I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (12 page)

“Nothing,” I lie. “The heat makes me tired sometimes,” I add, trying to avoid being beaten with fifty questions. “So, what are you ordering?”

Janie smiles. “I’m debating on the Bayou Stuffed Shrimp or the Nachos Rio Luna. They both sound delicious.”

“The shrimp here is the freshest on the east coast. You’ll love it.” Thinking out loud, I fill her in on my selection. "I’m going to order the Cheese-Stuffed Chicken and the Savannah Sampler.”

"Anna you’re going to dinner in a few hours. Don't you think you should eat something light?"

"I'm not going to eat a lot, plus, I want leftovers," I respond, amused. A figure bouncing down the hallway catches my attention. Our waitress stops at the table and, using a cheerleader tone, introduces herself with sparkling blue eyes. After placing our orders, I decide to clue Janie in about what’s happening. This burden has become too heavy to bear and the ramifications that could follow continue to cross my mind.

“Janie, can I talk to you about something?” I ask, watching Janie’s eyes widen in panic.

“Of course, you can,” she responds apprehensively.

“I’ve been experiencing some things lately,” I say nervously.

“Oh my God! Are you pregnant?”

I cringe at that word. “Jesus Janie! I’m not pregnant,” I respond flatly. Why is that always the go-to question and answer combo?

“Whew," she says, wiping the fake perspiration from her forehead. “So, what are you experiencing?”

“It’s hard to explain… and I’m not sure I should because I might sound crazy.”

“I’ll let you know if you’re crazy,” she interrupts.

I inhale, hoping to calm my nerves. “I’ve been having nightmares since childhood. They are extremely evil, maybe tangible. They scare me awake every time, but lately, I feel like they’re changing… that I’m changing.”

Janie takes a long sip of her water. “That’s normal. You’ve been under a lot of stress lately and maybe it’s your way of coping with it," she replies dismissively.

Is that the best she can do? “I don’t think that’s it, Janie. They’re getting worse. Last night after you went to bed, I went on the porch to relax…” I continue the story of last night’s events, stripping it down in detail, hoping to gain her support. 

Janie stares at me casually. “Janie, say something. Tell me I need therapy or medication,” I plead.

“I don’t know what to say,” she retorts. Her expression is startled and not in a good way. “I’m confident it’s a coping mechanism for your stress. Think about it logically... your mind twisted your problems into something concrete, that’s all. I wouldn’t worry about it. You could have imagined the Titanic on your front lawn if you tried hard enough,” she closes, attempting to sound lighthearted.

I can't believe she’s not troubled. Normally, she’d freak out, laugh at me, or tell me to schedule an appointment with a shrink. Even her tone is relaxed and even, which scares me the most. "I know, but I wasn’t forcing myself to see what I saw. This was real, not my imagination. My mind and body actually felt how real it was,” I explain.

“What do you mean you felt?” she inquires, accentuating the word
felt
.

I’m hesitant to expose the physical pains that occur in certain situations, but what the hell? I’m going to sound loony regardless. It’s all or nothing at this point. I suck in a deep breath of air. “Whenever I’m anxious or scared, my body reacts,” I stammer. “What I mean is... my muscles cramp, and trigger debilitating pain occasionally.” I stop, staring at her for a reaction.

“That sounds pretty standard in anxious situations. Not that I get that way, but I've heard stories of people reacting in all sorts of ways during high levels of stress.”

This is ridiculous. Janie's either genuinely unconcerned or completely in denial. She refuses to see anything outside her little box. “Okay, well I'm glad that's out in the open,” I respond sarcastically, hoping she hears the irony in my tone.

“Good," she counters, purposely ignoring my disgruntled reply. "I'm sure everything is normal. I wouldn't worry,” she adds, smiling smugly on a therapy session well done. I want my money back.

“Thanks, Janie,” I utter dryly. I drop my gaze to my napkin, ripping it into long strips of paper out of sheer frustration. Nothing is more maddening than loneliness. I need support right now, and Janie doesn't believe me, or chooses not to. I'm losing my mind and no one's listening. I see our waitress bobbing down the hall, carrying our lunches. She carefully places them down in front of us, and asks if we need anything before leaving. The food couldn't have appeared at a better time since I ran out of things to say.

“So, are you looking forward to your date?” Janie inquires.

I guess we're playing the
pretend-nothing-happened
game. Janie pulls her phone from her purse, hurriedly slapping the screen with a ping following, indicating her message was sent.

“Not really,” I answer honestly.

“Try to enjoy it. At least you’re getting out the house."

“I guess," I say, pushing the food around with my fork. The remainder of lunch is spent in obstinate silence, which I hate. I shift my body a few times, attempting to displace it. We finish eating and walk back to my car. Its three-thirty and I really need to get a move on.

“Thanks for paying,” Janie says lightly, shoving my arm with hers.

“Anytime," I reply, shoving her back. That is our sisterly way of making sure everything is smoothed over. "Hey, do you mind if we swing by my place? I was going to meet Kristy before my date tonight, but now I’m not going to have the time.”

An irritating beeping noise emerges from my purse. I draw it from the pocket on the inside lining, hitting the
Wake
button. A text message announces my phone is activated. Finally! I rejoin the world of technological dependency. I groan inwardly, stuffing it back into my purse. Janie’s busy, typing away on her cell phone, making our walk silent. My thoughts continue to swirl in mounting confusion. Maybe I'm stupid for not going to the doctor again. Ignoring obvious symptoms is unheard of, but there's more to these cramps. They aren't the byproduct of illness; they have a purpose. We walk through the front door of my shop, letting the cool air chill our damp bodies. The latch clicks shut, triggering Kristy to look up from her
People
magazine.

