest, asked.

Melissa glanced left and right. “Who said I was looking for him?”

“C’mon. We in the thirty-plus lonesome sisterhood read minds.”

“Tonight’s money to stop the wrecking ball more important.”

Above them, the scrolled, rust pockmarked, wrought iron hands of The Abbey tower clock’s interlocked gears squeaked loud to foreclose Sarah’s further probing. The cast-iron, massed bells rotated to chime seven times. The notes mesmerized Melissa. Trembling, she tried to rub warmth into her left forearm counteracting the chilly, freshening east breeze that filled her nostrils with roasted prime rib aromas wafting from kitchen exhaust vents. Exactly a week before Melissa waited in this exact spot with crossed fingers during a public health inspection that by three points reversed a prior failing stove safety grade, which would’ve canceled this evening’s fund-raising gala.

“Whatever. Don’t stew. What did Mark say?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” Melissa hugged arms to chest.

“He, muttering who knows what, pivoted in the parking lot when he saw me. His eyes on a hand holding something important, hiding it under his coat.”

“A gun?”

“Don’t think so. See ya.” Sarah started to jog away. “Got cars to park.” Her slowdown shout to a BMW snatched Melissa’s gaze across the parking lot toward a streetlight-silhouetted figure. Couldn’t be Mark or Rob ... too fat ... too short. The figure’s movement blocked by the stone Celtic cross saved by her eighty-three-year-old father during a lifetime dedicated to preserving the historical Western Illinois nunnery and beneficiary of tonight’s festivities. Backstopped by 3,000 petition signatures gathered by Melissa and older sister Carol, Aleck Malone’s singular force of will, and a threat to chain himself to the chapel doors, deflected the scheduled 2011 wrecking ball.

Achoo. Before spring ragweed allergy stuffiness plugged thirty-one-year-old air passageways, Melissa reached for a gold-chained black pearl-studded purse only to remember she left the purse, inhaler, and black silk gloves inside backstage. Her handheld Blackberry rang with the caller ID stating “Wally’s Club.” She couldn’t report to her employment, not tonight, but still she answered. “Can’t. Could I visit Pedro in the hospital tomorrow? Trust me. Leukemia isn’t that fast acting.”

Inside at the welcome desk, left hand clutched the Blackberry while her right hand exchanged handshakes with four donors and apologized a duty promised to Father beckoned. Quick steps on the balls of her feet and a helping handrail guided her to stage right curtains behind the stage’s proscenium arch. Melissa’s hand creased the corner stage curtain to peek at the audience. Rob’s in the ballroom. Where? Where is he? Prior to going outside, she walked past his reserved table placard. The place setting’s cloth napkin dropped on the table’s empty chair seat. What if she used the PA system to say he had a message? No, absolutely no. She’d revisit Rob’s table after she fulfilled her promise to Father she’d make him proud as fund-raiser MC.

A deep breath temporarily relaxed the stomach butterflies always aflutter before she spoke to large groups. In the grand ballroom of Boulder Isle’s The Abbey, tonight would be a critical debut to represent her family’s passion for The Abbey. However, stepping out of the stage wing solved neither personal quest nor quelled hundred’s of furiously flapping butterflies churning a queasy stomach. The dazzling spotlight beam practically blinded her. She couldn’t positively identify anyone beyond the third table row. However, Father sat front and center in the row closest to the stage apron, his outstretched hand and ear-to-ear toothy smile greeting big and small donors alike.

Following the announcement she’d be the Gala Chair, best friends Sarah and Alice nagged and challenged her to jettison a lackluster tailored pants suit image. Hours before she’d snipped price tags off a torso-clinging black mini. The stretch-scuba dress, like the fine leather racing gloves she ordered for driving in stock car competitions, embellished gentle curves with a tight fit. A duo of glittering diamonds embedded in a gold clasp retained long blond head hair twisted behind and slightly right of center. As grandmother and mother before, she wore the heirloom clasp proudly. An elegant, single-strand, pearl necklace matched a pair of pearl-stud earrings.

Black pantyhose, stretched around muscular thighs and well-developed calves, shimmered in the spotlight as the miniskirt hem visually elongated legs. The nylon swished with each tottering step toward the center stage standing microphone. Journey completed, she wobbled ever so slightly on trimmed in black patent leather straw sandals with three-inch stiletto heels.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?” Jam-packed to the fire marshal limit, the guests slowly clamped their collective jaw. Three hundred pairs of eyes gazed at Melissa. Overhead ballroom lights dimmed and a yellowish spot of light encircled her body, center stage. She patiently waited, rocking imperceptibly back and forth trying to steady herself on the balls of her feet, and still she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the one attendee her heart longed for. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. I believe you all recognize me. I’m Melissa Malone, chair of this year’s forty-first fund-raising gala for The Abbey. I would like to thank each of you for coming and for what I know will be your generous monetary support. With your help, we’ll surpass the forty-five thousand dollars raised last year.” She glimpsed downward to bathe in Father’s warm smile. He occasionally failed to remember names of lifelong donors, but Melissa well understood his devotion to his beloved Abbey would never falter. He’d teared up that morning telling Melissa how his heart swelled with pride when she assumed his leadership role to preserve The Abbey.

