Cops, my subconscious offered up. Unease coiled low in my belly. I hoped Sophie hadn’t been spotted here by her father.
Whoever was outside my door was trying to be stealthy. I tensed, wondering what was coming. Slowly, I set the sanding block down. I wanted something heavier in my hand. Unfortunately I only had time to take one step before the door burst open.
Leaping toward the tools hanging on the far wall, I almost made it.
Almost.
I was reaching for the lug wrench when someone kicked my feet out from under me. I barely got my arms up to cushion my head by the time I hit the concrete floor. Instinctively I curled into a ball, and so the first kick landed at my back. The boot hit so hard that I saw stars. When I tried to inhale, I couldn’t do it.
“You think that’s bad? Tell us where the shit is or I will finish you.”
Not cops.
Fuck.
The pain from the drug dealer’s kick was so fierce that it took a moment before I could even force the words out. “Don’t know. Never did.”
The next blow landed at my kidney, and then the next one made me shout in pain.
“WHERE!” shouted the goon. “Check his pockets,” he said to someone. “And the cash register. The shit has to be here somewhere.”
It’s just pain, I told myself. I gave myself a count of three to recover, then I rolled away from my attackers. I made it about three feet before someone came at me from the opposite side. Fuck, there were three of them. But I could see a tire iron just out of my reach…
That’s when I took a boot to the head. And everything went black.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sophie
Internal DJ is set to: “Blue Christmas,” Jewel Version
Community Dinner Night was the usual chaos. Everyone was in a Christmassy mood except for me. Even Mrs. Walters was singing Jingle Bells in time with the clanking of the dishwashing machine.
Jude wasn’t at the prep station.
I put two-dozen chicken legs into a baking dish and sprinkled my signature spice mixture over them. And I tried not to fret. He was just pissed at me, probably. Or maybe there was some rush job at the shop that needed his attention.
There was no way to text him to confirm any of these theories. I hated how tricky it was to reach him, so I’d bought Jude a pre-paid phone for Christmas. I’d planned to give it to him tonight, after a round or two of sweaty make-up sex.
But where was he now?
“Exams all done?” Denny asked, grabbing the pan of chicken and sliding it into the oven.
“Yeah. Turned in the take-home on Monday.” I snuck another glimpse of the prep station. Still empty.
“How’s your pediatric case coming?” he asked, breaking open another package of chicken.
I put an empty pan in front of him. “Well, the child is getting her cochlear implant soon, but they haven’t figured out the financial piece yet. I’m helping them apply to three foundations for assistance,” I said, reaching for the spices. “I think we have a good shot of finding a donation to cover the deductible for the little girl’s treatment. I want her to have it before she turns two.”
“Cool,” Denny said.
“Mmm,” I replied, distracted again. I couldn’t help replaying my conversation with Jude. I’d basically called him a liar. Could he really be angry enough to blow off the dinner?
“Everything okay?” Denny asked.
“Sure, why?”
“Because you’ve been staring at that oven door for a long time.”
I turned around on a sigh. “Sorry. What’s next?”
“Are we mashing the potatoes? Or are they going to be just boiled, and tossed with butter?”
“Um, boiled I guess. The mixer has been on the fritz, I think.”
“We could smash ’em,” Denny suggested.
“Okay?” My eyes made another involuntary trip over to the prep table. It was still empty.
“Is something the matter with Jude?” Denny asked quietly.
The question made me grumpy. “If I said there was, would you give me another lecture?”
“Oh.” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said—“
I held up a hand. “Let’s just forget it. We have potatoes to smash.”
Stepping around Denny, I went back to my work area, cleaning all the chicken wrappers off of it. Worrying about Jude made me feel disloyal, because I kept wondering if he’d gotten into trouble. My mind spun a scenario wherein he had a really stressful week…and then did something stupid to ease himself.
The truth was that I’d never be able to look at Jude with the same naive eyes as my teenage self. Even if he and I were able to be a normal couple, I might always worry about him turning to drugs. If he were late to come home, or missing for a couple of hours, I’d wonder why. It would be a lot like dating someone with a history of unfaithfulness.
And now I hated myself for thinking these disloyal thoughts. Even worse? We’d argued. If Jude fell off the wagon right this second, I’d feel responsible.
“We’re down a man?” Father Peters asked, surveying the kitchen with his fists on his hips.