Free Going Gone by Sharon Sala Page A

She’d been Hershel’s wife—not Paul’s.
    Within a few minutes he got caught up in the party to the point that he went looking for the birthday girl. He wished her a happy eighty-eight years and eighty-eight more, which made her giggle.
    When it came time to break the piñata, everyone laughed at her feeble attempts. Finally she handed the stick off to one of the men, who broke it for her. The goodies inside were always something of a joke. This time they’d added individually wrapped condoms along with the pieces of candy, and when they hit the floor, the partygoers erupted in laughter.
    A few minutes later they began heading toward the screening room to watch the film. Hershel thought about skipping out but had waited too late to decide. Instead, he got caught up in the moving crowd and soon found himself seated between two couples. He knew them well enough to settle comfortably and leaned back, absently gauging the distance to the screen.
    “What’s the movie we’re going to see?” he asked.
    One of the ladies leaned forward. “I heard it was Titanic . Patsy always wants to watch it because she claims she had a relative who survived the real Titanic. ”
    Hershel flinched. The skin crawled on the back of his neck as the food in his belly rolled a warning. He’d never seen that movie, but he knew how it ended and had no desire to watch people drown. He stood abruptly, trying to keep a calm expression on his face.
    “I’m afraid I’m going to beg off, then. I had a family member drown. Not a story I want to see repeated,” he said. “Have a nice night, and I’ll see you around.”
    He got up while they were all making sympathetic noises, and kept smiling and nodding as he made his way up the aisle and out the door. His stomach was still gurgling, and his legs were shaking as he walked back through the room where the party had been held. He made it all the way to the courtyard just outside his front door before he got sick and threw up.
    When the nausea finally passed, he staggered to his condo, relieved to finally be inside. He went straight to the refrigerator for a bottle of beer, popped the top and took a big drink.
    “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he staggered back into the living room and dropped into his favorite chair.
    He emptied the beer, went back for another and proceeded to drink himself to sleep.
    In his dreams he was standing in a funeral parlor, looking across the room at an open casket. He couldn’t see who was in it and moved closer, then closer still, until he realized the casket was empty. He turned around, and to his horror, someone had filled the room behind him with caskets, all of them empty. When he realized he was trapped, he panicked.
    Help! Help! I can’t get out.
    In the dream, a woman came to the door. The only way out of this room is in one of those, she said, pointing to the caskets.
    He woke up with a gasp. The sun was just coming over the horizon. He had dried vomit on his shoes, a headache of massive proportions and he needed to pee.
    * * *
    Cameron woke just before daylight to find Laura curled up behind him, molded to the shape of his body like one puzzle piece fitted into another. Her arm was around his waist, and he knew her nose was buried against his back because he could feel the soft warmth of her breath against his spine.
    God, what an amazing way to wake up.
    And if he had anything to say about it, he was going to wake up that way every morning from now on.
    On the heels of that thought there came another. Before this day was over, he would be engaged to Laura Doyle.
    He glanced at the clock. It was just after six. He was going to have to check in with work today and let them know when he would be coming back. Laura was capable of being on her own now, but he wanted to make sure she had everything she needed beforehand.
    He was still planning the day when he realized she was beginning to wake up. He eased out from under her grasp and turned to face her just