From center stage, she heard the paneled-wood entrance door bang twice. Blaring, piercing police and fire department siren high notes startled her to the core. A queasy stomach knotted when the screeching sounds escalated louder and louder. She pivoted to gaze left into the stage wing where a woman’s hands collided in their frantic frenzy to locate light panel dimmers to power-up the main ballroom lights. Melissa gasped as the far wall spotlight glowed like a Fourth of July sparkler and sprayed flashes of light up, down, left, and right. A deafening sibilant crackling sound accompanied the rising crescendo of the spotlight’s housing vibration until it burnt out. Darkness enveloped Melissa. For several seconds, miniature light rings from the spotlight glare danced behind closed eyelids. Teary moisture aided refocusing eyes as fingertips rubbed both eye socket corners hard. Core panic welled in an instant. She could barely see fingertips or painted nails on an outstretched hand.

A voice bellowed from the ballroom floor: “There’s smoke in the kitchen.” A chorus of voices yelled, “Fire! The kitchen’s on fire.” Melissa sensed wild pandemonium replace the joyful chatter of friends gathered for an evening of festive good cheer. Shadowy ballroom guests below near the stage apron, outlined by the flickering glow of table candles, pushed, jostled, and shoved. In the narrow aisle between the first table row and the elevated stage deck, they bunched together in a centipede motion left toward a battery lighted exit sign.

Father, where are you? She couldn’t hear his voice or see him.

An earsplitting explosion pained Melissa’s eardrum. Beneath soles the rumble and creaks of uplifting and dropping ancient timbers combined to sway her left and right. Fine un-deciphered particles stung forehead and cheeks; she raised a forearm to protect both eyes. The crashing metal and glass boom heard before the screams she believed to be the spotlight. Frequent air gulps coated the mouth’s roof with a fine powder, which activated a gagging reflex. The airborne particles clogged nostrils. “Mary,” she shouted. “The lights! Where are you?” No response. Gone too was access to an inhaler.

An oxygen-consuming heat blast deflated Melissa’s lungs. Shouts carried to the stage announced the far ballroom wall had collapsed. Shrieks, moans, and groans ricocheted off ballroom surfaces suffocating each prior volley. Melissa’s muscles tensed and a gripping head-to-toe paralysis immobilized her.

Flames flashed overhead.

In the ever-increasing density of a smoky haze, her brain separated two rays of light that entered the ballroom. Please be help, she prayed. Melissa wished she could cover eardrums from the screech and scrape sounds of chairs and tables pushed and dragged along the floor. A veil of heat descended, intensifying as it wrapped cheeks tighter and draped shoulders. Screams warning of falling ceiling debris echoed above gala attendees while a loud baritone voice pleading for calm resonated as from a megaphone.

Below one of the light rays, a helmeted fireman in full gear illuminated by a fire-flame flash popped out of the chokingly dense, smoky haze near the stage. A hose nozzle protruded from under his right arm.

Melissa’s upper body pressured knees to buckle as calf muscles relaxed. Her right foot stepped forward, full weight on its ball with the extended leg absorbing tilted body weight. Blurry, fuzzy vision combined with building, choking black smoke to obscure where her foot landed. Ear canal activated balance reflexes signaled muscles and tendons to exert pressure onto the floor to prevent a stumble.

An unknown vise-like force compressed above pelvis cloth and skin, left and right. Without warning, the pressure subsided. An excessively stimulated brain failed to energize tightening larynx muscles as two imagined arms encircled the waist and emulated a boa constrictor to squeeze lower abs against her spine. From the rear a shoulder-to-shoulder force nudged and pushed forward. Before Melissa’s face would lead a full body pancake onto the wooden stage floor, the arms, with thumbs locked into her bellybutton, jerked her stiff torso erect.

Smoke-filled air irritated lungs, parched eyeballs, super-heated skin, and stung nostrils. While Melissa struggled to prevent panic gulps from activating the throat’s involuntary choking reflex, she kicked heels left, then right.

Nothing.

The clenched capturing hands didn’t release.

No escape.