“Hey guys,” she says slapping it on the table.

She skips to Janie, embracing her in a big hug. I take this opportunity to inform all of my friends and family I've returned to the world of technology via a group text message. I look up at Janie and Kristy who are already submerged in conversation. They've always gotten along well, thank goodness. If not, my life could be much more complicated.

“Janie, it’s been forever!” Kristy exclaims. She reaches for Janie’s arm, urging her in the direction of a table. 

I interrupt them before they find a chance to lose themselves in conversation. I’m confident Janie will share her pending divorce, while Kristy updates her on her adult friend, Josh. Once that happens, I won't be able to get a word in edgewise.

“Hey Kris,” I say, casually interrupting them. “I can’t talk to you tonight. I’m running late for my date so I have to head home… like now,” I finish, giving her the look only two women who are very close can recognize.

She nods, letting me know she understands. “Not a problem. Maybe I’ll hang around and meet Shane,” she smirks.

I roll my eyes, glancing at Janie. “Janie, are you ready?”

Kristy intrudes, grabbing her hands. “Janie, stay with me so we can catch up! Maybe grab some drinks. I think Martello’s working tonight. What do you say?”

It takes Janie all of two seconds to make up her mind. “Sure! I haven’t had a night out in a while.”

“I see where this night is heading!” I grin.

“Oh stop! I’ll be fine,” she says, dismissively waving at me. “Meet us with or without Shane,” she adds, raising her eyebrows.

I shake my head. “I’ll see you guys later without Shane.”

“Anna, can you feed Rutey when you go home? And let him out?” Janie shouts at my back.

“Yes,” I reply quickly while gathering my belongings. “I’ll see you around seven… and Janie, no funny stuff when you meet him. No weird questions or looks, okay?”

“Whatever you say,” she replies, giggling. Expecting Janie to ignore the chance at a third degree interrogation is like waiting for it to snow in Brazil. I wave goodbye behind me as I rush through the door. I drive home, steering clear of all roads guaranteed to have more than one automobile. I hurry through my front door, let Rutey out, and throw some dry food in his bowl before sprinting upstairs. I have thirty minutes to get ready, which isn’t enough time after humidity played in my hair all day. I grab a quick shower, apply a generous amount of makeup and struggle with the intimidating task of what to wear. I stay away from anything too sexy, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. After an incalculable number of wardrobe changes, I settle on a yellow cotton sundress. My skin is a nice olive, thanks to the ever-present sun, and the bright color adds a much needed pop.

Slipping into the breathable fabric, I relish how it glides over my skin like silk. I fasten the halter straps around my neck before adding turquoise chandelier earrings that lightly brush my shoulder. The natural-colored wedges I bought from a local boutique peek out from beneath my bed. Perfect! I grab them, and cross my room to sit at my vanity. After enduring a long duet with my curling iron and hairspray, I slap the wedges on my feet and look in the mirror. I may not be supermodel worthy, but I look better than I have in months. I dash through my house, grabbing my purse somewhere along the way and soar out the front door.

Surprisingly, I’m fifteen minutes early. I park out front, not wanting to hide in an alley tonight. I glide through the door toward Kristy and Janie who are still at the same table I left them. “Hey!” I wave. I help myself to an empty seat at the table, sighing as I sit down.

“Wow!” Janie states, her mouth wide open.

“Yeah wow,” Kristy repeats, shocked. “I can’t remember the last time you looked so beautiful,” she adds.

“Thanks,” I respond. I don’t see what all the fuss is about unless I usually look pretty bad on a regular basis.

“Are you nervous?” Janie asks, grabbing my arm and wiggling it a bit.

I hesitate before answering. I’m not nervous, just apprehensive. There’s something about Shane that creeps me out. If I tell her the truth, she’ll just dismiss it, so lying is the only way to get her off my back. “Not really,” I shrug.

“I’m excited for you,” Kristy exclaims, bouncing in her seat. “It’ll be fun! Just enjoy it.”    

I nod. There’s no point in sharing my qualms about tonight. I don’t want to ruin the minimal enthusiasm they share. My mind journeys back to Shane. What is it about him that unnerves me, but not in a good way? Like clockwork, the front door swings open to a cheerful Shane. I hear Janie gasp as soon as her eyes fasten on him. I don’t blame her. He looks like he came straight from a Versace shoot. I study his wardrobe, observing his plum dress shirt clinging tautly over his muscular arms. It’s tucked into a pair of tailored black dress pants that compliment his athletic lower half perfectly. He sure knows how to make an impression. A gleam in his eye sparkles under a wave of caramel hair. Damn, he looks great. A haze tiptoes into my brain, snuffing any previous doubts I might have had. My intensely strong attraction to him surprises even me. “Hi,” I say, standing up carefully, since my knees suddenly feel a little too wobbly.

“Anna, you look great,” he replies in a smile that says he meant it.

“Thank you. You do too," I reciprocate apprehensively. Why am I nervous? I don’t feel like myself.

“Thank you, I’m flattered,” he says, still smiling like a wolf, before noticing Janie and Kristy. He glides over to where they’re sitting.