Banana Muffins & Mayhem (15 page)

She loaded her arms with all of the storage canisters she could safely carry and ferried the ingredients to the kitchen island. Distraction would be the best way to prevent coming unglued. She still hadn't decided on the dried fruits to include in the muffins, so she returned to the pantry. Perhaps an unusual combination would catch readers' attention. She grabbed jars of dates and raisins. Those would add sweet jammy pockets of flavor to the sure to be moist muffins.

Her cell phone began ringing as she was trying to decide if she wanted to use vanilla or almond extract to add a flavor boost to the batter. She was surprised to see Geri's name on the screen. Had she gone back to Mick's already to try to find out more about the splatters and gotten into trouble?

"Hello?"

"Can you go to Kellerton Hospital right now?"

Amy's heartbeat whooshed in her ears. "Yes…why? Are you hurt?"

"No, but Bruce is. Carla dropped Macy off a few minutes ago. She's on her way to the hospital. He's been shot."

(Carla)

Carla stuck her hands in the front pockets of her jeans as she walked past the bank of vending machines for the tenth time. Her husband was injured, lying on a bed in the emergency room where she had worked for over ten years. And she had been banished to the waiting room for being a distraction to the medical staff. The indignities of being a crazy, stressed-out wife.

The bullet had grazed Bruce's upper left arm, raggedly slicing the skin open but missing any major arteries. Her former coworkers were busy cleaning and stitching up the wound. They were fully capable professionals, and she knew that. But she couldn't silence her hypercritical side. Questioning every move the nurses and doctors made had gotten on everybody's nerves, including her own. Since she no longer worked at the hospital, the only thing she could do was hold her husband's hand, and apparently, she had been squeezing it so hard his fingers began going numb. Not being in charge of taking care of him was a bitter pill that was choking her, it seemed, literally. She was so tense that it felt as though her chest muscles wouldn't release enough to allow her to take a deep breath. If she kept on the same path, toward a full-blown anxiety attack, she too would end up in the emergency room.

As Carla turned and walked toward the windows facing the parking lot, she concentrated on filling her lungs with as much air as possible. Oxygen was a good thing. A woman with blonde hair who was weaving between the rows of parked cars was a dead ringer for Amy. But it couldn't be her. Carla hadn't told anybody about what was happening, except for her mother. Amy had enough to worry about with everything that was going on with the threats to Alex's business. She didn't need to add to the stress when Bruce only had an easily repaired flesh wound. The familiar-looking woman disappeared behind a van, so Carla turned around to trudge back to the vending machine area. Now she understood why the lanes between the rows of chairs in the waiting room were so wide. It allowed for more pacing space for loved ones waiting for updates.

"What's happening? Are you okay? How is Shepler doing?"

The barrage of questions shot Carla's heart rate into double time. She spun around to find Amy running toward her. Within seconds, she was locked into a bear hug that instantly calmed her frayed nerves while simultaneously making it even more difficult to breathe. She and Amy had been through so many ordeals. It was comforting to have her present, even though there was no real need for her help. When Amy released her, Carla shook her head. "He's fine. A bullet just grazed his arm. The injury amounts to a nasty cut. They're stitching him up right now, and then he can leave."

"Oh, thank goodness." Amy exhaled with a loud sigh. "Your mom called to tell me you were here after you dropped Macy off. Did you let her know what's going on now?"

Carla nodded. She blinked to try to keep the tears building in her eyes from leaking out. It had been a long time since she could count on her mother to help with anything in her life since she had been living on the other side of the world. It was a relief to know Macy was with her loving grandmother in a clean apartment. If it weren't for her, the baby would be camped out in the germ-filled waiting room too. "I called her a few minutes ago." She chuckled. "Macy tried to talk to me. I think everybody in the building must've heard her screech when I said hello."

"That's so sweet. She loves her momma." Amy squinted at her. She tilted her head to the side and said, "Shepler may be doing okay, but I can see you aren't. Do you want to talk about it?"