Roughly twisted by repositioned hands and momentarily rotating in midair, she perceived landing on a broad shoulder. Envisioned waist-grabbing hands now splayed fingers to stretch fibers covering nylon-clad hamstrings.

“Father,” she tried to cry out and failed.

Flailing two arms, one fist struck and bounced off hardened muscle. Additional swings missed everything, created fruitless motion, and sapped strength close to exhaustion. Wiggling hips sped dizzying blood to saturated brain cells positioned by her captor closer to the floor than feet. The faster she thrashed, the harder abductor fingers and palms squeezed on thigh flesh, tightly compressing heat-flushed sweating feminine skin to bone.

A familiar door bang interrupted, once then louder. Legs extended, a right heel pierced an unknown object. Twirled once, she heard cloth tear with eyes closed; every pore sweated in pain. A tingling, sliding touch to the calf and a third hand grabbed an ankle. Cooler air rushed between her legs.

* * *

“Miss Malone, can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

A blurry male face, atop a white medical coat, appeared high to the left, a stethoscope draped around his neck. “Where ... where am I?” Searching, groggy-minded words dropped off cracked lips into the room’s shade-filtered sunlight. A large, black-screened, unblinking monitor hovered above the man’s shoulder. Aching lungs that wouldn’t breathe normally scared her.

“How many fingers? ... Please?” His high-pitched voice echoed sweetness.

“Two, I think.” Questions flourished and bloomed. Had she been assaulted? Would blinking eyes ever stop hurting? A parched, inflamed throat ached. More important, what happened to the people she loved. “Where’s my father? Have you heard about friends ... Sarah, Alice? Sister ... Carol?”

The boyish-looking man scribbled onto a clipboard before he tilted his chin upward. “Miss Malone, I don’t know. If your pain becomes unbearable, press the nurse call button. Your doctor entered a computer order for codeine.” He hooked the clipboard over the metal bed end.

Melissa prided herself on being a resilient person. She’d ferret out answers. Working a lifetime to assist others eliminate cancer fears meant she could help herself. “Where am I?”

“Boulder Isle Hospital.” He slid his hand along the bed rail coming into clearer focus. Metal stethoscope ear tubes clinked against its polished bell.

“My father … my friends, they okay?” Her throat ached with each word.

“Again, I don’t know. I’ve only been on duty an hour, since seven. Now rest, don’t speak. I’ve O.K.’d a soft breakfast. Eat all you can. Don’t be surprised if you can’t. Do your best.”

“The Abbey. What happened?”

“Not good. Now rest. Expect your family doctor before ten a.m. Suspect he’ll allow limited visits this afternoon. You’ll be outa here before you know it.”

“What day is this?” Eyes squinted. Straining, she couldn’t read the embroidered or stenciled name on his coat. The try set off sharp migraine pain.

“Saturday. You spent last night in emergency.” The intern departed.

* * *

Melissa, half asleep, startled by a bed rail rattle, squinted bleary eyes to adjust to the switched on room light. She blinked twice. Focused, retina images separated circular sequenced red and white carnations and yellow daisies less then three feet from the tip of her nose. The bouquet's fragrances undetected, overpowered by the room’s stronger aromatic flowers. A dimpled chin appeared to rest, centered, atop the blooms and petals.

“I’m sorry. Elbow bumped the bed.” Mark Brooks’s voice sounded flat and unemotional, sunken eyes set in a rectangular, sharp-featured face.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She’d buried their broken dating relationship deep within her. Slow-rising disillusionment simmered past the action stage weeks ago, a do-not-enter yellow sign superglued on her heart.

Mark’s florid features stiffened. Green paper crinkled as he extended the flowers. When she made neither movement nor offered words of acceptance, he in silence laid the bouquet next to the portable nightstand water pitcher. “Wished to see if you were okay. That’s all, nothing more. I’ve always felt inferior to you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“The flowers … they’re beautiful. Thank you.” Trained to dissuade eyes from seeking out treatment-induced baldness and immobilized extremity deformity, this ability unused for Mark had none. She’d been a witness to his ups and downs, mostly the latter, and wasn’t ready to restart their journey and desired to short-circuit, not endure, another of his self-critical monologues.

A scrubs-clad nurse strode into the room. She carried a pitcher of water; ice cubes heard sloshing against the glass sides. Melissa watched the nurse lift the flowers to her nose, inhale, and take them with. Mark stepped back and slid a foot toward the door. He halted when in a louder, but hoarse voice, Melissa said, “She’ll be back. Going for a vase.”

“Oh,” Mark replied. “Thought maybe you were allergic.”

Melissa shook head no. “That’s chocolate.” The uttered sarcastic tone hung in the air, most evident on the word’s middle syllable.

