My Lost and Found Life

by Melodie Bowsher

  Someone put a blanket around me, but I shrugged it off. I heard Tom say, “Maybe you should go to the hospital, too, Ashley. Just as a precaution.”

  “Precaution is a popular word today. You know, you don’t really hear that word very often, do you? I always used to think of it in connection with condoms. Now it will always make me think of fires.”

  “Ashley, you’re in shock,” he said, wrapping the blanket back around me.

  “No, I’m fine, I’m really fine. I just don’t know what to do because I can’t leave,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  I looked at him dully. “Because my purse is in there,” I said, pointing to the blackened interior of the Madhouse. “With my car keys inside.”

  “Forget your keys. The building’s a total loss. You’ll never find them in there. You shouldn’t be driving anyway. Let me call someone for you.”

  “There’s no one to call,” I answered. “How pathetic is that? I can’t think of anyone to call.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “No, no, no!” A voice was moaning and it woke me up. Then I realized the voice was mine. I sat up on the camper bed, my heart pounding as if I had just been chased by a horde of devil worshippers. It was still dark. I grabbed my watch and looked at it. 3:06.

  My skin was damp and my throat and chest ached. I pulled off my sweat-soaked nightclothes and crawled back under the blankets naked. My head throbbed and I squirmed uncomfortably under the covers, too disturbed to get back to sleep.

  I had been dreaming that Tattie and I were driving along that mountain road to Curtis Davidson’s country place. My Jetta moved like a rocket along the curvy stretch of highway. Tall, dark trees lined both sides, and the road looked like a twisting tunnel with no end in sight. As the car careened around corners, the seat belt cut sharply into my collarbone and left breast. The car picked up speed, going faster and faster into the darkness. I frantically pressed the brake pedal. But the car didn’t slow down. Horrified, I looked over at Tattie. She grinned at me from the passenger seat. She took a long hit on the joint in her hand, held it in, and then blew the smoke out toward me. I stared at her in shock. But she just laughed and reached out her hand to give me the joint. I waved it away wildly, and the lighted joint flew out of her hand, onto the car seat. I looked down to where it landed and saw smoke billowing up. I took my hands off the steering wheel and fumbled to grab the burning joint. The car swerved off the road and rolled over and over and over and over and over and over.

  That’s when I woke up.

  I lay there, shuddering from the memory of my nightmare. Only a few hours had passed since I left the smoldering ruins of the coffeehouse. Tom had called an emergency locksmith for me, but two hours elapsed before I finally had a new ignition key. Fatigue plus a stabbing headache and my worsening sore throat had drained my energy. It took all my strength to drive myself back to the camper. I crawled straight into bed and for a few hours I slept like someone in a coma.

  But after my nightmare, I tossed and turned. Yesterday’s headache continued to pound inside my skull. My throat was so sore I could hardly swallow. Around seven thirty I pulled myself up and tried to follow my usual morning routine at the health club. Within minutes of mounting the exercise bike, I began coughing and felt too light-headed to continue.

  I went to Walgreens, bought some over-the-counter cold medication, and returned to the camper. Reynaldo paused and stared at me as I pulled behind the station. The whole day was misery. My headache didn’t let up while my cough turned into a honking, chest-searing rumble that made my lungs hurt. I didn’t have enough energy to do anything or go anywhere. Collapsed on the sleeping platform, all I could do was sleep fitfully and cough and dream.

  I dreamt I was an alien creature and my skin was made of fire, only to wake up with my skin burning. I tossed off all my blankets and half my clothing. Minutes later I was shivering and pulled everything back on. My whole body ached, and I coughed so violently it left me gasping for air.

  I lost track of time. I knew it was still daylight, but I had to use the toilet and I didn’t care who saw me. I staggered out of the camper and over to the ladies’ room. Reynaldo called to me as I walked by. I didn’t respond—I had no energy to spare for thinking or talking.

