The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(33)

“Are you okay?” A teen girl wearing Converse sneakers and a silver-and-leather choker had her phone whipped out, ready to call 911. “Should I call the police?”

Steffi cringed and let her hair fall to cover her face. What must she look like to bystanders? Deranged? Drunk? Fortunately, there weren’t many people nearby. Just an elderly couple she didn’t recognize, thank God. She didn’t need old biddy gossip making its way to Benny or her dad.

“No, no.” Steffi hoisted herself up and brushed herself off, careful not to touch her angry red knee. “I just tripped.”

“You were really out of it, ma’am.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “Are you on medication or something? Maybe you shouldn’t drive.”

Ma’am? On top of looking foolish, Steffi looked old ? She stared at the girl, whose purple bangs obscured her left eye. “I’m fine, thanks. I was distracted, then a little dazed by the fall.”

“Okay.” The girl pressed her lips together and narrowed her eyes, but put her phone into her backpack. “Hope you feel better.”

She then turned and took off without looking back.

Steffi lumbered back inside for a box of Band-Aids, glancing at her watch. Dammit. She placed a large square bandage over her knee before leaving the store. When she finally got in the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. Adrenaline ebbed from her body, which sagged as if she’d run the freakin’ marathon.

The last thing she remembered was the motorcycle dude’s lame remark, then nothing. Prior concussions hadn’t been this bad. The fogginess hadn’t been so extreme, and it had gradually improved. These new lapses—like sleepwalking in daylight—were peculiar. Of course, a direct, intentional hit to the temple with a gun was worse than the whacks she’d taken on the field. She’d been knocked out cold for some time.

Because she’d been hit on her head one too many times in her life, this might be her new normal. She could live with that if it weren’t for the nagging fear that it would get worse.

When she stopped shivering, she drove home and delivered the meds to her dad, accidentally waking him from his midday snooze.

“What happened to your knee?” he asked, having now removed those protective glasses.

“Tripped. No biggie.” She tossed the bag on his coffee table. “Listen, I can’t chat because I’m late for an appointment. Maybe you, Benny, and I can grab dinner soon?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, still a bit groggy.

She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and then scrambled back to the van and weaved through town to the Hightop Road house.

Claire’s Beetle was parked in front, so at least Steffi hadn’t missed the whole meeting. She trotted up the porch steps and knocked on the door. Voices from inside echoed off the floors and walls of the empty house. Seconds later, a cute woman with hair the shade of Elmo’s answered.

“Stefanie?” she asked, opening the door wide.

“Yes.” Steffi extended her hand.

“I’m Helena Briggs.” The name suited the tall woman with dramatic plum eye shadow. She wore her hair short, her wine-colored dress even shorter, and sported navy-blue nail polish. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” Steffi sighed. “Sorry I’m so late. I had an incident with my father.”

Claire’s perturbed expression transformed to concern. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. He required some help with a doctor’s appointment that took longer than expected.” Claire’s gaze dropped to Steffi’s bandaged knee, but Steffi waved her question away. “Tell me I didn’t miss everything.”

“I just walked Claire through the house and discussed the issues.” Helena spoke with an accent that bore a slight resemblance to Katharine Hepburn’s speech. Affected, yet interesting. “We’d like to update the kitchen, master bath, and the Jack-and-Jill bathroom, open up the first floor a bit for flow, and have a consistent theme and decor throughout. That said, I don’t want cookie cutter. This house won’t end up looking like every TV reno project. No white cabinets or Carrara marble, God forbid!”

“Well, decor is squarely Claire’s gig, but I’m excited to work on something more original. Catch me up on the big construction wish list and proposed time frames.” Steffi followed the women to the generous kitchen that offered distant water views, as Steffi had suspected. Cornflower-blue cabinetry and decorative-tile countertops harkened back to the eighties. A bay window graced the breakfast nook, though, so that would remain a key feature. Steffi whipped out her notepad and started taking notes, knowing she’d need to take a quick peek upstairs before they left.

Thirty minutes later, she and Claire departed with a promise to send Mrs. Briggs a bid within a week.

On their way to their respective cars, Claire asked, “What really happened?”

“What do you mean?” Steffi feigned indignation at the implication that she’d lied.

“You were late but didn’t give details about your dad. Was that a cover, Steffi?” Claire’s brow popped up in that knowing way as she pointed at Steffi’s knee. She suspected the truth.

“Not entirely. I had to drive him home from the eye doctor, and then he asked me to get his blood thinner because his prescription had run out . . .” She trailed off, with a slight shudder from recalling finding herself on her knees in the parking lot.