“Yeah.” He scanned the room where flowers and plants overwhelmed every inch of available windowsill or other horizontal space.

At least she had to be polite. “Why the suit? Someone said it’s Saturday.”

“Had a late afternoon client meeting. Everyone expects an attorney should be dressed up.” Mark unbuttoned his jacket. The blue-green, rep tie hung flat against a white shirt Melissa knew covered well-toned abs on a six-foot frame. No bulge as seen outside The Abbey.

“As you see, I’ve enjoyed better days.” She tried to force a smile. “A card would’ve sufficed.” With both hands, Melissa stretched the crisp starched white bed sheet and cotton blanket to her throat.

Mark compressed lips tight as the nurse placed a vase with his flowers on the nightstand. When the nurse glanced her way, Melissa nodded. “Sir, only another minute or two,” the nurse said. “Doctor ordered Ms. Malone to rest.”

“I’ll be but a minute.” The nurse left. Mark returned his gaze to Melissa. “I’ve got my own aches and pains and couldn’t stand you abandoning me.”

“I don’t wish to reconsider.” In the last month, she’d begun to analyze a romantic fulfillment hunger hundreds of times. Melissa wouldn’t launch her heart into Mark’s love boat. Better he floated away. The fire interrupted both the desire to test the waters with Rob Campbell and ignited desperation to learn the identity of the mystery man who’d either assaulted or rescued her, or perhaps both. Melissa gazed at Mark. “We’ve got to move on.”

“I’m lonely without you. Wanted you to know that.” He brushed stray hair strands from forehead to crown before they sprung forward again.

“Please...” Her voice faltered. She gazed upward, silent, and then at Mark. The nurse entered to tug at Mark’s elbow. He shrugged and departed.

Melissa, despite great wishes, couldn’t force herself to be angry with Mark. During the six months they dated, she’d learned how very self-critical he could be. There’d been fine dining and exciting expensive outings. She closed eyelids convinced his companionship lacked long-term potential.

* * *

“Melissa.”

Was the voice real or a Celtic fairy spirit?

“Melissa, can you hear me?” Rolled onto her side, Melissa’s right eyelids parted into a squint to see older sister Carol. “How you doing?” Carol’s hands rested on the raised rail.

“Oh, I’ve been better.” Snarky. Should apologize. “Sorry, Sis. It’s been a downer of a day,” she whispered. Carol leaned over the rail to pull a top sheet across Melissa’s shoulder with a chin tuck. Melissa flopped on her back and with her free hand folded the sheet to its former position uncovering her throat. She gazed at her sister circle the bed. Melissa’s lower back ached; a sharp pain cramped the right calf. Through clenched teeth, she asked, “What day is it? I can’t remember.”

“Saturday ... Sunday in three hours,” Carol replied. “You look better than when I peeked in this morning, although you certainly aren’t your normal upbeat self.” Melissa felt a welcome facial sensation when the far mouth corners twitched. Twenty years younger than Carol, Melissa periodically fended off the older sister’s habit for mothering. Father, accused behind his back of robbing the cradle, married Melissa’s mother after his first wife died leaving him a widower with three children—Carol and two brothers. If one only considered Father and Melissa’s mom, she qualified as an only child, but hadn’t been made to feel that way. No family member ever added the word “half” before any sibling reference.

“You need anything?” Carol asked. Reddish eye circles and collapsed cheeks dominated her sister’s face.

“Swallowed better at dinner.” Melissa rolled left to face Carol. “Is Father okay? Keep asking and no one admits to know anything. This is the best trauma hospital in Boulder Isle, right?” Tube from the I.V. fluid bag inserted after Mark left restricted lifting the left arm. A right hand finger scratched her nose. The requested painkiller flowed with the I.V. saline solution to tranquilize throat pain and to lessen anxiety.

Carol ambled to the window and raised the shade. No light entered. Melissa wondered why Carol took forever to answer. “A helicopter flew Dad to a university burn unit last night. He … was hurt real bad.” Carol hid her face from Melissa’s turned head and gazed out the room’s singular window into darkness, its lower panel frosted white to add privacy to the first floor room.

“Why wouldn’t anyone tell me?” Melissa’s nose itched.

“I suppose not to worry you. Dad’s a fighter, but there’s little hope.”

“Oh! Omigawd!” Again on her back, Melissa’s arm yanked the I.V. tube taut. Her right hand pressed both lips to smother the pain cry induced by a shifting needle. Carol faced her exposing cheek tears. “How? What happened?”

“A burning ceiling beam … crashed down on him … and others ... so I was told. Fortunately he stumbled sideways, his walker on top of him. A friend said the walker deflected the beam.”