Amy's intuition was working exceptionally well. Carla had always admired her friend's ability to go with her gut feelings. Sometimes her decisions seemed impulsive, but most things worked out marvelously. How wonderful would it be to live life without overanalyzing everything? Carla looked past Amy, staring at the window behind her. Because she just wasn't capable of making eye contact.

"Do you want to go outside?" Amy asked. "I bet you could use some fresh air."

That was an understatement. She needed air in a bad way, fresh or not. "Sure. That sounds like a good idea."

Carla stopped at the check-in desk to let the receptionist know she was stepping outside for a few minutes. When the automatic door slid open, the hot air slammed into her. Had it been that warm when she ran into the ER? She locked her fingers together behind her neck and pulled down to try to release some of the tension that was making her shoulders ache. "I don't know why, but I can't stand to hang out in the emergency room anymore. I've spent so much of my life here, yet today, I feel like a caged animal. The controlled chaos I used to thrive on feels wrong and disorienting to me now."

"You weren't worried about your husband being shot for the majority of the time you worked here."

Once again, Amy's comments had pinpoint accuracy. Carla kicked a chunk of brown mulch which was on the sidewalk. The lump of tree bark tumbled over the cement before landing back in the flower bed where it had come from. "You're right. It's like I've completely blocked out the fact that he goes after killers with low levels of morality and compassion. Killing a cop to save themselves from going to prison probably isn't a difficult decision once they've already committed murder."

"Thinking about those kinds of things constantly would drive you crazy." Amy shrugged. "Not dwelling on them has let you be happy with your husband instead of worrying every second he's away from you that something bad will happen. It's a survival skill."

"Did you start some kind of advice column on your blog?" Carla wrapped her arm around Amy's shoulders and squeezed. "You are spouting some seriously good wisdom today."

"Really? That doesn't happen often, so I'm glad I can help. Because we both know I tend to go more for nonsensical rambling than solid advice."

They laughed as they paused in front of a small pond teaming with tiny silver fish. Carla stared at the dark water. "Coming here today, walking back into the mayhem and stress…I know I made the right decision to quit. But I'm not sure I can handle being a stay-at-home mom either. I feel like I'm lost. Nothing seems right. Maybe I'm just too sleep deprived to think straight."

"Or maybe you haven't found your true calling for this point in your life."

Carla giggled. It was so odd to have the friendship tables turned. Amy raised her left eyebrow. "What's so funny?"

"I have all kinds of wild ideas running through my head, and you're being completely practical. It feels like Topsy-Turvy Day. All I need to do is figure out how to cook, and our role reversal will be complete."

"I usually appreciate your sensibility checks, so I'm thrilled that I've been able to help you in the same way." Amy turned to face Carla instead of the pond. "Being a mom is a fantastic thing, but that is never a woman's entire life. You don't have to be just a nurse or just a stay-at-home mom, especially if you don't feel completely happy focusing on one thing. I liked cutting hair, but I never really felt satisfied until I began developing recipes. It's sort of like the perfect pair of shoes. Until you find them, you have no idea you could be so comfortable. It's just a matter of finding the right style and size."

"If that's the case, then I'm walking through the shoe store during a power outage. I can't see anything that appeals to me."

Amy held her hands out, palms up. "You know I'm always up for a shoe shopping trip. Maybe I can come up with a flashlight to help."

Amy sighed with relief when she stepped onto the landing. Stairs and snack trays were a challenging combination. Rather miraculously, all of the crackers were still on the metal platter with the bowls of dip roughly centered among them. Her balancing skills were playing nice that evening. It was much more likely that she would've left a trail of crackers in the stairwell. As she began walking down the hallway, a man emerged from Geri's apartment. Amy nodded a greeting to him as their paths crossed. He was probably in his early thirties, with light-brown hair and blue eyes. Very good looking and very obviously younger than Carla's mother.

What was he doing in Geri's apartment?

Since Alex was working late again, Geri had insisted that she come to another wine and whine evening. The girls' night out probably would've made Carla feel better too, but she was home—in her own words—clinging to her husband. After the couple returned home from the emergency room, she had learned more about what had transpired with the shooting. A murder suspect had panicked when Shepler knocked on his door and decided to try to shoot his way out of the situation. Luckily, the guy didn't have great aim, and the bullet ended up barely clipping Shepler's arm. But the wound was only a few inches away from his heart.
Scary
. She didn't blame Carla for spending the evening snuggling with her, thankfully, barely-injured husband.