  Back in the camper, my coughing went on and on. The pain in my chest became sharper, and the coughing made my throat constrict and my stomach heave. I was gagging and struggling for breath so that I didn’t even look up when someone came into the camper.

  Then I heard Earl’s raspy voice.

  “Are you okay? Ashley? Are you sick, baby doll?”

  I couldn’t answer. Just breathing was hard enough without trying to talk. Each breath I took brought a searing pain.

  Earl gently put his hand on my forehead. I looked up at him, but he seemed slightly out of focus. My eyes burned from the exertion of all the coughing.

  Everything that happened after that was blurry. Over my head I heard Earl’s voice and then Officer Strobel’s talking about me. I heard the words delirious and can’t breathe.

  Earl said, “She’s hotter than a pistol.”

  I wondered for a moment if this is what it was like to die. In your last moments of life, maybe all you listen to is the rhythm of the air going in and out of your lungs.

  “Let’s go,” Strobel said, leaning over and lifting me up, still twisted inside my blanket. He carried me outside the camper. The cold air and the bright lights of the gas station made me blink. Above them the evening light was fading. In the distance I could hear the usual roar of traffic along the street.

  Strobel put me down onto the backseat of a car, and Earl climbed in next to me.

  “You’re going to be all right, baby doll,” Earl said, pulling me so that I rested against his shoulder.

  I was too exhausted to reply. The car twisted and turned through the streets. As Strobel drove, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath. A couple of times Earl said, “Take it easy,” but I didn’t know if he meant me or Strobel.

  Then we stopped, the car door opened, and people appeared. All at once there were hands touching me, pulling at me, propelling me along on a gurney as if I were a turkey on my way to the Thanksgiving feast. Bright lights shone in my eyes and I was told to open my mouth, open my eyes, do this, do that. I wanted to push them away as they poked and pinched at me from all sides. Insistent voices kept asking me questions that I didn’t want to answer.

  “Ashley, can you hear me?”

  “Are you in pain, Ashley?”

  “Do you know where you are, Ashley?”

  “Ashley, have you eaten or taken any medication in the last six hours?”

  They kept repeating that last question over and over but I couldn’t think, I couldn’t answer.

  I felt a hand, a woman’s hand, gently brush back my tangled hair, and I whispered, “Momma?”

  “Do you want us to call your mother?” someone asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “I want my mother.”

  After that, there were voices in the background and more prodding, more coughing, but my mind went spinning away from me.

  I woke up in a hospital bed with an IV in my left arm and plastic oxygen tubes hooked inside my nose.

  A woman in a pale green smock came in and fussed with the plastic bag hanging on the hook near my head.

  “My chest hurts,” I said.

  “I shouldn’t wonder,” she answered. “You had a collapsed lung. Your doctor will come by later and explain. Would you like some water or chicken broth?”

  I shook my head and closed my eyes again. Some time later I reopened them when another woman wheeled a cart next to my bed and expertly thrust a thermometer into my ear. As the woman took hold of my arm and began to attach a blood-pressure cuff, I noticed someone sitting in the chair at the foot of my bed. It was Nicole.

  “Nic,” I said foolishly. “What are you doing here?”

  “So you still remember who I am. I was beginnin
g to wonder.” She walked over to the other side of my bed and took my hand in hers. “Why didn’t you return my calls, you jerk?”

  I waited until the temperature taker finished and left the room. “I was going to. It’s just that … there’s been a lot going on.”

  “No kidding. I can’t believe you’ve been living in Phil’s camper. Why didn’t you let me know? I would have helped you. I would have borrowed some money from my dad for you.”

  “I know,” I said. “But it wasn’t your problem. Anyway, I didn’t move into the camper until after you left town.”

  “You could have called me. All those letters and e-mails and not once did you think to mention where you were living! I feel so bad that you had to go through that.”

  I could see tears glistening in her eyes. “Well, I’m fine. See?”

  Nicole chuckled. “Bronchitis and a collapsed lung. Yeah, you’re the picture of good health.”

