Shame

jet. She couldn’t hear. And though her eyes were open, it was almost like a curtain had been dropped in front of them. Or a shroud.
    Her own thoughts became whispers. What was she saying? What was so important?
    All those scene-of-the-scream photos she’d had to examine. Her life flashed before her, and she saw all those tragic faces. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, become one of those.
    The pressure suddenly eased. Her first breath was ragged and labored. The pain in her neck was awful.
    Behind her the car door opened and then closed.
    She turned her neck, the motion adding to her agony, and saw him crossing the street. But she never saw his face, dammit. And he was wearing a sailor’s outfit.
    An older man with a dog on a leash came running over. Doors to houses began to open. Elizabeth wanted to yell instructions, but she didn’t have the breath, and they wouldn’t have heard her over the horn.
    Part of her was aware that the horn was still blaring and that she should disengage her hands from it, but her fingers wouldn’t, couldn’t, release their hold. A woman came through the back door and talked to her. Gradually, she was able to regaincontrol of her fingers and pull back from the wheel. The horn was silenced.
    People kept asking her if she was all right, and that made her feel weepy and stupid. When she gulped it hurt, and when she cried it hurt even more.
    The police had been called. She could hear sirens. But before they arrived her phone rang. It was the same number calling.
    She answered the call. Caleb was on the other line.

21

    T HE UNIFORMED OFFICER put a blanket over Elizabeth’s shoulder and helped her over to his patrol car. Officer Lowery was young but had a calming way about him. He spoke slowly and sincerely and reminded Elizabeth of a youthful Jimmy Stewart with a Kevlar vest.
    Before taking a seat, Elizabeth carefully turned around in a full circle. It was an awkward way of surveying what was going on around her, but it spared her from having to move her neck. A handful of police were already on the scene. Some were taking statements, while others were cordoning off her car with crime scene tape. Elizabeth resisted Officer Lowery’s guiding hand. She stood her ground, trying to remember something, doing her best to be unmindful of the whispers and stares of the bystanders.
    “The ball,” rasped Elizabeth. She spoke through clenched teeth. It hurt less to talk that way, but it still hurt.
    “What ball, ma’am?” asked Officer Lowery.
    Elizabeth swallowed some saliva. She’d had strep throat before, where every swallow was painful, but this was much worse.
    “Tennis ball,” she said. “Should be over there.” She pointed in the direction. “He tossed it on top of the car to divert my attention.”Another swallow, enough for her to finish the sentence. “Maybe you’ll find some trace evidence.”
    “I’ll tell that to the detectives, Ms. Line. They should be here any minute now.”
    He motioned for her to sit down, and only then did Elizabeth allow herself to be seated in the squad car. She felt better for having remembered, for having at least tried to contribute something. It embarrassed her that she hadn’t been able to offer more.
    “Try to get comfortable, Ms. Line,” he said. “An ambulance will be here shortly.”
    “No...need,” she rasped.
    “How about we let them determine that? Now I know you’re in pain, but I wonder if you can give me a description of your assailant. All we have so far is that he’s dressed as a sailor, and there’s certainly no shortage of those around here.”
    Elizabeth nodded. She coughed slightly, and reached up to her throat, as if trying to ward off the pain.
    “You want some crushed ice?” the officer asked.
    She shook her head. Even doing that hurt. In the distance, Elizabeth could hear a siren. The ambulance.
    The officer pulled out a pad.
    “Did you get a look at who attacked you?”
    “I did,” she said.
    Then she took a big gulp, but this time not for the pain. “I can even tell you who did it.”
    Caleb froze at the door, hearing voices inside, then realized it was only the television. He’d borrowed Lola’s Mustang to go call Elizabeth from a pay phone. Now he followed the sounds to the living room and found Lola sitting on the sofa. Even though she had to have heard him enter the house, she stiffened slightly upon seeing him, and her greeting sounded strained.
    “You’ve been on the TV,” she said, nervously