BENCHED by Abigail Graham Page A

lean forward on it, my nose against the wood, trying to will my heart to slow down.
    The woman in the mirror hanging by the door is sweaty and disheveled, her clothes askew and her face flushed. I can’t let Carrie see me like this. On aching, trembling legs, I trudge upstairs, turn on the water, and get in a shower so hot I can barely stand it, but that only makes it worse, so I turn the water cold until my teeth chatter.
    Returning to my bedroom feels like a dream. I wrap up in towels and lie on my bed until I finally catch my breath, then pull on some pajamas and slip over to check on Carrie. She’s fast asleep, a book propped on her chest.
    I smile to myself and lean against the door, watching her sleep. I still have to check, almost every night, to make sure she’s still breathing.
    When I’m satisfied, I return to my bedroom.
    Unsatisfied.
    I walk to my window and look, hoping to see him again, but his room is dark. He must be asleep. I wonder if he’s touching himself and thinking about me. I want him so much, it hurts, an ache in my bones. How will I even make it until Friday?
    Sleep is a dream that never comes. I roll around in bed for a few hours and end up staring at the ceiling, thinking of all the reasons I shouldn’t go anywhere near him, and finding an excuse to ignore them all. It’s Carrie’s alarm clock that wakes me.
    “I’ll get you breakfast,” I tell her.
    “I want to go downstairs.”
    “Okay, let’s see how you do.”
    I support her as she hobbles down on one foot, leaning on me. She drops into a chair at the dining room table and yawns as I start rummaging for something to make her.
    The knock comes at the door, and I let Alexander in. He gives me a look that makes me feel like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor, then walks past me with a big grin on his face.
    “Hey, you,” he says.
    “Hi,” Carrie says.
    “Who wants pancakes?”
    “I do!” Carrie chirps, “Me! Me!”
    He glances at me, eyebrow arched. “Want some?”
    “Yeah, sure, why not.”
    I try to help but he shoos me away. I sit with Carrie and wait for him to finish. He brings us both tall stacks of pancakes and bacon drizzled with maple syrup.
    I could get used to this. He’s a good cook. Carrie wolfs hers down hungrily and takes a second stack with joy.
    “I have to go,” I announce, sighing.
    “We’ll see you when you get back,” Alexander says.
    Carrie gives me a thumbs up. Her mouth is too stuffed full of pancakes to articulate her agreement.
    I change into uniform and head out to the Tahoe to report in and start my shift. As I back out, I notice an unusual car.
    It’s that same orange Volkswagen I saw yesterday. It’s not exactly subtle. The driver starts up the car, swings it around in a J-turn, and drives up the block.
    I frown and follow, wondering if it’s worth flipping on the lights. I can’t just pull her over for sitting on the side of the road, but I can follow her. I grab my radio mic and thumb the button.
    “Dispatch, this is Maguire. I’m following a suspicious vehicle. Might be in a little late for my shift.”
    The radio crackles and Bill comes back.
    “Take your time, sugar buns. We’re covered.”
    I almost smash the mic back into its cradle and grit my teeth.
    The Volkswagen, which I have now identified as a Rabbit, keeps under all speed limits and obeys all posted traffic controls and signs, so I can’t tag her for that either.
    She leads me on a very slow speed and very merry chase, looping around the same streets about five times.
    I flip on the lights and beep my siren. She quickly and obediently pulls to the side of the road. I step out, put on my hat, and walk up to her passenger’s side window.
    She sits there staring at me like a deer in the headlights through the glass.
    I make a roll-down motion with my fist.
    “I can’t,” she yells through the glass. “It’s stuck.”
    I frown. I give her a wide berth as I walk behind the car, closer to the Tahoe than