  I took a good look at her. She was glowing and had a new air of self-confidence that I had never seen before.

  “It’s really good to see you. You look wonderful.”

  “Thanks,” she said, bending over and showing me her scalp. “Look, no hair loss. Can you believe it? I don’t twist and pull my hair anymore. I’m completely cured.”

  She paused and then giggled. “Well, almost completely cured.”

  “That’s great. How did you do it?”

  Nicole gave me a sideways smile. “Getting away helped a lot. From my mother, of course, but it turns out that I had to get away from you too.”

  I winced. “Ouch!”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said hastily. “It’s just that you’ve always protected me. Juliana, my therapist, said I needed to learn to deal with my own problems instead of relying on you to rescue me. I leaned on you too much.”

  “You’re seeing a therapist? Since when?”

  “Well, I never told you—I never told anyone. I had a hard time adjusting to college and being on my own. I didn’t want to admit how hard it was. Everyone there seemed smarter and more self-confident than me. I thought I was going to go completely crazy if I didn’t talk to someone. Then I found Juliana through the dean’s office. She’s really helped me see that I could do it alone.”

  I just looked at her, not sure how to respond.

  “But I’ve missed you a lot,” she added, her eyes shimmering again. “We’re together again, and it’s my turn to help you. When you get out of here, you’re definitely not going back to that camper. You’ll come home with me. You’re my best friend and that’s where you should be.”

  “No. Never. I don’t want to be anywhere near the happy couple,” I said fiercely.

  She was silent for a moment. “So you know about that?”

  “About Cindy and Phil?” I managed a shaky laugh. “Yeah, she couldn’t wait to rub it in my face.”

  “I’m sorry, Ash. I had no idea.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I was pretty clueless myself, and not just about that. But I’ve learned to take care of myself too, and I’ll figure something out. It’s just that I had some money saved to rent a place and—”

  “And you still have it!” said Gloria as she strode into the room carrying a vase full of my favorite red roses.

  “I do?” I tried to sit up but couldn’t.

  “Yep, every penny of it. It’s all there.”

  “Where was it?”

  Gloria looked a little sheepish at that question. “The boys took it. They had it hidden in their toy box.”

  “You’re kidding,” Nicole interjected as I stared dumbly at Gloria.

  “Nope. They followed Ashley into the garage one day and watched her take the money out and count it. To them it was like play money. They took it and played with it, then hid it just like she did. Believe me, they know better now.”

  Gloria said the last sentence with such emphasis that Nicole and I exchanged glances, both of us wondering what she did to them.

  “Then everything really will be all right,” I said with relief. Then a dark thought hit me. “What about the hospital bill? This must be costing a fortune.”

  “I’ve talked to your boss, and he told me about the fire. Your doctor feels that smoke inhalation caused or contributed to your condition, and Malcolm says his insurance will pay your hospital bill.”

  “You talked to Malcolm?” I said in wonder. “You have been busy. I guess I’m confused. Didn’t you just get home from Colorado?”

  “Two days ago. Phil called me right after you were brought here,” she answered.

  “You’ve been here since yesterday morning,” Nicole chimed in.

  “I have?” I said.

  “You have. Where do you want these?” Gloria waved the vase of roses she held.

  “Right there,” I said, pointing to the table at the foot of the bed. “So I can see them. Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

  “They are nice,” she agreed, rearranging them slightly. “Who are the rest of them from?”

  Only then did I notice three other flower arrangements, all of them oversized flower-shop deliveries.

  “I don’t know,” I said in amazement.

  Nicole picked up the cards and read one to me. “To our little heroine. Get well soon. Mal and the Inmates. Sounds like a rock group,” she laughed.

  The second one was from Phil, Earl, and Reynaldo, and the last card was the most astonishing of all. It was signed Ted Strobel.

  “You see?” Nicole said. “There are a lot of people who care about you.”

