When Lightning Strikes Read online

  I smiled as I got into my jeep. "I'm mad at you for teasing me, but I'll still look good for our fake date so you can trick all your friends," I said.

  My jeep was a hand me down from my brother, Kyle, after I had my accident. It was a 1982 CJ7. Royal blue with oversized tires. Kyle hadn't driven it since they had their first baby, and after I totaled mine in the accident, I told him I wanted it. It probably wasn't safe at all, but something about the way it was built made me feel like it was.

  Patrick leaned on the roll bar looking in. "Maybe we can take this," he said.

  "Okay, but I'm putting the top on so I can get to the wedding with my hair intact." He looked up at the jeep's current topless state. "It doesn't have a top right now, and you look fine."

  "I'm putting the top up if we're driving my jeep," I said. "Wait a second. What do you drive? I might want to check yours out."

  He grinned guiltily and looked around to see if anyone was listening. "I just got a new car," he said. "I never thought I'd buy a car like this, but I drove it and fell in love. It's an Audi."

  "Which one?" I asked.

  "RS5."

  "Convertible?" I asked.

  His smile broadened. "No. I almost went with a convertible but changed my mind. I got a really good deal on this one, so I couldn't pass it up."

  "Can I drive it?" I asked.

  He looked slightly taken aback. "It's a standard," he said, as if that would make me reconsider.

  I closed my eyes and cringed with joy. "Oh really? Can we please just take it to the wedding? I love driving nice cars, especially after bouncing around in this jalopy all the time. Please. I'm a good driver."

  "Of course you can drive it," he said smiling now that he saw how excited I was.

  "I'll email you with my address and you can pick me up," I said. "I'm looking forward to it now."

  He smiled. "Next time, I get to drive this baby," he said. I rolled my eyes playfully at him for even pretending there'd be a next time. Then I fired up the engine, and he took a step back. I extended my fist for a bump, and he obliged by giving me one even though he didn't look quite satisfied with it.

  "Thanks for the tattoo," I said.

  "You're quite welcome."

  We waved goodbye and I pulled into traffic with a wave over my shoulder. I'd been trying to make a good exit, and forgotten to tie my hair back. It flew around my head wildly until I pulled it into a short ponytail at the next traffic light. I put in my earbuds and called Lauren, who was at work but still answered.

  "I just got a tattoo," I said when she answered.

  "Another one? Already? I thought you said that guy was going out of town."

  "He squeezed me in. There's more, though."

  "What?"

  "He asked me to go to a wedding with him."

  Lauren squealed, but did it in the hushed tones that were appropriate for an almost empty chiropractor's office. I knew she wasn't busy or she wouldn't have picked up in the first place. Her instant excitement over the matter made me feel like I needed to clarify. "He told me it couldn't amount to anything serious, but yeah, he asked me to go with him."

  "He told you that?" she asked. "That's kind of a rude thing to say, don't you think?"

  "It wasn't like that," I said. "He just said he doesn’t date since he travels so much, but that he wanted me to go with him to this wedding… you know, so he could make his friends shut up about him always going alone."

  "So he's using you to prove to his friends that he can get a date."

  "Sort of, but the way he asked made it seem more acceptable."

  "I don't think that's too unacceptable," she said. "It's just a little weird that he came right out and said it wouldn't amount to anything."

  "He travels all the time," I said, defending him. "I can understand why he doesn't date."

  "But you're gonna be the one to change that, right?" she asked. I could hear a smile in her voice.

  "I don't think he's changeable," I said, even though I hoped that was false.

  "When's the wedding?" she asked.

  "Sunday."

  "This Sunday?"

  "Yeah."

  "Like in two days?"

  "Yeah."

  "What are you gonna wear?"

  "I thought about wearing that little sheer, khaki thing I have."

  "The romper?"

  "Yeah, you think it's dressy enough?"

  "That'll look really good," she said. "Hey, Doctor Shirar's calling me back there. I gotta go."

  I told her goodbye and chose some music to listen to before I sat my phone on the seat next to me. I loved my new arrow and was in the best of moods at the thought of a date with Patrick Mallory, even if it was a fake one.

  Chapter 8

  My roommate was home that Sunday and she helped me with my hair and makeup. I was planning on doing it by myself, but she was around and she offered. She knew what she was doing. I looked like a completely different person when she was done.

  Patrick came to pick me up right on time. He looked extremely sharp with fitted slacks, and a nice shirt and tie. Not many of his tattoos were visible with that type of shirt, and I smiled thinking that was the version of him I'd need to bring home to meet my parents.

  My roommate made a silly goofy-eyed expression behind his back indicating that he looked so good she might pass out from it. I giggled and he almost caught us, but acted like he didn't know what was going on. I introduced him as my tattooer, which made her talk about how she's been meaning to get one. This made me jealous even though she was super sweet and had just helped me get dressed. I was glad when Patrick said we needed to get going if we wanted to make it there in time.

  He threw me the keys as we were walking down the driveway. "You don't have to let me drive," I said. His car was beautiful and obviously capable of going very fast. I started to feel a little intimidated as we walked up to it. "I told you I was in a car accident," I said, feeling like I needed to defend myself before I ever even sat in the car. "I was doing drugs at the time," I said. "I'm usually a good driver."

