I turned behind the freezers and kept going. Through the gap I saw the dark-haired woman hurry across the floor, followed by a man in a black polo shirt and khakis. I'm sorry. You helped me, and because of me they will think you're crazy. If I ever had a chance, I would repay the favor.
I passed another aisle, wiped the handle of my cart with my shirt, and walked away from it. My shoulders were bleeding. I veered toward the tables with clothes and grabbed a dark sweatshirt. Slipping it on hurt. I kept the tag in plain view and headed for the checkout.
The shortest line had four people in it.
"Ma'am, I can help you over here!" A man. Average size. Dark hair. Costco tag.
I followed him and showed him the tag.
"Just the sweatshirt?" he asked.
I forced the word out of my mouth. "Yes."
"Your card."
I reached into my purse, fumbled with my wallet, pulled out the Costco card, scanned it, handed him a twenty, got a dollar in change, and then there was the door and I walked through it and out into the sun, car keys in hand.
My silver Chevy HHR was all the way at the end of the lane. I had always parked at the far end of the parking lot, both because it made leaving easier and because it put my car as far away from the security cameras as I could get. Today my habit would cost me.
The asphalt stretched in front of me. I put one foot in front of the other. The parking lot was doing a jig and it was making me dizzy. The heat of Texas summer assaulted me. I pulled the sweatshirt off.
If I passed out in the parking lot, it wouldn't be good. It would be very terrible.
I swayed and managed the last couple of feet, squeezing the remote of the car keys. The doors clicked and I slid into the back seat, shut the door, and lay flat.
Is this what dying felt like? Had I managed to kill myself? Mom? Dad? Do you know what happens now?
Snap out of it. I pulled my phone out of my jeans and fumbled with the icons. Last call. Sean.
"Hello," Sean's voice said into my ear.
I struggled to say something but I had no voice.
"Dina, are you okay?"
What happened to my voice?
"Are you hurt?"
...
"Where are you?"
I tried to hit the button for text message. Someone had turned my fingers into limp things that refused to obey. Here it is. C... O... S... The text showed complete gibberish. Ok, this won't work.
Attach picture. Attach. I got it on the third try and held the phone straight up. The camera clicked. I pushed Send on the screen.
The phone slipped out of my fingers.
If I died in the parking lot of Costco, I would be very unhappy in my afterlife.
Chapter Twelve
I didn't lose consciousness. I thought I would, but I just lay there on the seat, gulping the air like a fish out of water and hurting. My mouth had gone dry and bitter. I had this absurd feeling my tongue had shriveled up and dried out like a dead leaf. Every breath took forever.
This was really, really stupid. If I survived, I would never do it again. Well, at least not without a lot of practice first. Very careful practice, the kind that wouldn't hurt like this.
I really didn't want to die. Thinking about dying stabbed at me. Suddenly I was so unbearably sad I would've cried if I could have. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. There was so much still that I wanted to do and to see. I wanted years. Years to grow the inn, to meet strange guests, to experience the small, happy comforts. Years to fall in love and be happy. Years to search for and find my parents.
Mom... I'm so afraid. I am so, so scared. I wish you were here. I wish you were with me. You always made everything better.
Sean wasn't coming. He probably didn't even know where I was. I had to get myself up. I had to do something.
I tried to move my right arm. It just lay there. I strained. Not even a twitch of my fingers. I was trapped in my own body.
Nobody would find me. I was in the middle of a parking lot in the back seat of a car with tinted windows. It wasn't even noon and the car was already sweltering. The heat pressed on me like a thick, suffocating blanket. Even if I managed to hold on, I'd die of heat stroke before too much longer.
Get up. You're not going to roll over and just die here in the back of your own car. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
I concentrated on my hand. No response. I was getting weaker.
All I had to do was pick up my phone, dial 911, and speak. Such a small thing. I had never felt so helpless.
Not matter how much I kicked and screamed inside, my body refused to respond. Sweat beaded on my face.
The passenger door swung open. The hot air escaped in a sudden draft and I saw Sean's face. He leaned over me. His eyes widened. His face didn't change expression. It just turned a shade paler. I must've looked like hell.
"Can you speak?"
...
"Hospital?"
"Nnnn..."
"Inn?"
I tried to nod.
"Don't worry. I've got you."
He leaned in, his body over mine, so close I felt the heat of his skin, picked up the car keys off the floor, and disappeared. The door closed.
Don't go.
The driver door opened and Sean dropped into the seat. The motor started and then we were moving.
Ten minutes. That's how long it usually took me to drive to Costco. Fifteen, if I caught red on every streetlight.