Page 39 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

He wriggled his fingers, nodding.

A little drunk on exhilaration, I closed the gap between us in a half dozen strides. Hugging the trophy against his chest with one arm, Russell clasped my hand in his and raised our arms up to a fresh round of cheers from the crowd.

I arched up on my toes to shout, “You’ve had quite a winning streak lately.”

He leaned down to speak into my ear, his breath warm. “Just winning one for my biggest fan.”

“Aw, I’m flattered.”

He winked. “I meant my grandmother.”

“Oh, now I’m embarrassed.” Had I misread? Was he just glad to see a familiar face? I hated old insecurities that I’d thought were long gone.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He set the trophy on the hood of his car. “I was joking. You’re my girl.”

He looped his arms around my waist and lifted me into a spin. Squealing, I rested my hands on his shoulders, seeing only him. The rest of the world blurred in comparison.

Slowly, he lowered me until we were face-to-face, and I planted a quick kiss on his mouth. His eyes flashed with surprise—and more.

He eased me down onto the hood of his car just as someone shouted, “Smile.”

I turned to the voice—the photographer for theBent Oak Weekly. My skin tingled with anxiety, for fear of detection. I tipped my head as quickly as I could to shield my face with my hair. TheBent Oak Weeklyhad a readership smaller than most high school enrollments, but I wasn’t taking unnecessary chances, not when happiness was finally within my grasp.

Russell’s hands tightened around my waist. “Are you ready to go dancing?”

Yes. Yes. Yes.I wanted to squeal in abandon but settled for a more dignified response. I stretched out my legs, wriggling my toes in my ballet flats. “I have my dancing shoes on.”

“All righty, then. Just give me a minute to head over to the restrooms for a quick shower and change—”

“Winnie? Winnie,” Libby’s voice called out from a distance, insistent and drawing closer.

I glanced at my watch. Keith’s end-of-school party wasn’t due to finish for another hour. I clenched Russell’s arm. Libby and I counted on each other for so much more than friendship.

“Over here,” I hollered back, raising a hand.

Libby angled past the reporter, tugging Keith behind her. She ran the last few feet, still wearing the jean dress and white sneakers I’d helped her choose for the school event. Her expression worried me.

“Winnie, Russell, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I know it’s a time to celebrate.” She paused, catching her breath. “But Annette collapsed at the school’s book fair. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

Russell swayed, bracing a hand on the hood of his car. “What’s wrong?”

I’d never seen him flustered before, and somehow that shook me all the more. The world started spinning again, but in the very worst way. I managed to hold it together enough to slide a comforting arm around Russell’s waist. I should have paid closer attention to Annette this week, should have noticed she’d stretched herself too thin.

Libby continued, “It looks like she’s had a heart attack. She was conscious and talking when they loaded her in the ambulance. But she wanted me to give you a message.”

“Yes?” Russell asked.

Wincing, Libby shook her head. “A message for Winnie. She needs you to come to the hospital right away. She said it’s urgent.”

Waiting room chairs weren’t any more comfortable here than back in Mobile, where I’d sat with Phillip after my father’s stroke and my mom’s cancer treatments. Then, the latest diagnosis on my fertility issues. Between all my lost pregnancies and my stay in the institution, I dreaded setting foot in a hospital, because every time I entered these sterile halls, I lost a little more control over my life. Even the word launched a well of nausea that reminded me of miscarried children and the loss of my parents.

In my world, hospitals rarely had a positive outcome.

Russell, still in his racing gear, clutched my hand. Or I gripped his. Either way, we clung to each other as time ticked by until we received further news from the emergency room physician about Annette’s condition. Because yes, she’d suffered a heart attack.

And so we waited. And waited. Silence was broken only by the occasional rattling cart, voices over the PA system, and the television mounted in the corner broadcasting a football game.

A nurse rounded the corner, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum. Her name tag readVicki Tyler. The paper mill owner’s daughter, newly back in town after completing college.

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