Out of Order by Casey Lawrence Read Free Book Online

like me, that doesn’t make me Jennifer Love Hewitt,” I laughed, continuing to make ridiculous noises in the direction of the glowing yellow eyes. “Oh come on. Shake the treats.”
    Ricky shook the box of treats, and we both held our breaths as it rattled. The cat blinked but didn’t move.
    “The commercials lied ,” Ricky whined. “Dumb commercials!” She shook the box again, harder. “Come on out and get your yum-yums!”
    “It’s a commercial’s job to lie,” I said. I carefully ducked into the cavity beneath the sink, tipping my head forward to avoid hitting it on the pipes. “Why do you keep towels under here?”
    “Storage,” Ricky replied, her voice sounding far away. “When Gran passed away we got a bunch of her stuff, mostly linens, and ran out of room to put them. Plus Dad figured if the sink ever started to leak, it wouldn’t rot the wood or make a mess or anything.”
    “So you’d just get disgusting mildewy towels rotting away under here? Wonderful.” I tried to get my hands around the cat, but she shied away and back into the corner, which was outside the range of my arms. “It is actually pretty nice back here. I can see why you like it so much,” I told the cat.
    “What?” Ricky yelled. “Speak up. You’re all muffled!”
    “She doesn’t understand your need to protect yourself from all this madness, but I do. Believe me, if I had a warm place to curl up every time I was scared, I’d do it too. But it’s safe now, and we’re going to take you somewhere nice and quiet.”
    “What are you saying ?” Ricky sounded exasperated, but I didn’t bother yelling back.
    “Ricky loves you and wants to protect you. Come here,” I could just barely reach the top of Mittens’ head with my arm outstretched. I scratched it gently. “See? I’m safe.”
    The cat sniffed my fingers and then nuzzled into my scratching. Slowly I moved my hand back so that she would follow it, coming closer and closer to me. Once she was in range, I wrapped my arms around her through a towel and pulled her out. She was purring in my arms.
    “Were you having a real conversation with my cat?” Ricky asked, looking shocked. “You really are the cat whisperer. She doesn’t purr like that for me!”
    I passed the cat over to her and shrugged. “It’s a talent,” I said. “It’s all about playing into their instincts.” I missed the warmth of her almost immediately. I twisted my fingers into the thick fabric of the towel left in my arms.
    “I am both envious and mildly terrified,” Ricky said, sounding serious but looking amused.
    “Maybe you should be,” I laughed, skipping past her into the hallway, still carrying the towel. It held the residual warmth of her cat, which I found comfort in. I would have preferred a heartbeat.

June 27th
     
     
    M Y FINGERS twisted in fabric, but it was thicker and coarser than Ricky’s grandmother’s towels. The blanket wrapped tightly around my shoulders was suddenly stifling. I was simultaneously too hot and too cold, my own breath hitting my face in warm gusts. The oxygen mask fogged and unfogged as I gasped, trying to twist out of the blanket, but I was tangled.
    “Off, off,” I said, clawing at the blanket and trying to reach my face.
    The male paramedic pulled the oxygen mask off easily, and the elastic snapped against my cheek. The sting of it helped to ground me, to calm my racing heart. The ambulance rocked again, a little more violently, and then the feel of it changed—almost as though we were slowly driving downhill into the depths of a cavernous maw. “We’re here. We’re at the hospital. Just breathe, Corinna,” he said, pushing my bangs off my forehead.
    Just breathe. As though it were that easy. As though every breath wasn’t a knife in my freaking chest , scraping along my ribs with a terrifying rattle.
    I tried to focus on my breathing, the in and out of it, forcing myself through it like we had with Ricky during her asthma attacks—in