Amy tapped on the wooden door with her free hand. A couple seconds later, Geri answered. A wide smile spread across her face, and she said, "Hello! I'm so glad you could join us again."

"I had so much fun the last time. How could I resist?" She slipped off her shoes and used her foot to slide them over to the other footwear congregated beside the welcome mat. "Thank you for inviting me again. But I'm curious—who was the man who just left?" She looked at Charlotte and Tommy, who were already sitting on the floor cushions in the living room. "Is one of you a cougar?"

Tommy snorted and pointed her thumb at Charlotte. "She likes to think she is, but you have to get the younger guys to actually go out with you to be considered a cougar. Charlotte just likes to look and pretend. She takes the say it and you will become it approach."

Charlotte shot her sister a death ray of annoyance look and then turned to smile at Amy. "To answer your question…the man you saw was Isaac, my son. He is going to fix the leaky faucet in Geri's kitchen and stopped by to see what he needs to bring with him for the job."

Heat crept up Amy's neck and settled in her cheeks. "Oh! I'm so sorry. I know you mentioned a son. I didn't think he would be older than his late teens or early twenties."

Tommy cupped her hand beside her mouth and whispered loudly, "She's old."

Charlotte shook her head. Her scarlet-red hair was so bright that it seemed to glow in the diffused lamplight. "I'm flattered. I got pregnant with him when I was in college. Life hasn't always been easy, but we made it. I'm so proud of the man he's become. It was difficult to find husbands when he was little, but everything worked out."

"Notice she said husbands, with an
S
." Tommy laid her open hand on her chest, over her heart and a strap buckle for her overalls. "I haven't had even one husband or a child, and my life has worked out just fine also. To each her own."

Amy was still standing in front of the door, staring in amazement at the sisterly verbal sparring. It was unlike anything she had ever witnessed before. She smiled at Geri when she exchanged a glass of white wine for the snack tray. "Thank you."

"Find a comfortable pillow, and settle in for a while."

There was a low table in the center of the arrangement of pillows. It reminded Amy of a table at a Japanese teahouse. Geri slid the platter of homemade cornmeal crackers, mango salsa, and avocado hummus next to the other plates of snacks as Amy settled onto a cushion that faced the window. Had Geri told the other women about her fear of parenting issues, or was she just being paranoid that the topic had strayed in that direction?

It didn't really matter. After the last discussion with Geri about motherhood, Amy had come to a realization. If people wondered why she didn't have children, they would come up with their own reasons anyway—either surmising that she had fertility problems or that she chose not to have them. So she had decided to stop worrying about what others would think or thought she should do and made a decision based entirely on what she knew she wanted in her heart. She was not going to be a mom.

Geri nudged Amy's arm with her elbow. "What do you think of that?"

A conversation had been going on, and Amy had missed it all because she was lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes it was like a cornfield maze in her head—very easy to get turned around. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about something. What's going on?"

Tommy smiled sympathetically. She ran her hands over her ultra-short cropped hair, which without the addition of colored gel, looked rather like peach fuzz that evening. "It's okay. I zone out most of the time when Charlotte talks too."

Amy laughed. She couldn't help it. The zingers between the sisters could be interpreted as being mean or cruel by observers, but neither one seemed to take much offense. It seemed to be more of a game than actual animosity.

Charlotte rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Never mind my sister. She likes to pretend she's making funny quips." She plucked her glass of wine off the table and held it up toward Amy. "I was just saying that I agree with Geri—something isn't right about the
Old House/New Style
production crew. It doesn't seem right that they would want a cast who lives so far away from the set house. I think they're sticking around for another reason too. Geri may be correct that they're trying to cover up some kind of evidence which could connect them to the murder. Since they've approached all of us about being on the show, do you realize we all could've been face-to-face with a cold-blooded killer? It makes me shudder to think about it."