Chapter 6
Luke
“So, what you’re saying,” Lola shouted over the pop music blaring on her car stereo, “is that you met this annoying woman, she declared herself your mortal enemy, and then while you were out you dreamed about being married to her—and it was so vivid you are having a hard time distinguishing fact from fantasy.”
“More or less.” My head was starting to throb. “First stop, the pharmacy.” Pain killers weren’t my favorite thing, but the pounding headache was making my peripheral vision go black, so I might have to accept reality and take some. Half-dose only, though. I was tough enough to get through this.
Lola didn’t turn down her radio at the pharmacy drive-through window. She had to shout my name about six times through the intercom before the communication happened. When she rolled up her window while we waited for the meds, she turned to me.
“Just answer me one thing. Did you see the staff psychologist while you were still on in-patient status?”
Oh, I could see where this was going. “Of course I did. But no, I didn’t tell him about this dream garbage. I know it’s garbage.”
“Good.” She shuddered. “You know how I feel about that paranormal stuff.”
I knew. “Look, I’m not even sure that such an address as 5656 Stony Brook Lane even exists in Torrey Junction.”
My phone’s charge was low, so Lola pulled out hers and typed in the address.
“It exists.” Her eyes widened. She gave me a this is too creepy right now look.
“Well, let’s not overreact.” I hadn’t meant to spook Lola. There was that time when we were in high school at the haunted house, and … yeah. I knew better than to bring that up while she was driving. “That’s a pretty common street name. There’s probably a Stony Brook Lane in every zip code in America.”
Lola gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t know, Luke. I’m finding this a little freaky.”
So was I, to be honest, but I couldn’t let on. “No worries. Forget I even asked to have you drive me past it. Let’s just head home. I need a shower and some wound care, anyway.”
She took me to my house, and while I did my post-hospitalization re-entry into life, Lola cleaned out my refrigerator and loudly passed judgment on my eating choices. “It’s like Mom and Dad taught you nothing about how to nourish your body.”
“It’s more like they taught me everything about it and I just choose not to comply with good advice.” I finished buttoning my shirt and came to rescue my Hostess HoHos from the trash. “Don’t disrespect the HoHos. Do you have any idea how much processing those grains of wheat had to go through to become that chocolaty goodness?”
She ripped it from my hands and shoved it squarely back in the garbage bin. “You’re in a post-traumatic state. You need to feed your body so it can heal. See this?” She swung the fridge door wide. “Even your yogurt is full of sugar. You’re lucky I didn’t throw that out, too.”
I grabbed my favorite key lime greek yogurt container from her hand before she could toss it in the trash. “You sound like you’re my life coach.”
“You seem like you need one. Do you want me to look up that shrew life-coach woman your subconscious thinks you’re married to and get you an appointment?”
“No, thanks.” I stabbed a spoon into the yogurt and took a tangy bite. A rush of memory of her eyes sparkling in the morning sun smacked me so hard I had to grab the countertop. I put down the cup and spoon.
This was so weird.
Finally, we ate dinner, talked about her job, talked about her husband Keith, and watched some TV. But then, the clock struck seven, and I stood up. “I’m going to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.”
What I could have said was that my Ride Along driver was downstairs and ready to take me to Stony Brook Lane—not so I could transform into the strange, stalkerish person my dream-state self seemed to think I could become, but because curiosity was killing me.
“Should I come with you?” Lola sounded tired. She managed a retail shop and went in at oh-dark-thirty to do books on Saturdays, so she usually fell asleep on my couch after our Saturday night dinners. “Take your phone. Call me if anything happens and you need help.” She yawned.
“Will do.” I headed for the door, grabbing a ball cap to cover my bandages. “Bye.”
She flopped over onto the couch and waved at me, fingers only. “Don’t faint or do anything stupid.”
“I won’t faint.” The stupid part, I couldn’t promise.
***
“Here you go.” The driver pulled up at a huge house with a large tree dominating the front yard. A live oak. How did I recognize that variety? Oh, right. Once upon a time, I’d been interested in gardening and landscaping. With my career, however, I had zero time or brain-space for non-medical things. “Aren’t you getting out? Looks like the party already started.”
Getting out? Uh, I hadn’t thought that far. I’d just wanted to see the house. “Can I pay you a little extra to just idle here for a minute?”