  "What kind of drugs were you doing?"

  "It was the one and only time I snorted anything," I said. "I made a promise to myself along time ago that I wouldn't snort or shoot anything, and the one time I did I got into an accident and almost died."

  "Was it coke?"

  "No," I said. "That's why I let myself try it. I told myself it wasn't coke, therefore it was more acceptable. I've never been so sick in my life. I was coming to God before the accident even happened."

  He opened the driver's door and I got inside before he closed it. He ran around the front of the car as I started it.

  "What was it?" he asked, sitting in the passenger's side. "If it wasn't coke, what was it that made you so sick?"

  He pointed at the GPS, which was apparently programmed. I backed out of the driveway and took off in the direction it was telling me to go.

  "K. It's a drug called K, or Special K," I said.

  "Ketamine," he said.

  "Yes. That's the stuff. It was so sketchy; I don't know why I even tried it. It was a liquid in a syringe, and the people I was with put some of it into a spoon and cooked it with a lighter until all that liquid dried up and got flaky. Then they gathered the flakes, crushed them into powder, and snorted them up their nose. And for some reason I thought this was a good idea—good enough for me to go along with it, at least." I sighed. "I can't even tell you how sick I was. I thought I was dying. Then I got into a car wreck and almost did die. I thank God every day that I didn't kill anyone else." I knew that last statement might rub an atheist the wrong way, but it was the truth.

  "What'd you hit?"

  "A concrete pillar."

  "Oh man, you're lucky to be alive."

  "I know. The worst would have been hurting someone else, though. I don't know what I would have done if I woke up from my accident to learn I'd hurt or killed someone. I can't even imagine."

  "You would have probably been a
rrested," he said.

  I shook my head. "I can't even think about it. I'm so thankful none of that happened."

  Patrick had never tried K, but he told me about this one time when he had a bad trip on some mushrooms and had an anxiety attack that landed him in the hospital. We swapped a couple more drug stories. He said he couldn’t really do drugs anymore because of flashbacks to the anxiety, and I told him I felt the same way, only my flashbacks were to being sick on Special K and then the accident. I couldn't imagine finding pleasure in drugs again after how sick, helpless, and out of control I was. I never wanted to feel that way again.

  "Pull over," he said randomly.

  I took my foot off the gas and glanced at him. The GPS said we had a mile to go, so I gave him a questioning look across the console.

  "Go ahead and pull off to the side," he said, gesturing out of the window. "I'm driving the rest of the way. They're gonna have valet, and I want to be driving when we pull up."

  I pulled over, but was giggling at him and shaking my head like he was a piece of work for making me do it.

  "You were right, you're a good driver, and you can do it again sometime, but I'm pulling us up to the mansion and not vice versa. Sorry if it offends you, but I'm the man, and I'm gonna open the door for you when we get there."

  We switched places, and he drove us to a beautiful, historic mansion where the wedding was being held. It was much fancier than I anticipated, and I felt a little self-conscious all of a sudden. He was right about changing places; I was glad he was the one driving when we got there. He opened my door even as he spoke to the valet. I felt like a princess getting out at the ball, only this ball was unexpected and had me wearing a smile that I hoped didn't seem too stunned.

  The wedding was beautiful. It was in the main area of the house and the reception had been set up in a different part of the house that opened into a beautiful courtyard. I've had a few friends get married in the last few years, but I'd never been to a wedding as elaborate as this one. The flowers and decorations were breathtaking, and the food could easily be classified as gourmet.

  The band started playing during dinner, and little by little, people made their way onto the dance floor, which was a brick area in the courtyard. I could see the dancers from our table, and was watching them when Patrick excused himself to use the restroom. He'd already mentioned wanting to dance, and I figured we'd go out there once he got back.

  "Are you done with this?" one of the servers asked, pointing down to our dessert plates. They were clean, so I almost joked with her and said we weren't done, but I just nodded and smiled instead.

  I was in the process of looking from her back to the dance floor when a young boy fell into my line of vision. He was standing in between tables with a few other kids who were huddled around staring at him. One of them hit him on the back and I watched as the one who was at the center of the action struggled and stared up at the one who'd hit him with a look of utter panic.

  I knew something was wrong. My body started tingling with adrenaline instantly. The boy shook his head hopelessly and started to fall to his knees. He grabbed his neck. I was already out of my chair before I realized what I was doing. It was like my body knew he was choking and was already going to help before my brain registered what was going on. I went around to the boy's back with every intention of helping him. I glanced around before I picked him up, just in case someone more qualified than me was coming to help. Nobody. Nobody was even looking our way.

  "He's choking!" I said as loudly as I could without screaming, hoping to get the attention of someone who could help without causing an absolute scene. As I said it, I picked up the kid and (doing my best to remember the babysitting class I took when I was 15) performed the Heimlich maneuver her on him.

  "Please God, please God," I whispered.

  One thrust, and nothing.

  "Please help me, God."