Melissa kept a hand to her mouth. She wanted to rub eyes, but the doctor warned against it. “Father’s always had the luck of the Irish.”

“What about you? You should feel darn awful lucky you got out.”

“And you?” Melissa asked.

“Fortunate to be in the chapel trying to locate a box of pledge cards left on a pew. Couldn’t get back into the ballroom against the crush of people. It was horrible. Hope you haven’t turned on the TV.” Melissa shook head no. “Good. Don’t. Ghastly pictures. Fire killed fourteen people. Another dozen or so, hanging on by God’s mercy. Area hospitals jam-packed. The radio news estimated a hundred nursed non-life-threatening injuries. Many with extensive burns or broken bones. Lucky ones have plain ol’ bumps and bruises suffered in the fire’s panicky stampede.” Carol moved from the room’s window to the hallway door. She gazed past the doorjamb for several seconds as if she expected someone.

“What about The Abbey?” Melissa’s whisper scratchy.

“Gone. But don’t fret about it.” Her sister gazed to the ceiling. “Only a building, wood, stone, and glass.”

“It’s more ... more than a building.” Adrenaline surged through Melissa’s veins. “It’s Father’s dream. A dream he struggled to realize all these years.” Hoarseness deepened her voice. “The chapel ... a pampered child to him. He agonized when birds crashed into the stained glass windows. Remember when separated carpet seams underneath the last row of pews unglued him. For Father ... we’ll rebuild.” She kicked both feet up and hard to loosen the tucked in sheet restricting movement. “Please check the closet. See if I have clothes.”

Carol peeked behind the closet door. “Nothing here. Did a fireman strip you to examine for injury?” Melissa, exhausted, let out a raspy cough. Her heart gladdened taking in Carol’s elfish grin. A knuckle cracked when Melissa stretched and flexed the left hand.

Carol’s flippant comment regenerated Melissa’s vague introduction recollection and a blinding spotlight. Then darkness, smoke, and strong, slightly calloused hands gripped like a vise. If they removed clothes, she’d no present recall. “Don’t know.” She paused for a deep breath. “We’ll have to powder and dust the back of my legs for fingerprints. What do you say? You started this.” Carol spoke not a word, lifted hands, palms up at the waist. “Line up the entire Boulder Isle Fire Department and all male EMTs. Enough.” Melissa inhaled, exhaled in painful spurts. “Can’t talk.” She scribbled a note on a nightstand pad for Carol to pick up clean underwear and sweats.

Carol closed the closet door and pocketed the note. “Sure. Need a key. Stopped to feed your dog and obviously found the house locked.”

“Omigawd, my purse!” Melissa stroked throat. A painful cough cleared mucus and left the throat momentarily tingling. She wrote a second note stating Gala night purse had been left at the rear of The Abbey stage.

“What purse?” Carol gazed again at the hallway and back at her sister.

Melissa tore off pad sheet to write: “BE&D.” Lined the abbreviation out and wrote: “Black, pearl studs.” She motioned for Carol to bend close to her. Melissa’s voice cracked, “Fake eight-inch rock in garden. Key’s inside.”

Carol stood upright. “I’ll find it. Be back tomorrow with clothes.”

The nurse entered to turn out all lights, except a nightlight. Melissa gazed at the ceiling. Dear Lord, shine your protective light over my father. Heavenly Father, safeguard all your faithful...

* * *

Sunday afternoon a cheerier Carol stood in Melissa’s hospital room doorway with a brown grocery bag to announce, “Brought your clothes.” Before Carol could open the closet door, a knock on the room’s doorjamb interrupted the two sisters. Carol waved one hand’s fingers forward as a signal.

Overjoyed to see her two best friends, Sarah and Alice, Melissa felt chin and cheek pain as she tried to stretch mouth into smile. At the gala, Sarah, directing parking lot traffic, should’ve been outside at time of explosion. Melissa didn’t remember where Alice might have been. Today, a dark-blue, cloth sling held Alice’s casted right forearm snug below breasts.

“You doing okay?” Sarah asked.

“Better. Say, Alice, what happened?” Melissa asked, ignoring throat.

Alice edged closer to Melissa’s headboard. Sarah, attracted to a leafy flowering violet, exposed her back to Melissa to read the attached get-well card.

“Nothing serious,” Alice explained. “Fractured a bone. I was in, you know, the basement storeroom. A terrible boom and I fell to the concrete when the posts and ceiling shook. You know the stairs; well, scrambled up them to the vestibule. Then these two guys elbowed their way, you know, through a gap in the crowd. Plowed straight into me. Knocked me down. That’s when this terrific stabbing pain. My forearm, you know, hit the floor first.” Alice rubbed the exterior sling cloth. “Laying on the tile, saw, you know, an upside down lady in a black dress, wildly swinging arms, head dangling.”

