The reporter shifts her microphone to ask, “Stats put Madden at two hundred and twenty pounds. She must be a strong woman, to pull an unconscious man of that size out of a car.”
Gord belts out one of his awful fake laughs. “No! That’s just it! Cathy’s a tiny wisp of a thing. It’s a damn miracle. Oh!” His hand flies to his mouth. “Sorry for cussin’ on the air. Anyway, divine intervention is what I call it. But it’s just like my girl to help others. She’s come a long way from her wild teenage years, I’ll tell ya.”
“ ‘Wild teenage years’?” the reporter repeats, and I swear her face lights up like a kid discovering a treasure trove of sweets.
“Oh, yeah. That affair with her high school teacher, the Philips guy. Affluent family around these parts, so it was an especially big shock to everyone. Course, she recanted her statement, so who knows what actually happened, but some say that somethin’ happened.”
“Brenna, go to your room right now,” I somehow manage to get out. I’m going to lose my lunch, and it’s been hours since I ate.
I hear her whine of “why?” somewhere in the background, but I’m too focused on the TV to answer.
Here we go again.
Only this time it’s going to be so much worse. This is going to make national news.
“Anyhow, she came in on Sunday with her father—good man—and I set her up with a nice Ford Escape from right here, at Mayberry’s New and Used Vehicles. Hopefully she’ll think twice before parkin’ too close to a burning vehicle next time, am I right?” Again, that fake chuckle, this time embellished with a snort.
“Well, thank you so much for taking the time to speak with us, sir.”
“Yeah, don’t forget. I’m Gord Mayberry, from Mayberry’s New and Used Vehicles. And no problem at all. I don’t know why my Cathy wouldn’t just tell people what happened. She deserves to be recognized. She’s the only reason Madden is alive right now!”
The camera cuts to the reporter, though Gord rambles in the background. “Divine intervention in the form of a young, single mom and waitress from Balsam, Pennsylvania, is apparently what saved Brett Madden’s life. We’ll be back with more on this developing story, heard on Raven News first.”
A pizza commercial airs as Lou’s sigh fills my ear. “Do you know the idiot called me up all proud of himself, lookin’ for praise for getting both of our family businesses free advertising. I swear, that boy has the same screw loose in his head as his daddy. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
There are at least a dozen things I could name that are wrong with him, but I have bigger things to think about.
Gord just handed me to the media on a silver platter. “Why would they air that? What kind of reporting is that?”
“It’s Raven News. Are you really surprised?”
“No, I guess not.” They’re notorious for being bullies and reporting on events without actual, confirmed proof. “But—”
Knuckles wrap on my front door.
“I’ll get it!” Brenna hollers, skipping from her bedroom.
“No!” I don’t mean to yell at her, but I’m too freaked out to keep my voice level. I didn’t even hear the steps creak, a telltale warning that someone is here. “Come here and finish your dinner.” To Lou, I say, “Give me a sec. It’s probably Keith.” I set the phone down on the table and head over to answer the door.
It’s not Keith.
It’s the same reporter who was just on TV with Gord, and she’s now standing on my front stoop, a microphone in hand, a monstrous camera angled directly on me behind her, the bright beam of light capturing what I’m sure is a ghostly pale face. “Catherine Wright! We’ve received reports that you are the woman who pulled Brett Madden out of a burning vehicle. Is this true?”
She shoves the microphone into my face, waiting.
I’m frozen, caught in that lens like a deer in headlights for two . . . three . . . four seconds, before I snap out of it and step back to slam the door in her face, fumbling with the dead bolt, my hand trembling.
I’m such an idiot. I should have checked the porch through the blinds before I opened the door. But I’ve never had to before. No one but Keith ever just shows up.
“Mommy, what’s going on?” Brenna stares at me with wide, fearful eyes. She’s not used to seeing me like that. I always strive to keep a calm, cool head around her.
“Nothing. Stay put.” I slink over to the living room window and push the blinds open a crack to peek through. The news van is parked next to the Dumpster in the pool hall parking lot, and a photographer is taking pictures of my tiny ramshackle house.
I sense Brenna coming up beside me and I pull her away just before her tiny fingers go for the blinds. “No. Stay back!”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.” I cringe the moment the words come out of my mouth, because I always hated that answer coming from my own mother. I promised myself I’d never use it, and I’ve been good about that up until now.
Lou’s loud voice carries from my phone, calling my name. I forgot about her.
“Reporter. On my doorstep. The same one that interviewed Gord.” I was obviously watching a replay if the woman had time to get here from Belmont.
“Oh, Lordie.” I can just picture Lou rubbing at the frown line between her eyes. “They’re like hounds after blood.”
“How did they find me so fast?”
“They had someone in the DMV run your plates.” She says it so matter-of-factly.
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Like they’d care if it was. They want this story.”
I sigh. “What do I do? They’re still out there.”
“They’re trespassing and invading your privacy. Call Keith.”
Another sigh. “Right.” I don’t like taking advantage of my friendship with him, but I don’t have much choice. I peek out the blinds again. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Are you nuts? You’re not coming in here.”
“But it’s Saturday.” I make triple what I would on any other day.
“That envelope I gave you should more than cover it. And I have it in my mind to make my no-good nephew fork over some money to help cover what you’ll be missing on account of his big mouth. You mark my words.”
There’s no point arguing with Lou, and besides, I don’t have the energy. A week of poor sleep, nightmares, and constant worry has finally taken its toll on me, drawing dark circles under my eyes and weighing down my weary body.
“Keep me updated about what’s goin’ on, ya hear?”
“Yeah.” I hang up with Lou and see the slew of missed calls from my mother and Misty. No way in hell can I deal with Misty right now.
The news anchors fill the TV screen again. “Police are still not releasing the name of the woman who pulled Brett Madden from a burning car last week, but local sources have named twenty-four-year-old Catherine Wright as the driver of the 2000 Grand Prix.”
“Mommy!”