Page 13 of A Very Happy Easter

“How did…? I don’t get…?”

“Do me a favour and pick up the knife?”

Gingerly, I plucked it from the dirt and folded the blade in as Heath hoisted the wannabe mugger to his feet. The guy let out a yelp, and I waved the can of pepper spray in his face.

“Shut up. I’m still really tempted to use this.”

Heath shook his head. “A broken rib is enough.”

“Just the one? Well, that’s disappointing.”

A shove, and the guy ran, stumbling towards his fallen pushbike. Heath relieved me of the knife, wiped it on his shirt, and tossed it into the brambles.

“What the hell was that?” I asked. “When were you going to tell me you’re actually Superman?”

“When I was home between deployments, I took Krav Maga classes.”

“And where was home? A Marvel comic?”

“Herefordshire.” He reached for me, and I stepped back instinctively. “I just need my phone, Edie. From my inside jacket pocket.”

“Of course.” I sucked in a lungful of air. “Of course, we should call the police. What was I thinking?”

What was I thinking? Way too much, it turned out. The panic attack hit me like a freight train, and I froze. My ears began ringing, my pulse raced, and I clutched at Heath’s arm to steady myself as the dizziness came.

Heath looked at me, questioning, and then his eyes widened. “Fuck.”

“I-I-I’m okay.”

He quickly tucked his phone in a pocket and held up a hand, fingers splayed.

“Touch your little finger to my middle finger.”

“What?”

“It’s magic; trust me.”

I focused through the fear and did as he instructed. There was no explosion of calm.

“Now touch your ring finger to my little finger.”

I complied. “W-w-why are you doing this?”

“Touch your thumb to my forefinger.”

Slowly, I began to realise. Heath had recognised my panic attack, and he was helping me to get through it. Distracting me by making me think. A sob burst out of me. He understood, and he was helping.

“You didn’t s-s-say ‘Simon says.’”

“Simon says do the funky chicken.”

The tears turned to laughter. “No. No way.”

“Spoilsport. About that call…”

“Yes?”

My breathing steadied, and Heath didn’t seem to mind when I clung to his arm. So much for a fun road trip. This was more like The Blair Witch Project than Thelma & Louise.

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