Page 45 of Lightning in a Mason Jar

Bailey Rae gripped the rock until the edges cut into her hand even through the glove. Could leaving be that simple? She wanted it to be. But her path to departure seemed littered with nightmares and death, which only served to amplify her concern for Gia and Cricket’s safety. Fear of another hospital visit, or worse.

Could that be the real cause of the sleepless nights? Bailey Rae thought back to hearing at the market that Gia still hadn’t filed for an order of protection. Maybe one more phone call of support would make the difference, showing Gia she wasn’t alone with her own silence.

Bailey Rae pocketed the stone and hugged Thea hard. “What do you say we get some sweet tea before we tackle the rest?”

1978

The hospital elevator smelled as strongly of antiseptic as it had the day before. But I’d come better prepared this time. I’d chewed two antacid tablets just before stepping into the air-conditioned lobby. Just as a precaution. So far, the emotional high of successfully settling Thea in the boardinghouse had me tapping my foot to an ABBA tune piping through the speaker.

The elevator doors slid open in front of the nurses’ station, where Russell leaned his elbows on the counter, deep in conversation. Could he be flirting with the young woman? The jealous notion blindsided me. An irrational thought, no doubt fueled by Phillip’s incessant flirting with other women.

I needed to remember Russell was nothing like Phillip. And Russell had made his interest in me clear. As I looked closer, his intense expression showed concern rather than playfulness. The green-eyed monster inside me retreated. Such a distracting beast. I hauled my focus back to the task at hand—updating Annette on Thea’s arrival.

Had she said anything to Russell? I’d wondered before and was curious all over again about the layers of secrets that made up my life in Bent Oak. How much did he know? Was it okay to ask Annette? Or would even questioning knock me out of the running to help out again?

Or worse yet, what if I was relocated to another town?

About two years ago, I’d picked up paperwork from the paralegal for a woman in her fifties who’d been found by her ex and needed yet another new identity. A horrifying prospect that still sent me reaching for the roll of Tums in my hobo bag. Maybe I’d been too quick to believe I had a better handle on being in a hospital again. My surroundings already seemed to have ignited all my deepest fears.

Russell glanced up, his golden-brown gaze holding mine for a handful of rapid heartbeats before he met me halfway.

I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and wished I’d had time to change out of my paper mill uniform, which smelled of chemicals even when freshly laundered. “How’s Annette doing today? Is she up for more visitors? I just wanted to pop in and give her an update on the errand she needed me to run.”

“The doctor just stopped in to see her, but Granny should be ready after that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you want to grab a quick cup of coffee? There’s a machine at the end of the hall.”

When I nodded, he palmed my back, guiding me down the corridor to the concessions nook and popping coins into the slot. How did my relationship with Russell fit into the shift in myself that had happened with Thea yesterday? Surely Russell must knowsomethingabout what his grandmother did in that library, but how would he feel if I joined? His NASCAR dreams would do more than take him out of town. They could involve a level of recognition—fame even—that I couldn’t be a part of, even more so now than before. I hadn’t forgotten about the local paper snapping a photo of us together after his last victory. I couldn’t afford to court disaster that way.

“Winnie? Are you okay?” He angled his head into my line of sight, holding two Styrofoam cups. “I can stay with Granny this afternoon. You don’t have to be here. I’ll let the mill know they’ll need to find someone else to drive my haul. You just came off a long shift. Go enjoy some of that fishing you love.”

He’d noticed? Of course he had.

I took the warm cup from him, our fingers brushing. “You’re sweet to have picked up on that.”

“Winnie, I’ve made a point of learning everything I can about you. Like how you have cooking peach jam down to an art form. And how your eyes turn the color of bottled glass when you make your own jars. I can keep listing if you would like.”

His intensity stirred butterfly nerves in my stomach, just a hint. But not enough to scare me off. “Uh, that’s plenty. Thanks. I feel bad for not learning more about NASCAR stats.”

“You’re there cheering on my races. The world would be a boring place if we liked exactly the same things. Now, wouldn’t it?”

“Not everyone sees it that way.” I breathed in the scent of java and reminded myself that I was no longer a prisoner of the past—no matter what subconscious cues the hospital atmosphere was sending to my brain. “In my, uh, last relationship before I moved here ... When he would say ‘we have nothing in common,’ that was code for me to join in with all of his interests, while he ignored mine. I know it sounds like such a small thing.”

“Not at all.” He waited for me to continue, drinking his coffee, giving me space.

But I didn’t say anything more. That was all I dared risk. If I slid down thatAlice in Wonderlandrabbit hole of memories, I might lose myself and let something slip. It was exhausting, keeping so many secrets. But the alternative? Risking landing back in my old life? Unthinkable.

I worked hard not to remember the time in the hospital—not this one. The psychiatric hospital. The calendar insisted I’d been there for nine months. My brain remembered only half as much. At times I questioned my own sanity. Had Phillip been right in committing me? Except why, then, did he never visit after that first week? I’d long wondered. Was my mind clearer because of the treatments or due to the distance from Phillip’s influence?

Near the end of my stay, I’d needed an off-campus appointment with a specialist because of uterine cysts. I hadn’t seen newspapers in the longest time. As I waited for surgery, I tore into the society section of issue after issue to catch up with my friends. Friends who hadn’t come to see me, but then, would I have visited them if the positions were reversed? Likely, I would have told myself they needed rest and I didn’t want to disturb them. Excuses to cover the truth of confronting uncomfortable subjects.

Looking back, I’m sure there were people in my Mobile social circle who pushed boundaries, but in those days, I still saw the world in black-and-white terms. All good. All bad. Not a healthy outlook.

Which was why the newspaper articles hit me hard. Photos of Phillip at one society event after another, a beautiful woman on hisarm. No mentions of me. Nothing. Not even a comment about my absence. I’d been erased.

The cysts turned out to be worse than expected, and I ended up having a hysterectomy. While tears leaked from my eyes, the nurse had patted my hand, telling me how lucky I was not to have cancer. My husband had sent flowers. Wasn’t that nice?

As if a dozen roses made up for his absence.

My anger at Phillip grew, along with my hunger for information. I asked the candy striper for newspapers and magazines, reading material to pass the time. A young hospital aide would be less likely to question what I should and shouldn’t access. But I needed to find some mention in one of those articles that I’d existed. That I’d mattered. And at every turn of a glossy page, I came up blank.

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