  I turned my head into the pillow so Nic and Gloria wouldn’t see me cry.

  • • •

  Over the next two days I had more visitors, including Earl and his granddaughter, Malcolm, and Bella. When Phil showed up, we both avoided the topic of Cindy.

  After talking about the weather and the gas station and my car needing a tune-up, Phil cleared his throat and said, “About the camper—”

  I interrupted him. “I don’t need to stay there anymore. I’m going to stay with Gloria a few days and then find a place in the city.”

  “That’s good,” he said with obvious relief.

  “I want you to know that I’m very grateful to you for letting me stay there.”

  Phil avoided my eyes and said, “Well, I’m feeling a little guilty about that, after you ended up in here. Your mother—”

  I interrupted him again. I did not want to discuss my mother with Phil ever again. “That’s not your fault. I am truly grateful to you for letting me stay. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me out. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, looking me in the eyes for the first time.

  “There you are. Even in here you’re still a glamour-puss.” Malcolm’s voice boomed so loud they could probably hear him at the nurse’s station. Behind him I could hear Bella’s giggle and see Tom grinning at me.

  As the three of them thundered into my room, Phil gave me a wave and slipped out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sunday morning Officer Strobel strolled into my hospital room, dressed in regular clothes instead of his cop’s uniform. It was only 8:15, but I was wide awake because the woman in the next bed had been whining nonstop for the last hour about how the nurses didn’t understand the tremendous amount of pain she was suffering.

  “Hi!” I said in surprise. “Thanks for the flowers. Have a seat.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said and sat down.

  After an awkward silence I hesitantly asked if he had brought me to the hospital.

  “Yeah, Earl called me. I took one look at you and knew you needed to get to a doctor right away. Ever since the robbery, I’d been keeping an eye on the gas station, so I had already figured out you were living in the camper,” Strobel said, shaking his head at me in disapproval. “I was going to speak to Phil about it. Living there was a really dumb idea.”

  I started to bristle and then he added, “Still, I have to admit you�
��ve got guts. I thought you were just another spoiled, selfish Burlingame brat. But, in spite of that big chip on your shoulder, you’ve got courage.”

  I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended by his remark. I decided not to waste my energy getting mad.

  “I wouldn’t call it courage,” I admitted. “I just didn’t have any choice. It was sink or swim after my mother disappeared.”

  “I see a lot of teenagers sink like stones. They’re used to their parents buying them whatever they want, so they think they can buy their way out of any situation. They perpetrate all kinds of offenses, get caught, and find out—surprise—there are some things money can’t buy.”

  “You know, it’s funny, I never hear anyone except a cop—I mean, officer of the law—use the word perpetrate,” I tweaked him.

  He flashed a quick smile, but kept on ranting. “All of the kids around here have this sense of entitlement—as if the world owes them something and they don’t have to work for anything. They get handed it all. Life is one big party for them. They think they’re exempt from the rules that the rest of us have to live by.”

  I held up my hand to stop him. “Excuse me, but I don’t think it’s all their fault. Somebody has encouraged them to think they’re special and exempt from the rules, you know. Anyway, where did you grow up that’s so different?”

  He gave me a sheepish grin. “Oh, I grew up around here, just like you. But my parents taught me some values.”

  “Poor Strobel,” I said lightly. “Did Daddy give you values instead of a nice new car or a stereo?”

  “I have a first name, you know. It’s Ted.”

  “All right, Officer Ted. We’ll agree that you were raised better than the rest of us. How about having a little sympathy for those who weren’t so lucky?”

  He recrossed his legs and leaned back in the chair. “Well, I have to admit it’s not all upbringing. Some people survive and turn out to be good citizens in spite of the worst sort of home environment. Others cross the line and end up in the gutter no matter how much love and money Mommy and Daddy give them. An awful lot of people are just plain weak. If they never have to face anything too difficult, they remain law abiding, but the minute a situation turns ugly, it’s impossible to know how they’ll react.”