Unseen. Nancy Bush

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      The white Chevrolet pickup was a couple of decades old and rattled like it was filled with ball bearings. Gemma had to manhandle it into gear, but the yank and pull was both familiar and comforting. The truck had been her father’s, and it had been sitting outside the large garage with the corrugated metal roof behind the house, as ugly a building as the house was architecturally beautiful. Gemma had found its keys hanging on a hook by the back door—along with keys for the filing cabinet and several locks that she still hadn’t identified. Not exactly the tightest security around the old homestead.

      She’d holed up inside for nearly a week, familiarizing herself, letting her bruises heal, letting herself heal. In that time she’d read nearly every scrap of paper she could find that had to do with the family’s finances, the past year’s calendar of events, the information on both her parents’ deaths. She’d gone through the filing cabinet and rifled through boxes in the attic until her eyes burned and her head ached, and she’d slept a great deal. The urgency she’d felt at the hospital—the need to apparently right some wrong—had eased to a simmer now that she was home. Maybe it was knowing that Edward Letton was still in the hospital, still in a coma. If he’d awakened and been released, she believed she would have heard it on the news, and at any rate, she just sensed that he was still there and for now, at least, she was going to trust her feelings.

      She had not found her purse, nor did she have any recollection about her mother’s car, which according to Tanninger, who’d phoned to ostensibly keep her informed, was a silver Camry. That had caused shivers of fear to run up and down her spine. Was that what she’d been driving? If, and when, it turned up would it prove that she’d run down Edward Letton?

      But what she had found among the papers was her medical insurance information, and she’d called hospital administration right away, happy that maybe she wasn’t going to be made destitute by her stay there. At least that was taken care of.

      She’d spent most of the last week dwelling on something else, though: what her day-to-day life had been like before the accident. She had flashes of being in her mother’s office and seeing clients, people who wanted a glimpse into their own futures. But she also remembered working at LuLu’s, though those memories weren’t as clear. Maybe her time at the diner was further in the past. Whatever the case, she was driving there now. She felt ready to see people again, though she wondered what, if anything, they’d heard about her and the Letton hit-and-run. She really had no idea how much, or how little, of the information tying her to that accident had been obtained by the media.

      LuLu’s was a nondescript, one-story rectangular building with dark green shingled siding, a transparent attempt to put lipstick on a pig. The empty flower beds on either side of the wooden steps that led to weather-beaten French doors didn’t help. Even the green-and-white striped awning above the doors seemed like an afterthought, and maybe not a very good one. But still, seeing the place brought back wave upon wave of memories. She’d loved LuLu’s. Had filled those flower boxes with red petunias. Had worked as a waitress here, though she couldn’t remember her mother on the premises…hmmm…

      Gemma pulled the truck into the side gravel lot, yanked on the emergency brake, cut the engine, then as it coughed and shook itself to silence, she headed up the four front steps and stepped beneath the awning to avoid the surprisingly hot sun. The rain had vanished after a couple of drenched days, and now the ground was as hard and dry as before.

      She twisted open the right French door, as she knew the left was fixed in place, entering immediately into the main dining room. Straight ahead was a counter with stools and behind it she could see the stainless-steel appliances and paraphernalia of the kitchen.

      The familiarity of the place soaked in, right to her core, and Gemma inhaled deeply, feeling more solidly connected to herself than she had since waking up in the hospital. LuLu’s. Her home away from home.

      “Hey, sugar,” a female voice called from behind the counter. Gemma looked over and saw a tall, red-haired woman in a beige uniform with a white collar, the front pockets gaping open to reveal notepads and pens. Her large bust was propped up with a sturdy bra and she wore enough eye makeup to open her own department store. She was grinning with delight at Gemma. “You look like hell, honey. Get over here.”

      “Macie,” Gemma said, a rush of pleasure flooding her. Macie was the one who ran the diner. Macie was the one who’d treated Gemma like a daughter when Jean was at a complete loss, never flagging in that role even when she had her own child, Charlotte, now eleven.

      And Macie was the one who never rolled her eyes in embarrassment or repressed anger when Gemma’s debilitating headaches and memory losses bewildered the young girl.

      It all clicked together. The diner was Macie’s, not Jean’s. The LaPorte family leased the premises to Macie, and had for as long as Gemma could remember. Gemma was now Macie’s landlord but she’d spent many happy hours in her youth working as a waitress.

      “Good grief, girl, you look like somebody smacked you silly.” She regarded Gemma with real concern. “What happened?”

      “I was in a car accident.”

      “Woowee. You okay?”

      “My face looks worse than it feels.”

      Macie cocked her head. “I could show you a thing or two about makeup. Would take care of all them bruises, I do believe. But you ain’t never let me take a mascara brush to you yet, so I think I’ll just save my breath. Besides, you’ve got it under control. Another couple of days or so and no one’ll be able to tell. Anybody else hurt?”

      Gemma thought of Edward Letton. “Not that I know of,” she said carefully. “I gotta get down to the DMV. Lost my purse and now I’m driving without my license.”

      “That’ll be the time you get stopped.”

      “Don’t I know it.” She glanced around. “Charlotte at school?”

      “God, I hope so. That child’ll be the death of me if she gets into more trouble.”

      “What’s СКАЧАТЬ