“You saw what!” Melissa’s throat constricted to barely allow a whisper. She grimaced while heart muscles pounded against her rib cage. “Describe.” She coughed. “The carrying person, who was it?” With adrenaline pulsing, she stared at Alice. “Tell me! ... Please! ... Who or what he looked like.” Melissa strained to raise her head and let it flop back onto the pillow.

“You know, hard to tell. Couldn’t see a face. Maybe short hair. Looked like a man.” Alice rubbed palms against cheeks. “Sorry ... That’s all I recall.”

While Sarah shuffled next to Alice, Carol poured Melissa a glass of water.

Melissa raised head. “His face? What’d he look like?” Captor interest subdued throat pain as she struggled to verbalize words. She sipped water through straw in glass held by Carol.

“Couldn’t see it.” Alice grinned. “Lady’s bouncing butt in the way.”

Disappointed, Melissa regrouped. “That’s okay. You had your own pain.”

“Melissa,” Carol interrupted, “I have to go.” She set Melissa’s water glass on the nightstand. “I’ll take Fluffy to my house if she doesn’t nip at me.” She waved to Sarah and Alice.

A determined Melissa tried to fully lift her left hand, but couldn’t. “Thanks, Sis,” she mouthed, as Carol walked out of sight. “Alice, think harder. A fireman?” Melissa exhaled a deep breath.

“Think hard,” Sarah suggested. “Could be Melissa’s Prince Charming.”

Not risking further throat pain, Melissa stared at Sarah. Let her tease. I haven’t divulged I sought out Rob Campbell at the gala. I can still do that. Omigawd. His reservation table was near the kitchen. Why can’t I think straight? Why is Alice looking at me? She gazed at Alice. “Sorry. Without warning migraines scramble my mind. You notice anything? A tattoo?”

“Don’t remember anything out-of-the-ordinary. He wasn’t, you know, a uniformed fireman. He moved fast. Oh, don’t know. Could’ve used, you know, a hunk to carry me to safety … or beat up those jerks who knocked me down.”

“Right on, Alice,” Sarah interjected, stretching her slim, five-foot-eleven. “This town’s got more then its share of jerks. Point them out to me sometime so I can avoid dating them.

Melissa started coughing again.

“You okay?” Alice asked.

Melissa swallowed. “Hadn’t expected this unscheduled past-thirty, lonesome sisterhood meeting would bring up dating.” She glanced at the bedside stand. “Sarah, pour me a half glass of water. Leave the straw in.”

While Melissa sipped, Sarah retrieved the card on a holder inside the bouquet next to the water pitcher. ”I see Mark brought flowers.”

“Yesterday.”

“What?” Alice exclaimed. “Thought he outlived, you know, his welcome. That the billowy clouds and songbirds of love either floated or been driven away.” Alice wiggled four left hand fingers as she lifted it slowly upward.

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “Isn’t that what you said to me? Can I remind you he’s no Lancelot? Also saw a card signed New York on wired flowers. Didn’t know you have relatives or friends that far away?”

“Don’t...” Breaths struggled to be completed. Melissa labored to cough twice. Closed her eyes until she heard the tramp of footsteps.

“You know when you might be leaving?” Alice tugged Sarah’s arm.

“Overheard nurse say a week. Depends how lungs heal. I get really tired.”

“Time to adjourn,” Sarah whispered, leading Alice toward the door.

* * *

The basketball bounced high off the rim, snagged by six-foot, two-inch Rob Campbell. He stumbled into Bull, a nickname for Andrew Angus McCloud. Steve Roomer signaled timeout and wiped a sweaty brow with a red bandana complementing the red, orange, and yellow blazing rays of the soon-to-be-absent sun. “Got to go. Lisa will be upset.”

Rob forever praised Steve and Bull, graduating high school classmates who remained friends fifteen years thereafter. Both drove multiple times to the Chicago VA Hospital, where he recuperated for months from bullet wounds suffered in Iraq. Standing on a concrete driveway facing the alley, Rob waved farewell to Steve and then collapsed on his home’s rear yard grass.

“Store customers this morning couldn’t stop talking about The Abbey fire Friday night,” Bull said, sitting cross-legged next to Rob. “Noon TV news today continued to replay fire scenes and scroll the names of deceased and injured. Isn’t that where Nancy and you were married?”

“Yeah. It seems so long ago. Mayor sent me Saturday to The Abbey. Nothing left, absolutely nothing.” Rob smoothed an eye patch. “Let’s say you give me an hour to rest and shower and we can visit the Artist’s Plaza.”

