Free Brainstorm by Margaret Belle

different.”
    “How?” asked Officer St. John. “How was it different?”
    “I couldn’t control the plane…because I couldn’t control myself. I felt like I was falling asleep
or about to faint. The doctor said there was something in my blood consistent
with sleeping pills. But you know me, Audrey – I never take as much as an
aspirin.” I nodded. That was true. Tony not only worked out in the gym every
day, but he ate healthily and didn’t believe in medication of any kind; a point
he and I good naturedly debated on occasion.
    “Did you leave the table at any time during breakfast?”
asked Officer St. John.
    Tony thought for a minute. “I went to the restroom,” he
said, “but I don’t know when. I’m sorry, things are a little fuzzy for me right
now.”
    “That’s okay,” he said, as he put his notebook back in
his pocket. “I’ll check back every so often to see if you remember any more.
Take care, Tony,” then he nodded to me, and left.
    “I’m going to go too,” I said, “before that nurse outside
chases me away.” I headed toward the elevator feeling terrible, and praying
that Jack was wrong; that what had happened to Tony – and Ferdy – had nothing
to do with me.
    Later, Jack called and wanted to have dinner. I was
famished and agreed immediately, and suggested we meet at Krabby Kirk’s,
thinking that I might persuade him to come up to my apartment with me
afterwards. I could feel infatuation for him growing into something more and
wanted some alone time with him to see how receptive he would be to getting a
little closer; my office wasn’t going to cut it.
     
     
    It was a warm evening, so we sat on the back patio while we
ate. I found myself staring at him and made a concerted effort not to; I didn’t
want to come off as the one of us who was the most interested. My grandmother
used to say that in every relationship, one person loves the other more. The
person who loves the most, she’d say, is the person who gets hurt the worst.
And, of course, being the person I was, with anxiety always lurking, ready to
strike, that kind of hurt could do a lot of damage. It could mean years and
years more therapy. More medication.
    “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked.
    “I guess not. I thought I was, but…”
    “You’re okay though?”
    “I’m fine. You want to have coffee upstairs?”
    He smiled. “You mean upstairs, as in upstairs ?”
    I nodded. “A long as we’re here, I’d like to check the
place.”
    Jack left the money for the meal and a generous tip under
the edge of his plate, and we climbed the second set of stairs that led
directly to my apartment. “What’s that I smell?” he asked, after we closed the
door behind us. “I remember it from the night you called me over.”
    “Frankincense. Incense. Does it bother you?”
    “Ah, incense,” he laughed. “Usually when I come into
contact with that, someone’s trying to cover up the smell of pot.”
    “My previous therapist used it in our sessions to relax
me.”
    “Previous – so you don’t see that therapist anymore? I’m
not prying, just wondering. You don’t have to answer. I always sound like I’m
in interrogation mode. Sorry.”
    “No, I don’t see her now; she’s in Rochester. In fact, I
had just left our last session when Danny Stearns ran into me.” Why did you bring that up ? I chastised
myself. I didn’t need Jack to start talking about the bank robbery. And don’t mention you’re seeing a
psychiatrist now– one step higher on the mental food chain!
    “Speaking of Stearns,” he said, “Rochester has pulled out
all the stops to find him. They want to bring him to trial.”
    “I’m sure they do,” I said, furious at myself for having
mentioned his name.
    “Your ID alone won’t put him behind bars, but it will be
an important part of their circumstantial case against him.”
    “Circumstantial because they don’t have the money? Or his
prints on anything at the bank? Or what?”
    “All