  I did it again, only with more gusto this time, and I heard the glorious thud-like sound as the peppermint dislodged from his throat. I felt the air leave his chest in a gust and watched as the candy flew onto the brick patio and broke into pieces.

  The next few moments were a blur. Several people had heard me yell and saw the whole thing go down. The boy, who looked to be about kindergarten age, went off balling to his mother. His family huddled around him in an effort to calm him down, and several people gathered around me. They were patting me on the shoulder and saying nice things about what a hero I was, but it was all a blur because my adrenaline was still pumping like crazy.

  "What happened?" Patrick said, coming to the table.

  "DeDe's little boy was choking on a peppermint and your girlfriend just saved his life," someone said. It was a guy I had met, but I didn't remember his name.

  Patrick looked at me with a stunned stare.

  "I saw him choking," I said.

  I spent the next few minutes catching my breath from that whole incident. The kid's parents came over and gave me heartfelt thanks that made me feel humbled and undeserving. I explained to them that my body just went into autopilot and was glad I was able to help.

  After I spoke to them, Patrick asked if I wanted to dance. I agreed easily, and went onto the floor during a slow song. He put one hand in mine, and the other around the small of my back, and I rested my free hand on his shoulder. I'd never had dance lessons, but I was graceful enough to move around the dance floor without stepping on his toes.

  "You're shaking," he said.

  "I know," I said. "You should have felt me a few minutes ago right after it happened. I'm surprised you couldn’t see me gyrating from across the room." I giggled, and he pulled me in, holding me a little closer. It was obvious that he was doing it to comfort me, and not to try to put moves on me, and I was at the same time, thankful and disappointed.

  His mouth was right next to my ear when he spoke again. "I'm pretty much the hero of the day for bringing you here," he said. "My cousin, the bride, just pointed at you behind your back and gave me a thumb's up."

  I let out a little laugh, but didn't budge to glance at his cousin or even to speak to him for that matter. I relaxed into his arms, caring about nothing else besides how good it felt to be there. I felt like I was at home in this man's arms, and that thought made me remember how things would never work between us. Our differences were too great, that's all there was to it.

  The next song was a fast one, and I was glad for the distraction. The remainder of the reception went by in a flash. We danced some, but mostly were interrupted by people wanting to catch up with Patrick or remark on DeDe's boy and the peppermint incident. In the blink of an eye we were having the valet pull the car around for us.

  "I can't believe that happened with the peppermint," he said once we were on the road.

  I stared at the road feeling dazed. "I can't believe it either," I said. "I've never even done that on a real person before, and even on the dummy, it was ten years ago."

  "I can't believe it worked."

  "God," I said, shaking my head. It was the only explanation, and I really didn't care if it offended him or not.

  "How do you know it was God?" he asked after a few seconds silence. It didn't sound like he was judging me or anything, more like it was just an honest question.

  "I don't know. I just don't think I could have done something like that on my own."

  "Don't you think that's just you being humble and not wanting to take the credit for it?"

  "I don't mind taking credit for things," I said. "But in this case, I had no idea what I was doing. I honestly can't believe that worked out the way it did."

  "So you think God helped you?" he asked.

  "Yeah," I said shrugging. "I mean, yeah, I think God helped me. Once you believe He's real, it's easy to believe all the other little details like that. I know it must sound crazy."

  He paused for a few long seconds. "What's crazy is that you're the way you are, and you still believe that."

  "What do you mean I
am the way I am? What's that mean?"

  "I mean, you're cool, and smart, open-minded, and you have all this life experience and opinions about things. And you have purple hair and tattoos." He glanced over the console at me with a smile. "You just don’t seem like the type of person who'd—"

  "What? Love God?"

  "Yeah."

  "The sad part is, I don't really like Christians either. I shouldn't say it like that," I quickly amended. "Most of them are great, I'm sure, but I get annoyed by some of them. It's just that part of me feels like sometimes churches are more like businesses, and maybe some of the time, the intentions of the leadership are not pure and not about God at all—at least not the same God I know."

  Patrick nodded his head.

  "I'm sure there are a lot of Christians out there whose intentions are pure, but some aren't, and quite frankly, some of the things I see done in God's name sickens me. But you know what? Under all that crap—greed and bad intentions and whatnot, there's something real." I shrugged. "God is real. There's no other way to say it other than I know it in the very core of my soul. I know it with more certainty than I know anything else." I sighed. "Therefore I ignore everything about Christianity that annoys me. I ignore all the humans who do stuff I don't agree with in His name. I'm sure there are things I do that annoy other Christians—probably lots of things. All we can do is try to get past each other and trust what we know to be the truth."

  Chapter 9

  Patrick was quiet for a minute as we drove. I figured I'd put the nails in the coffin of our non-existent relationship with all the God talk, but I couldn't help myself. He was asking me direct questions, and I wasn't going to lie.

  "So you think when you die your soul's gonna go to heaven?"

  My gut sank at the question. It was bolder and more direct than previous questions and I caught myself thinking, here we go…

  "Yes." I said.

  "And you think those of us who don't believe in God are going to hell?"