Read Online My Soul to Keep by Melanie Wells - Free Book Online Page A

walkway, got into his car, and made a phone call. I felt a spike of jealousy as he smiled and laughed through a brief conversation. Then he started the car, turned on the headlights, and drove off into the night.
    I sat in the kitchen and cried into my wineglass for a while, trying to convince myself I wasn’t an unredeemable loser who’d just managed to run off a perfectly good boyfriend. But since I
was
an unredeemable loser who’d just managed to run off a perfectly good boyfriend, my task was a little tough. I eventually admitted the obvious, blew my nose, put my dishes in the dishwasher, and scrubbed the sink with my new bottle of lemon-scented Soft Scrub with Bleach, just to cheer myself up, buffing the porcelain to a high shine with a clean cup towel. I reached into the fridge for a bottle of water and began contemplating a bubble bath.
    I had just flipped off the kitchen light and put my hand on the bedroom doorknob when I heard the first scream come from behind the door.

7

    I FLIPPED THE KITCHEN light back on, flung the door open, and let a stream of light into the otherwise dark bedroom. The bunnies were racing around in circles, whimpering and squealing, their little rabbit toenails scratching against the wood floor.
    Liz was kneeling on the floor beside Christine’s pallet. She looked up at me with wild eyes. “She’s not breathing.” She began slapping Christine on the cheeks and shouting her name, screaming hysterically and begging her to wake up.
    I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. After a quick conversation I was back in the bedroom, peering into Christine’s lifeless face. Her skin was pallid, her lips blue.
    I shoved Liz aside and started CPR. My last refresher course had been when I was a lifeguard my last summer in college, several presidential administrations ago. But the instructor’s advice turned out to be true; it was indeed like falling off a bike. I cleared Christine’s trachea and started compressions, yelling at Liz to breathe into Christine’s mouth on my count.
    The rabbits scooted in and snuggled next to Christine, puffing themselves up into warm, fluffy balls, their eyes half-closed, their ears laid back as though they were sleeping. There was no sound in the house other than our barked communications and the puffs of air as Liz breathed into Christine’s lungs at regular intervals. We plugged along in rhythm until the ambulance arrived a few minutes later.
    The paramedics made quick work of getting oxygen into her. Christine pinked up right away. Her brown eyes flew open, and she started blinking frantically, her chest convulsing as she tried to cough the tube out of her mouth. She began to fight, struggling to push theparamedics away. One of them grabbed her arms and pinned her down. She started kicking then, her little feet punching their legs and stomachs until she nailed one of them in the groin. They finally gave her an injection to calm her down. Her body went limp, but her eyes remained wide, darting around the room, big wet tears running down her cheeks and pooling in her ears.
    Liz wasn’t much easier to manage. She kept trying to claw her way past them to get to Christine. One of them finally shouted at me to get her out of there, which I did. Liz and I stood in the kitchen and hugged while they finished their work and got Christine onto a gurney.
    Liz rode in the back of the ambulance. She was holding Christine’s hand and whispering into her ear when they closed the doors and sped off, lights flashing red against the gray-painted bricks of my little house.
    I hopped into my truck and followed them, dialing David as I drove.
    He didn’t pick up.
    I cursed violently, threw my phone down, and sobbed the entire way to the hospital.
    On the way there, weaving through late-night bar traffic, it finally occurred to me to pray, though I can’t say I followed the prescribed routine. I mentally stamped my feet and demanded that God heal Christine immediately—without that