Page 1 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
1
IN WHICH HEIDI IS NOT ABDUCTED
If you’re looking for a good way to have a heart attack, I’ve got you covered. Wake up in a bed you don’t recognize, in a room you don’t recognize, with a blobbish figure hovering over you and shining a light directly into your bleary eyes.
There are several dignified ways to react to such a situation. You could sit up calmly and ask what’s going on—effective and efficient. You could pretend to be asleep so that you can eavesdrop on the people in the room, thereby gleaning any helpful tidbits they might drop. You could ask the blob toplease for the loveredirect the spotlight that’s blinding you so that you can use your eyes for their intended function.
All of these options are good.
Unfortunately, I do none of them.
I kick the blob instead.
It’s instinct, not a well-reasoned decision, but the whole looming thing really freaks me out. I don’t know if this is a kidnapping situation or an alien abduction (never say never), but I don’t have time for any of that. My foot connects with something soft and squishy, and the figure doubles over with anoomph. This is followed by a clatter, and the light disappears.
After that, things become somewhat more clear.
“A doctor?” I say, blinking over at the man with a frown. He has on a white coat, and there’s a stethoscope around his neck. “Oh, my goodness—I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” the man says, but he’s still rubbing his belly where I kicked him.
I look around the room—note the sliding polyester curtain hanging from the ceiling, the IV stand, the pull-out couch—and then glance down at my left arm, where I see a neon bracelet and a needle sticking out of the back of my hand.
The hospital. I’m at the hospital, and he’s the doctor.
Why am I at the hospital?
There’s no hospital in Sunshine Springs. There’s not one in Autumn Grove, either. You have to go all the way to Roberson, a fifteen-minute drive if you’re finicky about speed limits—which I mostly am. So who brought me here?
“What’s going on?” I say to the doctor. “What happened?”
But before the doctor can answer me, another person enters the room. Tall, scruffier than usual, his blond hair pulled into a stupid man bun.
I hate that bun. I fantasize about chopping it off. And only part of this animosity is due to my jealousy that my hair will never be that lovely or thick or golden.
Still, it’s good to see a familiar face.
“What are you doing here?” I say, looking blankly at Soren. I watch him for a second, checking to make sure he’s okay—we’re in a hospital, after all—but he seems fine, no bumps or bruises. He just stands behind the doctor, his arms folded tightly over his chest.
I look back at the doctor. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
The doctor holds up his pen light, using it to point to my forehead. “You received a nasty blow. How does it feel?”
“I received—what?” I reach up automatically, wincing in pain when my fingers meet a large, gauze-covered lump on my forehead. “Ouch.”
The doctor nods. “Can you tell me your name?”
I swallow. “Heidi Lucy.”
He nods, scribbling on his clipboard. “And how old are you?”
“Uh,” I say distractedly. I touch my head again, more gently this time, trying to get a feel for the pain.
“You’re thirty-one,” Soren says after a second of silence, his blue eyes widening on me. He looks at the doctor so abruptly he’ll probably have a crick in his neck. “She’s thirty-one.” Then, turning back to me and rubbing one hand over his scruff, he says, “Do you not remember how old you are?”
“I remember how old I am,” I say, frowning at him. “Why are you here?”
“I brought you,” he says. “I found you unconscious on the floor of your shop.”
