Coltrain's Proposal

“Just like my father,” she said shortly.

“I’ve never mentioned it, but one of your wrists looks as if it’s suffered a break.”

She flushed scarlet and drew back. “I have to go in now. Thanks again, Drew.”

“If you can’t talk to me, you need to talk to someone,” he said. “Did you really think you could go through life without having the past affect the future?”

She smiled sweetly. “Drive carefully going home.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I’ll drop it.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.”

She watched him drive away, absently rubbing the wrist he’d mentioned. She wouldn’t think about it, she told herself. She’d go to bed and put it out of her mind.

Only it didn’t work that way. She woke up in the middle of the night in tears, frightened until she remembered where she was. She was safe. It was over. But she felt sick and her throat was dry. She got up and found a pitcher, filling it with ice and water. She took a glass along with her and went back to bed. Except for frequent trips to the bathroom, she finally slept soundly.

There was a loud, furious knock at the front door. It kept on and on, followed by an equally loud voice. What a blessing that she didn’t have close neighbors, she thought drowsily, or the police would be screaming up the driveway.

She tried to get up, but surprisingly, her feet wouldn’t support her. She was dizzy and weak and sick at her stomach. Her head throbbed. She lay back down with a soft groan.

A minute later, the front door opened and a furious redheaded man in a lab coat came in the bedroom door.

“So this is where you are,” he muttered, taking in her condition with a glance. “You couldn’t have called?”

She barely focused on him. “I was up most of the night…”

“With Drew?”

She couldn’t even manage a glare. “Being sick,” she corrected. “Have you got anything on you to calm my stomach? I can’t keep down anything to stop the nausea.”