Heartsick by Caitlin Sinead

hand, with a limply extended pointer finger, hangs in the air. She closes her palm over my hanging hand. “Look, never mind. I’ll be okay. Come on, I think they’re having a
Punky Brewster
marathon today.” She releases my hand, walks away and flops on the couch.
    We watch morning sitcoms while sipping tea. Something about funny family lives in the ‘80s soothes us. She seems to be handling everything well. We’re fine.
    Then the doorbell rings.
    “Is that Luke picking you up?” Mandy asks. I told her we were going apple picking before dinner.
    “Can’t be,” I say. “He’s not supposed to get here ’til one.” But, sure enough, Luke’s blurry figure shines through the blurry glass.
    “Quinn, it’s 12:55.”
    Shit. I swear it was ten-thirty only fifteen minutes ago. Well, at least it feels that way.
    “Give me ten minutes,” I shout through the door.
    He tries to open it, but it’s locked. “Okay, can I come in?” Even through all that wood and glass, his voice sounds husky. I grab at my gross, unwashed hair and look at my fuzzy pajama pants. My breathing speeds up.
    Mandy is behind me. “Go,” she says. “Get ready. I’ll play nice, I promise.” I dash to the shower as Mandy welcomes him in.
    Ten (okay, twenty) minutes later, when I’m cleanish and mascaraed and wearing an orange dress that screams
autumn field trip,
I’m glad he and Mandy are laughing. Except when I walk in, they stop.
    I cross my arms. “Okay, what did I do that was so funny?”
    Luke gets up and shrugs. Mandy says, “I just told him about the time you ordered the low-carb meal at The Biscuit Kitchen.” Luke and Mandy share a smirk. I try to hide my own smile, and I furrow my brow.
    “Yeah, yeah,” I say. “I thought low carb meant they’d give me a smaller biscuit. I didn’t think I’d just get an egg. I mean, it’s The
Biscuit
Kitchen. Aren’t they required by law to serve a biscuit with every meal?”
    Mandy laughs, but Luke says, “Yep, I’m pretty sure that’s an Allan county ordinance,” as he holds the door open. He gives a little nod to Mandy, which she returns. It makes me much happier than a little nod should.
    As we get closer to his car, he asks, “How are things?” I can tell by his inflection that he is talking about Miracle Mandy.
    “Okay.” I get into his car. The upholstery has those freshly vacuumed lines. Two coffee cups rest in the cup holders. He passes one to me. “Do you like pumpkin chai?”
    “I love it!” I take in the glorious flavor, but it’s hard to concentrate on my happy taste buds. “It’s weird, you know, with the newspaper article and everything, but we’re doing okay. Mandy is okay.”
    He swallows. “Yeah, well you need to be careful. This town had gotten riled up over less.”
    I bite my lip. “Are they riled up now?”
    He rubs the back of his neck. “Natalie’s been saying some shit. But she’s been, well, off ever since...”
    “Yeah.” I nod and look at my thumbs.
    “I also heard some students want Mandy to leave? Something about evil eyes...”
    “What are you talking about?”
    He starts the car and drives. “It’s probably nothin’. Just if you or Mandy don’t feel safe, you know you can call me, right?” He locks eyes with me for as long as he can while still being a good driver.
    “Yeah, sure, of course.” I run my thumb along my lip and look out the window at the shops that dot Main Street. Wooden chairs. Wooden doll houses. Wooden spoons.
    “I got something for you.” He flicks his head toward the backseat.
    I twist around while mumbling how he really didn’t need to. I reach for the pink bag. It’s next to a radio scanner.
    “It’s kind of sketch you have a scanner,” I say.
    “Oh?”
    “You know those are illegal?”
    “It’s only illegal to have them on in the car. That one’s off.” I look back. It does look dead. Kaput. But probably ready to come to life with a push of a button. Unkaput.
    “Well, okay, but if the cops