Read Online The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out by Neta Jackson - Free Book Online Page B

for an ambulance, how come I don’t hear no sirens out there?”
    â€œUm . . . I ended the call. Called you instead.”
    Florida threw up her hands. “Lord, help me here ’fore I slap this girl upside the head. I have half a mind to throw you right back outside on the street.”
    WELL, I GOT to hang out with the Hickmans that evening, all right. Carl wouldn’t hear of taking me home and leaving me alone, even though I was anxious to find our credit card numbers and get the cards cancelled. He finally got through to Denny, who’d had his cell phone shut off while he was inside the juvenile detention center; Oscar Frost dropped him off at the Hickmans’ around nine-thirty.
    Tight-lipped, my husband agreed with Florida, called the police to report a purse-snatching-with-injury, and told the dis-patcher we’d meet them at the emergency room of St. Francis Hospital. “What about the credit cards?” I winced as he and Carl helped me out to our minivan. “Shouldn’t we go home first, make some calls?”
    â€œDid it already. I have my cards, remember? And Oscar was driving.”
    â€œOh.” Something told me Denny was in no mood to be questioned right now.
    We didn’t get home until almost midnight. “Told you it was just a sprain,” I mumbled as he helped me into the house. “How much is this going to cost us?”
    â€œJodi Marie Baxter. I don’t care! It’s a bad sprain, you’ve got a torn ligament, it could’ve been worse, and now we both know you have to stay off it totally for at least two days, and on crutches for a week.” He rattled the discharge papers at me. “I’ve got it all here in black and white. Besides . . . ” He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, and started helping me out of my clothes. “Just say you did it for my sake.”
    He leaned forward and fixed me with his gray eyes. His voice gentled. “You scared me half to death, Jodi. You didn’t just fall down. You were mugged. It’s a violent crime! I just thank God that you’re . . . ” He stopped. And then grinned.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œUm, did anyone at the Hickmans’ tell you that your mascara is all smudged? You look like a raccoon.”
    DENNY CALLED BETHUNE Elementary first thing Friday morning to say I was “laid up,” and was going to take a sick day himself to stay home with me. “I know you. You’d be up and down all day, trying to get stuff done. Ain’t gonna happen, babe. That recliner is your throne until further notice.” But Florida must have tattled to Yada Yada while we were at the hospital, because Estelle came downstairs and offered to “Jodi-sit.” Her most recent elder care patient had passed away, and she didn’t start a new assignment until Monday.
    â€œLeave her to me, Denny,” she said, waving him out the door. “I’ve got experience with ornery patients.”
    Except for the dull throb in my ankle and aching all over from the fall, it was kind of nice being waited on hand and foot. Estelle seemed to anticipate when I needed another cup of coffee, brought me pain medicines when I needed them, and chatted with me just enough to be companionable, but she didn’t hover over me every minute. In fact, she lugged Stu’s sewing machine downstairs, set it up on our dining room table, and sewed away on one of her sewing projects while I read.
    Dozing in the recliner after lunch—homemade corn chowder and hot biscuits—my mind drifted to what had happened the night before. Being jerked off my feet . . . falling . . . muffled footsteps running away . . . then the shadowy figure bending over me . . . some-one yelling in the distance, “Boomer, you idiot! Run!”—
    I opened my eyes. Boomer. That must be the name of the per-son who came back! Why didn’t I remember that last night when the police officer asked me