Meeting at Midnight by Eileen Wilks Read Free Book Online Page A

having shot off my mouth. Not the real reason, maybe, but while we were on the subject…. “You should probably know something else. If Zach starts talking about the bad man and the policeman who shot him—well, that really happened. Maybe someone filled you in on that?”
    They hadn’t. Useless bunch of busybodies. Why hadn’t they told her the stuff that mattered, so I wouldn’t have to? I didn’t like thinking about that night. The strobing red of the cop car lights, the hard white light inside the store, where a crazy bastard had held Gwen and my son at gunpoint…the fear, raw and jagged like a gutful of broken glass.
    I’d failed them. No matter how often I told myself there was nothing I could have done to protect them, the bitterness of my failure didn’t go away.
    But Seely would need to know the basics, so I told her about the holdup of a convenience store last April, and how Gwen and Zach had been among the hostages taken by a not-too-bright gunman. And how Duncan had saved them.
    â€œMy God, Ben. You said something about Zach having had a lot of uncertainty in his life, but I never imagined anything like this.”
    â€œHe seems to be doing okay. Gwen took him to this guy who does play therapy. That’s where kids tell their stories with toys,” I explained, “and the therapist sort of plays with them, only in a way that helps them work through things.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI wasn’t part of it.”
    â€œThat’s what I mean. There’s nothing worse than being helpless when someone you love is hurting or in danger.”
    Uncomfortable, I said, “I don’t usually blather on so much. I just thought you ought to know.”
    She chuckled. “You call that blathering? I don’t think anything you said even qualifies as a secret. And I do know a few. It’s amazing what people will say to a paramedic. I suppose doctors and nurses experience that, too.”
    Was that why I felt like there was something between us—because she’d saved my life? Turning the idea over in my mind, I decided it made sense.
    She stood. “Seems to me you could use some play therapy yourself, but for now we’ll settle for getting you dressed. C’mon, up with you. I’ll take that sling off.”
    The moment I stood, the room shrank. Seely was standing very close, and the soft herbal scent of her hair seemed stronger. I pretended I didn’t notice. “I can get this strap in front.”
    â€œOkay. Turn a bit…there.” The sling came loose, and she slipped it off. “Of course, I don’t know half the secrets Daisy does. If you ever met her, you’d find yourself telling her your life story in no time. People do.”
    My shoulder ached more without the sling’s support, so I supported that arm with my other hand. “Who’s Daisy? A friend?”
    â€œThat, yes. Also my mother.”
    â€œYou call your mother by her first name?”
    â€œSure. Can you get those buttons, or do you need some help?”
    I thought about letting her unbutton my pajama shirt. Her knuckles would brush against my skin…better to let my right arm dangle and fumble the buttons out left-handed. “I can do it. You did say your mother was unusual.”
    She chuckled again. A man could get hooked on that sound. “Unusual, yes. She used to be a flower child. The real thing, Haight-Ashbury and all that. In some ways she still is, though she’s doing pretty well as an artist these days. I tease her that she’s lost in the sixties. Here, we’ll do the difficult arm first.”
    She eased the pajama shirt off my shoulder. It fit snugly over the bandages, so she had to take her time. It was ridiculous to get turned on by that, under the circumstances. But itwas a good thing the sweatpants were baggy. “An artist, huh? What kind?”
    â€œSculpture. She’s into what