Downhome Crazy by Cammie Eicher Read Free Book Online

I fall back against the wall, sides shaking.
    The internal fight goes on longer than I’d like, but I finally regain control. I return to the scene of the action just in time to see Rev. Hayslinger jump from one foot to the other, his knees going higher than I would have expected his arthritis to allow. For one brief minute, I am reminded of a National Geographic documentary they showed us back in high school of an African tribe performing some native dance. If he starts squatting and thrusting a spear, it’s out of the room time again.
    Dwaine has his cell phone in hand, and I notice he’s texting. I am quite impressed he’s able to do that, what with a thumb that kinda looks like a squashed radish. I’m sure there’s a story behind it, but I’m not about to ask.
    He shows me the text before he pushes “send.” The message is brief and directed to the local emergency room: “Need another psych bed.”
    I nod. Whatever particular passion is filling the good minister it’s not normal, especially not in Fortuna, where the only public excess of emotion is when the cheerleaders win Nationals.
    Dwaine motions with his head toward Penelope then points toward the door. I take the hint and round her up, gently drawing her away from her foot-stomping father and out into the hall.
    “The chief would like your dad to go to the hospital and be checked out.” That sounds so much nicer than “involuntary commitment”, doesn’t it?
    Penelope claps a hand against her mouth and her eyes widen. That leads me to wonder if she already knows her beloved daddy’s destination once he gets into Dwaine’s cruiser.
    The answer, I realize, is “no” as she rolls her eyeballs toward heaven, drops to her knees, and passes out. My reaction to this crisis is instinctive; I shout for Dwaine. He runs to us, followed by her dancing daddy, and does what I could have if I’d thought about it. Dwaine gives Penelope a slap on the cheek, which brings an immediate reaction. She slaps him back.
    Ah, I realize, she was faking. A light goes off in my little brain, and I realize why Dwaine was so irritated at the choir rehearsal. Apparently, this is status quo for Penelope and crises. Florine stole her thunder back there with her conniption fit, but Penelope owns this particular stage.
    “Might make it two,” Dwaine mutters as he rubs the red spot growing on his cheek. Penelope developed quite a wallop for a supposedly unconscious woman. I wonder if the hospital would let her and her father share a room in the behavioral unit and cut the price a little.
    I help the sobbing Penelope to her feet as Dwaine directs her father toward the door. The Rev.’s slowed down a bit, which should be expected considering his age. I keep a good grip on Penelope’s hand and mutter the occasional “there, there” and “he’ll be fine” as Dwaine settles Rev. Hayslinger in the cruiser. Penelope’s wailing increases when she realizes he’s riding in the back, behind the cage where there are no door handles.
    I’m mentally counting the days and realize if the minister’s kept the standard three days, he’ll be out in time to preach on Sunday. I wonder what kind of sermon this experience will inspire. The time he rang bells for the Salvation Army during their Christmas campaign led to a diatribe on how cruel folks were to let an old man sling a bell for three hours and only give thirteen dollars and twenty-two cents.
    As the cruiser pulls away, I realize I’m in an unenviable position. I’m only a few blocks from my house, which is where Carson will return I’m sure. But if I walk away from Penelope, what will her neighbors think? Will they gossip about how callous I am digging up all the town dirt for my reports on WFRT, but too good to help a daughter in distress?
    My salvation comes in a most unlikely way. My cell phone trills, and when I answer, it’s Eugene on the line. Truth be told, I’d forgotten about him. The circus in which I’d become an