Free Love in Bloom by Karen Rose Smith Page B

his fingers.  He moved, and his leg fell into nothingness.  If he moved too much, he'd fall into nothingness.  Somehow he knew.
    His head pounded and he couldn't open his eyes.  It hurt too much.  Shouts.  People yelling.  A drone above him.  Or was the sound connected to the pounding in his head?
    His shoulder burned with a different fire than the rest of his body.  When he moved it, slicing pain stabbed him over and over.  He had to get away from it.  He had to escape the cold.  He tried to turn over but he couldn't and he found himself falling...falling...falling...
    Clay awoke, his sheets drenched in sweat, his throat parched and dry, probably from yelling for help.  He was shaking all over.  He reached for the spread and pulled it on top of the sheet.  He was cold.  So cold.
    Dragging in pockets of air, he tried to slow his racing heart.  And then he swore a string of epithets that didn't begin to describe his frustration.
    Determination took hold.  He would not let the nightmares start again.  He would not cry out in terror and spend the rest of the night recovering from the panic.
    This nightmare had been mild compared to most of them.  But what had brought it on?  Had Paige stirred it all up?  Clay touched his cheek where the touch of her lips still remained.  Or had it been Ben?  That made more sense.  The day with Ben, the remembrance of similar experiences brought the unconscious to the surface.
    Clay raked his hand through his damp hair.  Either way, he'd stay away from them both.
    ****
    The next morning, Clay went to the garage for his car.  When he reached for the front door, he saw the cooler on the floor in the back.  He'd forgotten to take it inside last night.
    As he lifted it, he saw something on the floor next to it.  Paige's sweater.  She'd had it slung over her arm when she got into the SUV.  She'd said she might need it for the canoe ride.  Somehow, it must've gotten thrown in the back when they packed up.
    Clay set the cooler on the seat and picked up the sweater.  It was white, soft, and he could smell a slight floral scent.  Without thinking, he brought it to his nose and inhaled.  It smelled like Paige--sunshine, flowers, woman.  His body responded.
    Right, Reynolds.  You're not going to see her again, remember?
    He tossed the sweater back into the car as if it were a hot potato.  Hadn't last night taught him anything?  He'd spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning, trying to forget the nightmare, block out Paige's face, set aside Ben's recovery process.
    But he couldn't just cut Paige off.  He'd drop off the sweater during her office hours.  That way he could return it, explain how busy he was going to be for the next few weeks, and say a simple good-bye.  They'd already planned the agenda of games for the Fourth of July; he could take care of the rest himself.  She was off the hook.
    That's what he'd tell her.  And then he'd leave.  As simple as paddling a canoe.
    ****
    Clay surveyed the doctor's office and found chaos.  A young mother held a crying baby and two redheaded boys about six years old fought over a small plastic army figure.  The first boy grabbed it away.  The other child punched him in the arm.  A pregnant woman, very pregnant, looked as if she couldn't be more tired.  Two elderly women were scowling and muttering to each other.  No receptionist sat at the desk.
    Clay looked around again, suspecting something was wrong.  Doc didn't run his office like this and Clay guessed Paige wouldn't either.  He went to find her.
    Before he'd gotten a foot into the hall, one of the elderly women called, "Hey, mister.  It's not your turn."
    He called back, "I'm not a patient."
    As he walked down the hall, he found three examining rooms empty.  That was odd.  He reached the fourth and was debating whether to wait a few minutes or knock when the door opened.
    Paige saw him and jumped.  "You scared me.  What are you doing here?"
    He lifted