Page 64 of Freeing Ruby

I take a seat, feeling very self-conscious. Miguel hands me his duffle bag. “Hold this for me?”

“Sure.” I set it on my lap and rest my arms on it.

Miguel squeezes my shoulder. “Just relax, honey. I’ll have you home in no time.” He rolls me toward the door. “Just focus on Pumpkin and how happy he’ll be to see you again.” When we reach the privacy curtain, he reaches out to grasp the fabric. “I’m going to open the curtain now, okay?”

I nod and close my eyes. I hear the whirring sound as the curtain slides open. The chair moves. I can tell we’re in the hallway because the air feels a bit cooler, and now I hear the chatter of distant voices, conversations in other rooms, down the hallway, probably in the waiting room.

“Doing okay?” he asks.

“Mm-hmm.” My eyes are still closed, and the longer we’re out here—out in public—the more my stomach hollows out, and I feel sick. My ears start to ring.

I hear the ding of an elevator, then the whoosh of the doors. I can tell he’s wheeled me inside. There are other people in here with us, murmuring quietly about where they’re going to go for dinner.

As the elevator descends, Miguel rests both hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently. It’s only then that I realize I’m shaking and breathing heavily.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs quietly. “Try to relax.”

Still, I keep my eyes closed and go to my happy place—my apartment. Only it’s not my apartment we’re going to. It’s a different place filled with my things. I focus on my art supplies, performing a mental inventory of all my brushes and paints and palette tools. I catalog my favorite paintings that hang in my studio. I think about the commissions I’m working on—customer orders that are behind schedule now because of my hospitalization.

The elevator doors open, and the wheelchair moves forward. Ambient noises are louder now. I hear voices all around me. I smell flowers—roses, to be exact. I smell coffee. We must be passing through the hospital lobby.

“We’re almost at the door,” Miguel says in a low voice. “Once we’re outside, I’ll wheel you to the front passenger door of my car. I’ll help you into the vehicle, and we’ll be off. Okay?”

I nod. What other choice do I have? None.

Miguel brushes his hand gently over my hair. “You’re doing great. Just a little farther. Hang in there.”

When Miguel wheels me out through the doors, I’m hit with a gentle breeze and the scents of the outdoors. I smell fresh-cut grass and flowers, car exhaust. The heat from the sun warms my face.

I’m outside for the first time in two years.

The shaking intensifies.

When I hear the screech of tires, followed by someone leaning on their horn, I flinch.

Miguel rubs my back. “It’s okay. Just some idiot behind a wheel.”

The wheelchair glides to a gentle stop, and then I hear the beep of his vehicle doors unlocking. At the sound of the car door opening, I shudder, as it brings back memories of the carjacking.

“In you go,” he says. He takes the duffle bag off my lap and tosses it into the rear seat of the vehicle. He takes my hand, helps me stand, and guides me into the front passenger seat.

I still haven’t opened my eyes. If I can’t see it, it’s not real. I’m not really outside.

I’m shaking when he secures my seat belt. He lays his hand on my thigh. “Ready to go?”

When he reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it, a shiver courses down my spine.

“You’re trying to distract me,” I say, fighting a smile.

He chuckles. “Is it working?”

I laugh. “Maybe a little.”

“I’m going to shut your door, then walk around to the driver’s side and get in. Then we’ll be off. We’ll be home before you know it.”

My door closes. A moment later, the driver’s door opens. The vehicle rocks slightly as he slides into the driver’s seat. As soon as the engine starts, we move forward, eventually surging into traffic.

“Don’t you want to see where we’re going?” he asks.

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