Free Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) by Gina Ardito

pounding.”
                  He kicked out an armless spindle-back chair from the dinette table. “Sit. I’ll get you the meds. Just tell me where.”
                  Although my brain knew I’d regret it, my tongue opted for sarcasm. “Still trying to get into my drawers, Colin?”
                  His eyes flashed anger and, pointing to the chair with the stab of his index finger, he ground out through gritted teeth, “Sit.”
                  I sat. What else could I do?
                  “Now, you can either tell me where the pills are, or go without while I grill you.”
                  Going without, while listening to a speech on my shortcomings from the perfect Chef Colin Murriere would only exacerbate my suffering. “Corner cabinet, near the sink, top shelf,” I said on a defeated sigh.
                  To his credit, he didn’t pat my head or say, “Good girl,” or do anything else to get my back up. Pain throbbed in my skull, and I closed my eyes while I listened to him rifle through my various over-the-counter drugs. “Here we go—no, that’s children’s...This must be it—no, that’s antacid...Aspirin for heart patients—no. Ah! Got it.”
                  His mumbles acted like a lullaby, and I felt myself losing the battle to stay alert.             
                  “Here.”
                  When he drew near again, he jostled my elbow—the left one—and my eyes shot open as white fire zapped through my arm. Breath left my lungs in one long hiss.
                  He sat beside me and pressed two white tablets into my palm, then slid a glass of water within reach. I tossed the pills into my mouth, took a swig of water, and jerked my head back to swallow. A new agony sizzled from the top of my skull to the base of my spine, and I choked. One—or maybe both—of the Tylenols lodged in my throat, filling my mouth with bitter paste.
              “Easy!” he exclaimed and pushed the water glass into my hand. “Drink something. You okay?”
                  While tears gathered in my eyes, I gulped the water to wash away the awful taste.
                  When I finally leveled my head again, Colin’s concerned face loomed a breath from mine. “Okay now?”
                  I couldn’t trust my throat to work yet so I nodded.
                  “Good.” He clasped his hands on the scarred oaken table top. “Tell me what happened last night.”
                  “Sid…” The one syllable erupted in a frog’s croak. I sipped the last of the water and tried again. “Sidney already told you,” I rasped. “A truck driver fell asleep and collided with the bus.”
                  “That’s the sanitary television news version. Let’s hear your dirty details.”
                  “I don’t have any.”
                  “Bull.”
                  “No, really,” I replied. “I was asleep when the truck hit us. I woke up when I slammed against the side window. One of the cops said that was probably what kept me from serious injury. I didn’t brace for the impact because I wasn’t aware.” Afterwards, of course, I was plenty aware. Memories swirled in my mind, awash in the red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles. Blood gushed from one man’s nose because he propelled forward and slammed his face into the rail in front of him. A woman suffered a broken arm. And Jack. Poor Jack. “Jack was a mess,” I said aloud. “The windshield shattered in his face. He was taken to Morrison Hospital by ambulance. So were the others who were hurt.”
                  “But not you.”
                  “No. I stayed long enough to give the cops my statement and then I went home.”