As I sat, trying to regain some control, the back doorknob rattled, twisting slowly back and forth.
I screamed, drawing air deep into my lungs and pushing the sound out like a wall to keep the intruder away. I barely heard him call my name. I stood up, grabbed a knife from the butcher block in the kitchen, and turned back to face the door, and as I did so, I realized it was Weathers calling to me, shaking the door in his attempt to reach me.
I dropped the knife and half-ran across my bedroom to turn the lock and let him in. His face was raw with concern, his hand resting on the butt of his gun.
"Maggie, what is it? Did I scare you? I knocked first but I wasn't sure if you were here. Didn't you hear me?"
I shook my head numbly. "No. I was… I went… and then I…" But I couldn't form the words that went with the thoughts.
He stepped inside the room and held me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me into him and just standing there. After a minute or two he pushed back enough to look into my face.
"Is that your shower?"
I nodded and the panic began to subside, ebbing as quickly as it had surged.
"Yeah." I tried to laugh, but it was a hollow attempt. "I, um, I was going to get ready for work, you know, but I looked out the window and the patrol car was gone. And then I came in here and, I guess that was that." My voice drifted off and I just stood there for a moment before I remembered the shower. "I'd better go turn that off."
"Go take your shower," he said. "I'll be right here."
Part of me wanted to send him away, to tell him that I was fine now and didn't need anyone watching out for me. But the rest of me shook inside and my nerves felt like Jell-O.
I wound up not saying a word, just grabbing my robe off its hook in the closet and walking into the bathroom. What was wrong with me? I'd been home since the shooting. I'd been inside the closet. I hadn't panicked then, why now? Probably because it was my first time alone. It would be better now. I wouldn't panic the next time. But when I stepped into the bathroom and closed the door, the feeling returned. The steam covered the mirror and thickened the air so I couldn't breathe. The window, tiny and shuttered, seemed an open portal for intruders.
I had to step over to the door, open it, and look out into the hallway. Weathers was right there, his arms folded across his chest, an easy smile on his face.
"You were thinking maybe I'd join you?" he asked.
That took the panic away. I took a deep breath and tried to smile. "No, actually, it's just a little bit close in here, I was just going to let some cool air in."
I didn't fool him. His eyes softened, but the smirk remained. He wasn't going to baby me.
"Well," he drawled, "maybe while you're in there, you might compare your shower to mine. You didn't seem to mind the steam over at my place."
"I didn't mind it at all," I said, before I could stop myself. He'd done it again, charmed me into forgetting that he was only in it for the game.
"Hey," I said, unknotting my bathrobe slowly and letting him watch. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" The robe started to slip open, just a little bit.
"No," he murmured. "I've got all the time in the world."
I smiled. "Oh, that's funny. I thought you had to ran car-pool for the junior police auxiliary."
His face reddened and I closed the bathroom door.
On the other side of the door I heard him chuckle. "Funny, Reid, real funny."
I jumped into the shower and pulled the curtain. It was my shower again, my bathroom, and my home.
I stood under the hot water until I felt it begin to cool off, reluctantly turning it off only when I knew I had to. I stood behind the curtain and reached out for my towel, feeling around on the rack and realizing that it was gone.
"Real funny," I yelled. "Bring my towel back."
I waited a second and was rewarded with the sound of the door opening. My towel flipped up over the shower curtain and I grabbed it, pulling it down and wrapping it around my body.
"So you had to resort to stealing my towel?"
I whipped open the curtain and came face to face with Tony Carlucci. He was standing there with a broad smile on his face and his finger to his lips.
"Shhh," he whispered. "Wouldn't want Sheila to hear you, would you? She and your friend are out on the front porch. I believe she's uninviting him to dinner."
"Oh no!"
Tony grinned. He was enjoying the situation. He stood there, staring at me, his eyes covering every inch of my body, slowly examining.
"Get out!"
"Looks like you missed a spot on your back," he whispered.
"Get out!"
Tony shrugged and held up his hands. "Whatever you say. I was just trying to help out." He slipped out of the room just as I heard the front door slam and Sheila come storming back through the dining room, her footsteps stopping just outside the bathroom door.
"Mama!" she cried. "How could you let that jerk inside our house?"
"Sheila, were you rude to him?"
"Well, I should hope so," she huffed. "And then I told him all about that girl and Nosmo King. You know, I think he actually was forced to listen to me. See, I told you I'd be a big help!"
I sighed into my towel and looked at myself in the mirror. "Whatever," I muttered.
"What did you say?" Sheila demanded.
"Nothing, honey, just go set the table."
"Whatever!" She clomped off into the kitchen and could be heard pulling open drawers and fumbling with silverware.
It was one of those days, one right after another, right after another.
Chapter Twenty-five
Tony and Sheila were thick as thieves by the time they dropped me off at the Golden Stallion club. Tony gunned the engine and the two took off for who knew where, not to return until closing time.
I walked inside knowing I had fences to mend. I'd hurt my friend and there was no way I could think of to make up for that. When I entered the club, Jack had his back to me, fiddling with the monitor in such an obvious way that I knew he'd seen me arrive and didn't want to face me.
He waited until I was right behind him to turn around, pretending to be surprised and happy to see me.
"I want to talk to you," I said.
"Sure, Maggie, sure, but not right now, okay? Sparks asked me to check this monitor and we're due to start any minute. How about later?" He smiled but he wouldn't hold my gaze. At the first opportunity he turned back to the sound system and wandered away. The others were all tuning up, oblivious to me. When Chris finally looked up and saw me, he reached for my guitar.
"I'll get it tuned up for you," he said. "You want to do that new one we were working on last week?"
I nodded, but my heart wasn't in it. I stepped up to my vocal mike and did a sound check, watching Homer back on the soundboard nod and give me the thumbs up. The lights were flickering, traveling across the stage in broad beams of red and gold as the techies adjusted them to focus on the band members. On any other night I would've been eating this up. It was my dream to sing and now here I was, on stage five nights a week, the lead singer in a house band, and I couldn't enjoy it.
I walked to the dead center of the stage and looked out at the house. It was almost nine o'clock. The regulars were beginning to file in. Brenda Lee was just finishing up with her line dance lessons, putting a bevy of overweight middle-aged women through their paces. I waited there, in the spot where I always stood, and closed my eyes, wishing like anything for the feeling to come. I wanted the adrenaline rush I always got before I sang, but it wasn't coming.