“Fine by me.”

* * *

“Plaza’s sure dead tonight?” Rob’s city planning position made him privy to Boulder Isle’s grandiose plans to revitalize the six block downtown by creating a destination arts and entertainment venue. Named Artist’s Plaza, the major art from Rob’s observation continued to be the art of beer pouring. In Rob’s vision the city needed low-cost housing, not honky-tonks.

“Don’t know why I let you drag me to the CBC,” Bull complained using the initials of the Crystal Brewing Company. “The deep-dish pizza’s okay, but the ladies our age don’t do Mondays. They’re probably home washing their weekend party dresses.”

Rob watched a server lifting a tray a foot above her head to squeeze past the six-couple group seated between them and the bar.

“Hey, Rob,” Victoria’s voice echoed in the rafters. “Didn’t see you come in. Who’s your hunky table partner?”

Bull winked, holding it until Victoria smiled.

“Why do you embarrass Bull like that? He’ll just get a big head. Give you all his money as a tip and won’t be able to buy the next round.” She blushed.

“Hi, Victoria,” Bull said with a big grin. “Didn’t remember you worked Monday nights. Nice costume.”

“Got to pay the rent. What can I say?”

“We’ll take another pitcher and a bowl of popcorn,” Rob said. She grabbed the empty pitcher and left. Rob liked Victoria. He fully realized the absurdity of her silly rent comment. The only child of the most successful Boulder Isle retail store/mall operator, she worked in and, given time, would inherit the family’s three area malls. She graduated high school two years after him, but she’d been a high school basketball cheerleader while Rob and his buddies earned back-to-back varsity letters. And later, on birthday number eighteen; Rob couldn’t forget the fancy red Chrysler convertible Victoria's parents bought for her summer evening cruising.

When Victoria reappeared with a full beer pitcher and popcorn, he asked, “When will the band begin playing?” Her miniskirt hem tickled the right forearm as she placed the pitcher table center. He couldn’t see Bull’s reaction but didn’t think service required Victoria to bend forward as far as she did, especially considering the uniform’s low-cut bodice.

“Bad luck,” Victoria said as she straightened up and turned toward him. “Band cancelled at last minute and boss couldn’t find replacement. You’ll have to listen to CDs.” A second bend handed Bull a coaster. “Want to run a tab?”

“No, here’s a ten.” Bull shifted his eyes from Victoria to stare across the room as he quite often did. She hurried off with a two-dollar tip.

“What’s going on?”

“Steve just walked in,” Bull replied. “I don’t think he saw us with those swiveling eyes. He’s headed to the far table with the three women.”

“Lisa following?” Rob asked. His gaze told him Steve’s wife absent.

“Haven’t seen her.” Bull’s eyes flitted to and fro. He pressed lips together, which Rob interpreted as an indication of confusion.

Rob refilled his glass. “Let’s play it cool; drink your beer.”

Bull gulped a swig of beer. “You found Nancy. Think there’s still hope for me to find a nice woman in this town or should I go online?”

“Grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. Why ask?”

“Got a telephone call from my mother.” Bull reached into his top shirt pocket. “Excuse me, I must take this call.”

“Your mother?”

“Heavens no.”

Rob waited alone as Bull exited the CBC to answer his cellphone.

Steve approached. “You flying solo tonight?”

“No.” Rob wiped a beer spill with a napkin. “Thought Lisa had you hog-tied tonight. At least that’s the impression you gave at basketball earlier.”

“I lied. Pledged to secrecy. Lisa’s at her mother’s. These ladies drafted me to plan a surprise party to honor Lisa as Ann Circle volunteer of the year.”

“Oh. Great.”

“Gotta get back. Would you fill half my glass? My table pitchers all contain diet cola.”

Rob laughed, pouring a full glass for Steve. Bull returned.

“With no live music and no women, you want to head home?” Bull asked.

“You’re not off the hook for the next pitcher.” He saw Steve’s shoulders slump, head pointed away. “Must have been an important phone call.”

Bull glanced in all directions, and then lowered his voice, “Just talked with Neil. He said Alice broke an arm in The Abbey fire. Sarah survived okay. Melissa’s stuck in the hospital. Don’t know how bad.”

“You still planning to ask Sarah out?”

“Not my type. Too controlling. Heard she’s been married once.”

“What’s the problem with married?” Rob’s stomach suddenly queasy. He’d been married. With Nancy considered missing, what was his status? What if a woman hadn’t been married by age thirty? Should she be considered prime marriage material or not? Could the fact she hadn’t been married be evidence of her unsuitability? He’d read a theory of evolution article that the male monkey unsuitable for mating, labeled psycho, would be sent off to live in isolation. Maybe that would also apply to unmarried humans past age twenty-nine. “You should consider Victoria. She often allows you to peek at her best physical charms.”

