Blown Away. Sharon Sala

“So…is there anything you need?”

      “I don’t have any clean clothes. Susan’s suitcase was in her car, but I don’t know where that is.”

      “They towed it. I’ve already gotten it out of the impound yard. It’s parked at my house, but I put the suitcase in my car, figuring it would come in handy, so I’ll bring you up a change of clothes. And since the key to her apartment was on her key ring, I’ll take you by her house after you’re released, so you can get some of her things.”

      Cari shuddered, just thinking of going through Susan’s clothes.

      Mike noticed her reaction, then winced. “I’m sorry. That was unfeeling of me, to assume you wouldn’t mind wearing Susan’s belongings. If you’ll write down your sizes, I’ll go get some new things for you myself.”

      Tears welled once more, but Cari managed to maintain her emotions. “That’s not necessary. Susan wouldn’t care, and if the situation were reversed, she would wear mine.”

      “Okay, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you change your mind.”

      Cari squinted her eyes, as if judging him anew. “Thank you for understanding.”

      “I’ll be waiting for your call,” he said, then left.

      She shoved aside the tray table with the congealing leftovers, and then nestled down into her pillows as the door closed behind him. It felt as if Mike Boudreaux had taken all the energy in the room with him. Weary from too much thinking and too many meds, she closed her eyes.

      Just to rest.

      She was still asleep when the doctor came in on rounds.

      After a whirlwind of orders she didn’t remember, she dressed in the clothes Mike had left at the nurses’ station. A short while later, she’d been properly discharged and was down in the lobby, sitting in a wheelchair with an orderly at her side, waiting for her ride.

      Her head was throbbing. Every time she moved, something hurt. She was still waiting for her latest pain meds to kick in when she saw Mike drive up.

      “There’s my ride,” she said, pointing to the gleaming black Cadillac just pulling under the breezeway. The orderly began pushing her toward the exit, but Cari’s gaze was fixed on the man striding purposefully toward the doors.

      He must have run home, because he was dressed now in dark slacks and a white knit shirt. Besides the fact that he was undeniably stunning, he emanated power. Cari couldn’t help but wonder why Susan had never mentioned that.

      “Ah…ready to go, I see,” Mike said, as the orderly pushed her wheelchair through the exit doors and up to his car. “Easy does it,” he said gently, helping Cari out of the wheelchair and into the front seat, then proceeding to buckle her in as if she were a child.

      “Thank you,” she said, as Mike leaned across her to fasten the seat belt.

      At the sound of the click, she suddenly flinched.

      He frowned. “Damn. Did I hurt you?”

      “No. I’m just jumpy, I guess.”

      “You’re allowed,” Mike said softly, but instead of pulling back, he gazed straight into her eyes. With less than a foot between them, he carefully eyed the bruises on her skin and the dark shadows under her eyes, and resisted the urge to kiss her.

      “You’re going to be okay,” he said softly.

      Cari’s gut knotted. He was so close she could have counted his eyelashes. Then she amended the thought. They were too thick to count. The last man she’d been this close to had been Lance, but that was when they’d still been intimate. The thought of Lance killed the surge of interest she’d just felt, as her mood shifted to anxiety.

      Lance!

      She couldn’t help but wonder what the hell he was doing now. Probably privately congratulating himself on the news of her death while playing the part of the grieving friend and ex-lover all over Bordelaise.

      Mike gave her another quick glance, then closed the door and circled the car to slide in behind the wheel. “Are you okay?”

      She nodded.

      “Still up to stopping by Susan’s house? And please don’t hesitate to say so if you’re not. I can easily get some stuff for you later.”

      “No, no, I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind.”

      “Sure thing,” Mike said, then put the car in gear and headed for Susan’s. Within fifteen minutes, he was pulling into the driveway. “Hang on,” he said, as he killed the engine. “I’ll help you out.”

      Cari waited for him once again, grateful for his assistance as he steadied her on the way to the door. The more time passed, the stiffer she was getting. There were bruises all over her body, which left her with nothing but guesses as to what had happened to her during the tornado.

      Mike was going through his own set of issues. He steeled himself as he opened the door, knowing Susan would never greet him again with that happy smile. Still, whatever it was he was feeling, it was nothing compared to what must be going through Cari’s mind.

      When he glanced at her, he knew his instincts had been right. She looked like a lost child. Without thinking, he slid his arm around her shoulders, bracing her for what lay ahead.

      “Chin up, tough stuff.”

      Cari nodded as she gazed around the room. “I haven’t been here in a couple of months, but I know where everything is.”

      “I’m coming with you,” Mike said. “No lifting, pushing or pulling for you until you’re better. Oh. Wait. I brought one of my suitcases for you to pack up some stuff. I’ll go get it out of the car.”

      Cari moved farther into the living room as Mike ran back out.

      The first thing she noticed was the flashing light on Susan’s answering machine. Once again, she was reminded of how involved her impersonation was becoming. There must be appointments to cancel, people who would be expecting answers to their calls. She looked for a pen and paper, and then sat down in the desk chair and punched Play.

      The first three calls were nothing more than reminders for appointments. But it was the fourth call that left her shaking.

      “Miss Blackwell. I’m Hershel Porter, with the parish police in Bordelaise. Lance Morgan gave me your name and number. I need you to call me back at your earliest convenience regarding a matter of extreme importance.”

      “Oh Lord,” Cari said. She knew what was coming. Susan, being the next of kin, was about to be notified of the deaths.

      Mike came back in with the suitcase, saw her face and hurried to her.

      “What’s wrong?”

      Cari played back the message without speaking.

      Midway through, Mike’s hand was on her shoulder. By the time the message was over, he knew she had yet another bridge to cross. She was about to become the next of kin—to her own death.

      “What are you going to do?” he asked.

      “Make the call,” she said, then took a deep breath, bracing herself for what was coming.

      Mike pulled up a chair and sat down beside her.

      “I’m here if you need me.”

      Cari tried to smile but felt too much like weeping to complete the effort. Her hands were shaking as she dialed the number, then waited for the call to go through. When the police picked up, she went another step deeper into her impersonation of Susan by lengthening her drawl and softening her tone.

      “This is Susan Blackwell. I’m returning a message from Chief Porter.”

      “Oh!” the dispatcher said. “One minute, please.”

      Cari