Georgia on Her Mind(30)

I nod and say something clever like “Mmm-hmm.” Does he realize the power he has over me?

He steps off the sidewalk and disappears into the darkness.



“Mrs. Woodward, please let me take you to the emergency room or call 911.”

“No, sweetie. No.”

“All right, but listen to me, woman…” I wag my finger. “I’m calling your doctor Monday morning, making an appointment and carting you there myself.”

She chuckles at me. “All right. My doctor’s number is on that notepad by the phone.” She reclines against the back of the couch, breathing deeply between each word. I can tell she is in pain.

I’m at a loss here. I’ve huffed and puffed and stuck out my chinny-chin-chin, but she refuses to go to the E.R.

“Do you want some aspirin or Tylenol?” I have to do something.

She shakes her head. Her face is pale and lined and her hand is pressed between her ribs.

With nothing else to do, I sit next to her and whisper prayers. I know God heals, so I ask Him to do that for Mrs. Woodward. Finally she rises and excuses herself to the bathroom. “I need to vomit.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Really?”

She nods. “It helps.”

I aid her to the bathroom. “Do you need me to stay in here with you?”

She shuts the door on me, which I take as a no. I sit on the edge of her bed and wait. A few minutes later she emerges.

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes,” she says. “I think I’ll curl up here, on my bed.”

“Good idea.” I fold back the covers and she climbs under, snuggling against her pillow.

I position myself next to her, propping my head against the old headboard, and slip my hand under hers. It’s warm and soft, like my grandma’s. She exhales without moaning, so I know she’s feeling better. After a few minutes she’s snoring.

I make sure she’s tucked in and click off the light. Gently I kiss her cheek. “Sweet dreams.”





Chapter Fourteen




Walking home, I am tired and drained. The sunburn is making me both hot and cold. I want a shower and my bed. I want to lie there and remember Dylan’s visit.

I’m almost to my front walk when I hear, “Psst, Macy.”

Who is pssting me? Shivers creep down my legs.

“Psst, Macy.”

I jump into the overgrown palmetto bushes and squint in the darkness. I have got to tell the condo board about all these late-night visitors.

The voice calls, “Where’d you go?”

I recognize the intonation this time and relax. “Drag, is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

I climb out of hiding. The pointy ends of the palm fronds scrape my burned arms and snag my skirt.

Drag is lying flat on his back, smack in the middle of the condo’s guest parking slots.

“For crying out loud, what are you doing?”

“Shhh, get down.” He karate chops the back of my knee (not the sunburned side, thank you) and I collapse to the pavement. “Lie flat,” he whispers.

I laugh as I tuck my skirt under my backside, draw my sweater closer and lie down. This is nuts.

“What are we doing?” I whisper back. If he tells me we’re about to be invaded by alien creatures, I’m outa here.

“Gazing.”

Gazing? I can do gazing. I gaze at him for a second, wondering if he’s all right. Maybe he’s smoked some funny grass? I sniff. He smells like Irish Spring, and unless deodorant soap is more potent than I realize, Drag is lying on the pavement at midnight with a sane mind, and has managed to get me to do the same.

After a second Drag waves his arms toward the expanse. “Look at all the stars.”

“They’re beautiful.” I’ve seen the stars tonight, but not through Drag’s eyes. I’m captivated by his ability to see meaning in simplicity. Who in their right mind would make their bed on pavement and be in awe?

“Makes you wonder who’s out there,” he whispers, as if he’s afraid “they” might hear.

“God’s out there. Actually, He’s everywhere,” I say with confidence and conviction.

“You’ve seen Him?” Drag asks right in my ear.

“Not with my eyes, but with my heart.” I tap my chest. “The Bible says, ‘Christ in you, the hope of glory.’”

“Then how can He be out there?” Drag points to the stars. “And live in you?”

I laugh. He’s a twentysomething with the heart of a six-year-old.

“Like I said, He’s everywhere.” I remember part of a Psalm. “‘If I ascend to the heavens, make my bed in Sheol, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, or dwell in the uttermost part of the sea, Your hand will lead me.’”

“Awesome. Shakespeare?” Drag asks.

“No, King David.” Quoting the verse bolsters my own faith.

“Sounds like Shakespeare.”

“Perhaps Shakespeare sounds like King David.”

“Where do I read King David?”

“The Bible,” I say. “The Psalms.”

“I’ll check it out.”

I bite back a laugh, contemplating how strange it is to be stretched out on the pavement with Drag talking about God and King David.