Protector - Laurel Dewey [143]
Emily opened her car door. Sloping her way through the mud, she made her way to the front of the Subaru. She knelt down next to Jane and draped her arm around her shoulder. “Put your arm around me. I’ll help you back to the car.”
Jane’s face was inches from the wet ground. Her head spun as the fight drained out of her. “Just let me be.”
“You can’t sit here in the mud. Come on. I’ll help you up.”
“Please, Emily,” Jane urged, “just leave me alone.” Emily leaned her head against Jane’s shoulder and gazed off toward the road. Suddenly, she saw the high beams of a car flash against the tall trees as it crested over the far hill behind them. She turned and was greeted with a flash of red and blue light spinning atop the car. Emily turned back to Jane. “We’re in trouble.”
Chapter 21
“Did you hear me?” Emily said, poking Jane in the shoulder. The red and blue police lights drew closer. “I think it’s Sheriff George,” Emily said confidentially as the patrol car pulled up behind Jane’s Subaru.
Jane’s mind was still somewhat far away. Almost in a daze, she caught a whiff of her shirt where she had just dribbled the whiskey. “Shit,” she said under her breath.
From the sheriff’s point of view, he saw a Subaru wagon that had been obviously pulled to the side of the road at the rapid rate of speed, thanks to the muddy skid marks along the pavement. The passenger side door was wide open and the two individuals—one, who was clearly a child—were bent down in front of the car and not responding to his presence. Sheriff George kept on the patrol car’s high beams and adjusted his glaring driver’s side spotlight onto Jane and Emily. He got out of the car, checking the license plate of the Subaru. “Hello?” he called out, walking next to the car.
Emily looked down at the muddy ground and the puddle of vomit that Jane pitched from her gut. She heard the sheriff ’s footsteps come closer through the sloppy trail of mud. In a desperate move, Emily grabbed her stomach and pretended to throw up right over Jane’s vomit.
The Sheriff stopped in his tracks. “Patty? What’s wrong?”
Emily lifted up her head, wiped her mouth with her sleeve and turned around to acknowledge the sheriff. “Mom,” Emily said in an exaggerated voice that had a tinge of overblown drama to it. “It’s Sheriff George.” With that, Emily turned back around and pretended to hurl more into the mud.
Jane was momentarily speechless by Emily’s quick thinking. “Hello, Sheriff,” she said, the words falling like gravel from her throat.
“What’s wrong?”
“We were at Kathy’s house,” Emily said, her head still bent over the puddle of vomit. “I think I ate too many cherries . . .” The Sheriff walked closer. Emily realized that he would smell alcohol on Jane. In a bold move, Emily flung her body against Jane’s chest, “Oh, Mom!” Emily said, grabbing on to Jane, “please take me home!”
Jane wrapped her arms around Emily and awkwardly worked herself up onto her feet. Emily stuck to her chest, refusing to let a hint of the whiskey aroma waft toward the sheriff. “Okay,” Jane said, playing along. “Let’s get you back into the car.”
Sheriff George reached out. “Let me help you—”
Emily quickly pretended to start vomiting again.
“Try to hold it in!” Jane said, patting Emily’s head. “Thanks for your concern, Sheriff.” Jane put Emily into the passenger seat, before heading to the driver’s side.
He leaned down and knocked on Emily’s side window. “You feel better soon!”
Emily looked up at the sheriff with the weakest expression she could muster. Jane slowly turned right and headed back to Peachville.
Jane pulled into their driveway and turned off the ignition. She sat motionless in the car, as did Emily. Realizing the gravity of what