Page 25 of Come Home to Me

I wrap my arm around her shoulders and guide her toward the entrance to the shop. “Come on. Let’s get your car and free you from a bus that somehow has something to do with old soup.” She leans her head on my shoulder, softening against my body.

Once inside, I stand back and watch, paying close attention as Sarah does her thing. I don’t want to invade—after all, she’s a grown woman—but I also want to make sure she knows I’m here if she needs me. The mechanic—an older man with a youthful pep to his step—leads us out back, then walks her around her car, pointing out the repairs.

Sarah runs a hand along the passenger door. “It looks good as new.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” The mechanic grins and then clears his throat. “So, here’s the thing. I’ve been having a hell of a time with your insurance.” He presses his lips together and shifts his weight back on his heel. “They approved the work, but now that everything’s done, they’re refusing to pay for the name brand parts.”

“What’s that mean?” Sarah’s voice comes out low and thin as a muscle pulses in her jaw. I step up close behind her as the mechanic continues.

“Well, I can’t let you take the car without getting paid, as I’m sure you can understand.” The look on his face is apologetic, but firm. “You can cover the difference and the insurance will reimburse you if they decide to pay for the parts or the car can sit here until things get settled. It’s up to you.”

I put my hand on Sarah’s lower back and damn if she isn’t trembling. “What’s the difference?” she asks.

The mechanic guides us back inside and over to a counter, where he pulls out an invoice detailing the work, the parts, and the amount her insurance is willing to cover. “So, you would be liable for thirty-five-hundred dollars.” He taps a number at the bottom of the paper.

“What?” Sarah’s eyes go wide. “I don’t have that much.” She reaches out a quaking hand and retrieves the paper, holding it close to her face as she studies the line items. “What am I supposed to do?” She glances at me with fear in her eyes. “I guess I just have to leave the car here and contact my insurance?” The statement is more of a question, as if her brain is working slightly faster than her mouth. She bobs her head and turns back to the mechanic. “I’m really sorry to put you through this. I’ll call them as soon as I get back to my place. I’ll leave a message every hour if I have to.”

This poor woman has had such a string of bad luck, starting with the accident. It’s one thing for her to have to stay in a terrible hotel. It’s another thing altogether for her to have to leave her car here because her insurance company is going to drag its heels about doing what she pays them to do. Sarah has done nothing but make the best of her situation, but she doesn’t have to keep fighting through this, because I have the means to make things just a touch easier.

“Tell you what,” I say to Sarah, happy to solve the problem. “Let me take care of the difference now and you can pay me back once your insurance reimburses you.” I reach into my back pocket for my wallet.

Sarah blinks, then lets out a short breath. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Yes, you can. See? It’s easy.” I hand the man my credit card and he’s all too happy to take it, swipe it, and hand it back.

The mechanic gives Sarah her keys while I sign the receipt. “Good luck,” he says. “And if I were you, I’d be looking for better insurance.”

Sarah steps outside, squinting against the sunlight as she digs through her purse, retrieves a prescription bottle, and pops a pill into her mouth.

“What was that?” I ask.

She turns to me with wild eyes. “I have problems with anxiety and I feel a panic attack coming on.” She screws the lid back on the pills and shoves them into her purse. “I’ve had to take them a lot lately, stupid me and this stupid adventure.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I don’t know. Once or twice a day. Most times it’s just half a pill. I’d actually cut back a lot before I left Ohio.” Sarah folds her arms across her chest and drops her chin. “I keep telling myself today is the day I’m going to stop taking them again and then something like this happens.”

“Once or twice a day?” I know none of this is my business, but warning bells are going off like crazy in my head. “Even on the days you drink?”

I think back to all the times the look in her eyes didn’t quite line up with the happy-go-lucky stuff coming out of her mouth. Have I been wrong about her? Is she hiding some deep, dark, drug-addicted secret? Is she a giant ball of chaos about to detonate all over my life? Hot damn! And I just lent the woman thirty-five hundred dollars!

Sarah’s lips form a thin line and she stares as if daring me to press the issue. She nods once, the tiniest movement of her head, and then lets out a long breath, her shoulders slumping forward. “I know it’s a bad idea, and I wouldn’t do it if I had to drive…”

“But you just took one now. And you have to drive.”

“I mean combine them. I wouldn’t combine them if I had to drive.” She tosses her hair. “Look, lots of people take medication for anxiety. And lots of people drive after taking them. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me.” I’m afraid to ask if she was under the influence the day of the accident. I don’t want to know the answer. “Have you considered…I don’t know…therapy or something? Maybe if you talk to someone, you could solve the cause of the problem instead of treating the symptoms.”

Sarah pushes off the wall. “Sure. Because all I need is to talk to someone and all my problems will be solved. Thanks for the tip.” She scowls at me as if I’d just suggested covering a knife wound with a Band-Aid and turns away.

“I hate the thought of you hurting, but I promise you, there’s a better way to deal with it.” I wait for her to reply and when she doesn’t, I continue. “What if you tried cutting back this weekend? And if you start feeling the anxiety building up, you can call me and try talking about what’s bothering you?”

I step up behind her, consider placing my hands on her shoulders and turning her to face me, then run my hand along the back of my neck instead. Maybe I should just cut my losses and run.

Maybe she’s another Violet.

Another Bree.

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