Making a Comeback. Kristina Mathews

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      “If they did give her medicine, it was to help her body heal.” Cooper wasn’t sure how to explain the difference between healing medicine and drugs that could wreck your life. “Sometimes medicine can have side effects. But it’s important to take them when the doctor tells you to. Only when the doctor tells you to.”

      “Yeah. One time we had ear affections, and we had to take this disgusting medicine.” Sophie chattered away. “It tasted like pink poop.”

      “Sophie!” Olivia was apparently offended by her sister’s strong language.

      “So you’ve tasted pink poop?” He couldn’t help it. The kid was a hoot.

      “No. Of course not, silly.” Sophie laughed, and the sound went straight to his chest. “Miss Ramirez tells us to write juicy sentences. Not boring I like cats, I don’t like medicine sentences.”

      “Miss Ramirez?”

      “She’s our teacher.” Olivia added with a starstruck note in her voice. “But I don’t think she’s really a teacher.”

      “Oh really?” He suspected he was getting in over his head.

      “I think she’s really a princess.” Olivia was breathless with awe. “She’s just pretending to be a teacher until her Prince Charming comes along.”

      “And then she’ll go back to being a teacher when she gets a divorce.” Sophie joined in the conversation, but instead of romantic ideals, she had a more jaded take on things. “That’s why Mommy had to get a job. ’Cause she got divorced.”

      Yep. Definitely in over his head.

      “How come girls have to give up their job when they get married?” Sophie asked thoughtfully.

      “They don’t. Some women choose to stay home with their babies. Maybe that’s why your mom quit modeling, so she could look after the two of you.” He really had no idea what motivated Annabelle to quit at the height of her career. For a guy who couldn’t figure out his own motivations at times, he wasn’t in any position to judge others.

      “So now we’re big girls, she can be a model again?” Olivia asked.

      “Sure, why not?” He shrugged. “Your mom can be anything she wants to be.”

      “I want to be a princess when I grow up,” Olivia announced. “Or a teacher.”

      “I don’t want to be a princess. I want to be a baseball player.” Sophie said with confidence. “Or maybe I’ll be an owner like Auntie Hunter.”

      “Or like Daddy.” Olivia had a note of sadness in her voice. “Before he moved to Florida.”

      Where the sun sets on the wrong side of the beach.

      * * * *

      “So how are you feeling?” Dr. De Rosa asked as she took Annabelle’s vitals.

      “I want to go home.” She hated feeling trapped, dependent on others. “I just want to sleep in my own bed.”

      “You’ve had a serious head injury.” The doctor didn’t need to remind her of that. She felt the dull thud every time she moved her head. “I’m going to ask you a few questions before we can release you.”

      “What kind of questions?” Annabelle wasn’t feeling up to taking some kind of test. Especially if her release was dependent on getting the right answers.

      The first few questions were straightforward. Her name, age, and occupation. She only stumbled a little on the occupation question. For a long time, she’d been nothing more than a wife and mother.

      “I’m a model,” she finally answered. “Or at least, I was.”

      She reached up to touch the bandage on her face. “How bad is it? I know it will leave a scar, but…”

      It felt like her face was cut from her left temple to her jaw. That’s where it hurt the most. But she might have a smaller cut or two above her eyebrow and across her cheek.

      “I won’t lie to you. It’s going to look pretty bad right now. There will be a lot of redness and swelling. You won’t look like yourself for a few days.” The doctor offered a sympathetic smile. “But you’ll improve steadily over the next several weeks.”

      Annabelle wanted to see, but had a feeling she wouldn’t like what she saw.

      “Let’s take a look, shall we?” The doctor pulled up a chair and started unwrapping the gauze around Annabelle’s head. “Not bad. It looks like a clean wound.”

      “But it will leave a scar?”

      “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

      “That’s not going to help my modeling career.” Annabelle hated how disappointed she sounded. Almost whiney.

      “Tell me about what happened today,” the doctor said as she applied a fresh bandage. This one was smaller, and it didn’t cover her eye. “What do you remember about the accident, and what you did earlier in the day?”

      Annabelle recalled snippets of time. Sitting in a chair having her makeup done. Wardrobe changes. Bright lights and the clicks of the camera. A typical day as a model. She’d done her first Sports Illustrated issue when she was only nineteen. Had it been ten years already? Somehow today’s shoot had felt new and exciting, like the first time, only better. Her agent had set her up on a photo shoot with a small upscale boutique in Aurelia Beach. The ads would run in a regional magazine, distributed at restaurants, hotels, and businesses throughout Orange County, giving her plenty of exposure. She’d hoped it would be enough to re-launch her career.

      She sank back against the pillow, trying to gather more details from the foggy corners of her mind.

      “I was on my way to a photo shoot.” It was like that dream. The one where she was running in slow motion, only instead of her feet, it was her brain that felt stuck in quicksand. “No. I was on my way home. I had done my job and I was going to meet the school bus.”

      “But you didn’t meet the bus?”

      “No. I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye.” And then crunching metal. Broken glass. So much blood. “It must have been the car that hit me.”

      Annabelle closed her eyes, hoping the picture would form in her mind. But she was tired. So tired.

      “Can I go home?” she asked again, weary of the hospital. Of the questions that seemed much harder than they should be. “I just want to go home.”

      “Do you have someone staying with you?” the doctor asked.

      “My daughters live with me.” She sensed that wasn’t the right answer, but it was the honest one.

      “I’m afraid I can’t release you unless you have a responsible adult who can keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

      “I can’t think of anyone who could stay with me.” If she was in San СКАЧАТЬ