“Stuff it.” Bull frowned. “I’m in sales. That’s what she’s in when she’s at work. If she flirts with you, she’s not personally interested, only as a tip source. I’d consider her more interested in me if she treated me as she does you.”

* * *

Melissa shivered as the nurse’s sponge started at a shoulder. When the nurse left, she thanked God the I.V. tube wasn’t reconnected and the frightening monitor screen remained blank with its dangling electrodes not stuck with itchy adhesive to sensitive skin.

“Hey, kiddo. How are we this morning?”

“Better.” Melissa couldn’t help but smile at Sarah who held a large newspaper in her hands. Must be the Sunday edition, two days late.

“More flowers? Is that what I see?” Sarah walked to the nightstand. She tucked the top news section under an elbow. The remaining newspaper bulk carefully placed on a chair positioned to avoid a slide off.

“Mitch, from Flowers Plus, brought two earlier. He groused when he saw those flowers you said came from New York and the nightstand bouquet.”

Sarah turned. “Why would he do that?”

“They didn’t come from his shop.” Melissa gazed at Sarah.

Sarah laid the folded news section next to Melissa. “Who—?”

Melissa cut in. “Mark. You remember? The flowers mentioned Sunday.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sarah lifted the vase. “The card only has his name.”

“Let’s forget him.” Melissa wanted to distance the conversation from Mark lest her failed love life spring front’n’center. “Say, where’s Alice?”

“She’ll be here shortly. She said she had to visit Neil on three.”

“As soon as I’m able, I want to visit others hospitalized. Feel bad that I was so lucky to get out.” She didn’t vocalize a desire to learn if Rob Campbell might also be hospitalized, if he survived. She trembled. She glanced at the below the fold front page black edged article headlined: In Memoriam. When she didn’t find Father listed, an exhaled loud sigh of relief filled the room. Hope lived. Rob’s name not listed.

She gasped.

On page two, a cellphone picture taken inside The Abbey showed a blurry figure in the background, female legs in the air. No way any camera caught her! She hadn’t remembered a flash. With her mind’s attention diverted, she hadn’t heard footfalls, but now noticed Sarah in front of the room’s window. Refocusing on the photo, no recognizable persons or features jumped out. There’d been less vestibule smoke with the door open. Still, the camera multiple steps away with the hand pointing the lens, judging by the picture produced, extremely unsteady.

Melissa peered past the paper’s top edge and her toes protruding upwards under the bed’s top sheet. She grimaced as a familiar face appeared at the hospital room door, a microphone held alongside his right leg. Sarah scowled at Joseph Penny, local TV anchor. Melissa’s right hand imitated a movie director’s “cut” signal as a plea for Sarah to stay calm. Sarah and ex-boyfriend Joseph hadn’t spoken civilly in Melissa’s presence since their relationship ended. Sarah denied she’d struck Joseph with household objects citing rusty softball pitching skills as proof. Melissa knew he’d married. Sarah pivoted toward the window.

“Mr. Penny, to what do we owe this honor?” After Penny’s two steps forward, Alice slipped behind him and stood back-to-back with Sarah.

“If you’re up to it, wanted to know what you remember about Friday night’s Abbey fire.” Metal clicking, toolbox latch perhaps, sounded in hallway.

“As you can see, I’m in no condition to agree to any on-camera interview. If that’s your cameraman messing in the hallway, better tell him he needs to leave. There’s really not much I can tell you.” She coughed. Her gaze to the right determined that a motionless Sarah still faced the room’s window. Alice nestled both her casted and uninjured arms inside her sling.

Penny handed the microphone through the room’s door to hallway individual unseen. “Can appreciate you’ve been through an ordeal and won’t stay long. Could you give me an inkling of what you observed Friday night?”

Alice placed a fluffed pillow behind Melissa when Melissa hunched shoulders forward. “Heard an explosion. Felt the heat of a blast. Found myself outside The Abbey on a gurney destined for a fast ride to this hard hospital bed. There were intermediate stops to be questioned, probed, and needles inserted into lower arm veins. Didn’t pass go. Didn’t collect two hundred dollars. Far as I know, there’s no community chest card in the game of Monopoly that reads you’ve been hurt, stay in the hospital, be on TV.”

“Good night, ladies,” Penny said before a retreat to depart.

“Jerk,” Sarah said softly.

“Hey, you two.” Melissa rustled the Sunday paper. “Need photo help.”

After page two passed around, Sarah gazed at Melissa. “I might know one or two guys that could be.”