There’s a flurry around me, and Jackson lifts me into his arms and carries me up the stairs.
“I can walk,” I tell him, but he’s not listening.
Jackson sets me down on the stairs outside the door. The staff comes running and surrounds me.
“Did she hurt you?” I hear someone ask.
I touch my face to feel how swollen it is. I must look absolutely awful. “It was that woman who told me her name was Jennifer,” I tell Jackson. “And you always called her Valerie.”
“I know,” he chokes out. “She was arrested but wasn’t telling us where you were.”
“Thank God you figured it out,” Leilani says.
Jackson puts his arms around me. “It was my fault. I’m so sorry.”
“How is it your fault?” Jim asks.
“I brought that woman into our lives.”
“I don’t think you brought her in; I think she snuck in. Her fingerprints came back as Jennifer Carlson. She’s been diagnosed with histrionic personality disorder, or HPD, which is characterized by a pattern of excessive attention-seeking behaviors. In her case, she stole identities and became other people to get close to the targets of her obsession.”
“That’s why she called herself Jennifer when I met her,” I say.
The crowd around me begins to disburse when the police arrive, and I explain what happened. I’m exhausted, and I just want a hot bath and some sleep. The paramedics look me over, give me a few stitches above my eye, and determine I’m fine. They take a thousand pictures of my bumps and bruises.
When the police begin to ask the same questions for the third time, Jackson holds up his hand. “Okay, guys, Corrine needs to get some rest. You know enough to hold Jennifer. If you need anything else, we’ll make arrangements to come into the station.”
Standing is not easy. After spending nearly twenty-one hours in the same position, my muscles are in total revolt—stiff, sore, and screaming at me. Jackson tries to pick me up. “No,” I tell him. “I want to walk. I need to stretch my muscles.”
Slowly I make my way into the house. The twins come crashing into me.
“Corrine, Corrine, we thought you were dead.”
You gotta love the honesty of children.
Melinda cringes and quickly admonishes them.
I lean down and say, “I’m too tough to die.”
“Good. What happened to your face? It looks scary. Are you a monster?”
I raise my arms up high. “And I like to eat little boys.”
They laugh and run away.
Melinda turns to go after them, but before she leaves, she pulls me into an embrace. “We were so worried about you. We’re glad you’re okay.”
Leilani is standing nearby with two of the groundskeepers. She steps in and gives me a huge hug, so tight I can hardly breathe. “Thank you for coming back to us,” she whispers. “We were all worried about you, but Jackson worried the most.”
“Thanks, Leilani.”
She pulls back but won’t let go. “Are you hungry?”
“No. The paramedics gave me what is probably a thousand-dollar Motrin, and now I just want to take a warm bath and go lie down.”
“Tomorrow morning, I’m going to make you my pineapple pancakes and an egg scramble.”
The groundskeepers both touch my arms as they leave. “We’re glad you’re back safely.”
Jackson walks with me as we climb the stairs to the master bedroom. “I’ll start your bath. I think I saw bath shit somewhere.”
I giggle. “Bath shit? What are you talking about?”
He shrugs. “You know, the shit you pour in the bath to make you feel better.”
“Oh.” I do my best to smile at him, but it makes the split over my eye hurt. “There’s a lemon and lavender bath bomb under my sink.”
“What the fuck is a bath bomb?”
I roll my one eye. “Just put it in the water and stand back.” I have to play with him a little bit.
While he starts the tub, I sit carefully on the bed. My tailbone is super sore, and my limbs don’t want to move fluidly. I can’t even pull my shirt over my head.
I get caught, and Jackson walks out to help me undress. Usually he’d make a few jokes about what he’s going to do to me, but right now he’s in caregiver mode.
He helps me into the tub. The temperature is perfect. I lean back on a towel he’s bundled up for my head to rest on. I love this tub. It’s enormous, and I sit deep enough that when I lie back, my feet don’t touch the end, and the water comes to my chin. Just what I need to repay my muscles for all they endured.
I shut my eyes. “Ahh.”
“Fuck. I forgot the bath bomb.”
I kick my feet in the water. “Just drop it in down by my feet.”
He picks it up. “It stinks.”
I open my good eye. “Go ahead, put it in the water.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“Please?”
He drops it in and steps way back, worried he’s going to get wet. The bath bomb fizzes and releases its scent. “What the hell?”
I watch him lean over the tub, inspecting the roar of the bubbles, and I can’t help but smile. I love this man. He’s the yin to my yang, and the cherry on the ice cream sundae.
He doesn’t say much and lets me relax. Eventually he disappears out into the bedroom, but I know he’s close by. When the water turns tepid, I pull the plug and stand, which was harder to do than I would have imagined.
After all my grunting and groaning, Jackson comes flying into the bathroom to help. “You could have called me; I would have helped.”
“I know. I just didn’t think it would be that hard.”
He helps me to the bedroom and
