tile, he slipped down the short hall, Mary Alice close behind him. Another sound in the kitchen, like another drawer being opened and closed. Jim thought about calling out, trying to scare away the looter, but what if whoever that was already had a bag packed and took it with him? What if he came into the narrow hallway with a weapon of his own? They’d be sitting ducks. So Jim waited until they were in the kitchen doorway before he barked, “Stop right there!” as he raised the flashlight and shined the beam full into the face of the surprised intruder.
He got the fast, blurred impression of a middle-aged man, no one he knew. He expected a look of shock, expected the guy to bolt for the back door. Instead the looter spun toward them, reaching down to jerk a pistol from his waistband. But Jim’s pistol was already in his hand, and Mary Alice was standing right behind him. Knowing he had to protect her wasn’t really a thought, it was something much faster and more basic than that, something that had him pulling the trigger almost before he saw the pistol in the intruder’s hand.
The intruder fired, but he hadn’t brought his hand all the way up and around, and the bullet hit the wall to the left. Mary Alice screamed, and Jim fired again.
The intruder fell, overturning one of the kitchen chairs, knocking over the trash can.
Mary Alice kept screaming, though she slapped both hands over her mouth. Jim turned and put his arms around her. To his surprise he was shaking like a leaf, worse even than she was, and carefully he reached out to place the pistol on the countertop before he dropped it. Then he held on to his wife, and they shook together.
Sela had spent the night at Carol’s house, to help take care of her. Barb didn’t need to be going up and down the stairs at all hours of the night to check on Carol, and if Carol decided to do something stupid—like try to get up by herself—Olivia wouldn’t be able to stop her. That left Sela to sleep on a pallet on the floor in Carol’s bedroom.
Not that Carol didn’t protest; she did, vociferously and often. Sela said, “If it were me lying there with a broken leg, where would you be?”
Carol scowled at her. The expression was kind of funny, because Carol was loopy on pain medication and instead of a real scowl she looked more as if she had just bitten into a crab apple. Sela swallowed a laugh as she turned out the light and tried to make herself comfortable on the pallet. Her makeshift bed wasn’t terrible; she’d put Carol’s yoga pad down, then a sleeping bag, then a quilt folded in half lengthwise. She had her pillow. The door was open so the heat from the fireplace could come through. No, it wouldn’t be a restful night, but she’d get some sleep.
She turned on her side and got comfortable; she was even beginning to doze off when Carol started up again. “I’m perfectly all right by myself. I know I can’t get up and go to the bathroom. There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep on the floor—”
“I was almost asleep when you started talking again,” Sela said, and followed that with a firm “Hush.”
There was a muted grumble from the bed. Sela listened, and in a few minutes Carol’s breathing had slowed and deepened. Tired from the stressful day, Sela dozed off. She didn’t get any deep sleep, of course, and three times during the night she got up to put wood on the fire. Once she had to help Carol to the portable chair toilet they’d placed by her bed. The patient’s restlessness told her the pain medication was wearing off, so she gave her another pill.
Because she didn’t sleep well, she was up well before dawn, and put the kettle on the fire to make coffee. She got dressed as quietly as possible, then sat at the table and made notes about getting classes organized for the kids. It occurred to her that, when Carol could get around better and wasn’t in so much pain, in a few weeks, one of the classes could be held here. Having something to do would keep her aunt out of trouble, and the kids could help her. It was a win-win.
She had drunk half of her instant coffee when heavy footsteps pounded