Free Waiting for Wednesday by Mari Carr

picture.”
    She took a deep breath, shocked by his words. When she’d returned to their house the morning she’d checked out of the hospital, she hadn’t been able to find the picture.
    In her haste to escape town, she hadn’t had time to do a thorough search. It was the only thing she’d managed to hold on to throughout her twisted childhood. It was quite simply her most precious possession, the only thing that had ever given her some sense of identity. She didn’t remember her grandmother well, but she did recall that the woman loved and cared for her as best she could.
    “I want it back,” she said.
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    “I knew you would. That’s why I kept it. Why don’t you give me your phone number? We’ll work out a time for you to swing by the house to pick it up.” She nodded, giving him her cell number. She’d thought the picture lost to her for good.
    “I’ll call you.” His grin was wide and she was struck by the odd notion she’d just offered her throat to the vampire. James had won her over with the same boyish good looks and charm on their first date. The difference was, now she knew it was all an act.
    “Goodbye, James.” She headed back toward the pub, walking nearly six blocks before she managed to calm her racing heart. She wondered if, by returning to Baltimore, she hadn’t tempted fate just a bit too far. First with Tris and now with James.
    * * * * *
    “How about one more, Mr. Collins?” Lane coaxed, guiding her patient through his daily exercises.
    “How m-many times do I have to tell you to call me P-Pat?” She grinned. He’d extended the same offer every Wednesday as she’d sat at the bar talking sports with him or Tris. She’d always refused, saying it would feel strange.
    However, this was the first time since his stroke he’d protested her calling him Mr.
    Collins. Even though his words were still slurred, she felt like hugging him. Each day, she watched more and more of the boisterous man re-emerge.
    “I’ve told you a million times, Mr. Collins. It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to call you by your first name.”
    “Why the h-hell not? I’ve told you to.”
    She grinned and let the discussion drop. “You know you aren’t fooling me by trying to pick an argument. You’re going to finish your exercises—all of them.”
    “Slave driver,” he muttered as they resumed their work. He was all bluster. She’d never seen anyone so determined to recover and she suddenly understood where Tris got his stubbornness. He was very much like his father.
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    “How does your leg feel today? Any numbness?”
    He shook his head. “You’re a good n-nurse. Not m-many women would p-put up with me.”
    She grinned. “Thank you. Funny though, I don’t remember you saying that earlier when I was making you do your speech exercises. Seem to recall you telling me to buzz off.”
    “F-feel like a damn fool. I know how to t-talk.”
    “You’re right. You do. In fact, you talk too much. Now stop trying to distract me.
    You’re not finished with your workout.”
    He chuckled at her joke and continued his exercises. He was quiet for several minutes before starting a new line of conversation. “Your p-parents must be very p-proud of you, Lane.”
    His comment seemed to come out of the blue and the shock of it caught her off guard. “I didn’t know my parents.” She shrugged lightly, trying to blink back the tears that had snuck in and attacked her. “I’m a foster kid.” Mr. Collins frowned and shook his head. “I’m s-sorry,” he slurred. “Did I know that?” She knew of all the lingering effects of his stroke, the memory loss bothered him the most.
    She shook her head. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. I don’t tell a lot of people.”
    “Tristan knows.”
    She nodded, unsure if his comment was a question or a statement. “He knows.”
    “He’s a g-good man, my Tristan,” Mr. Collins said and Lane had to swallow against the lump in her throat.