Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie by Donna Kauffman

boxes.
    So he didn’t—couldn’t—let go of her, though he was sorely tempted. If he’d thought her eyes were spooky before, something in them now downright gave him the chills.
    â€œLet me go,” she said, the words tight, almost forced, but with an edge of desperation.
    â€œCan’t do that, sugar, until you let go of the boxes. I’ve got ’em.”
    She continued to stare at him, her gaze boring straight into his.
    â€œHow ’bout on the count of three,” he said, wishing like hell whatever it was she was suffering from didn’t tug at him. But damn it all, it did. “One . . . two—”
    She started trembling, then abruptly jerked her arm free.
    If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, he’d have dropped the boxes. He almost did, anyway. With his other hand under them, he managed to steady them, but his attention wasn’t on the boxes. It was on her sheet-white face, her eyes wide with terror or horror as she stepped back, only to bang up against the car. He couldn’t have said why, but he was pretty damn certain if the car hadn’t been there to block her retreat, she’d have turned and taken off at a dead run.
    Operating on instinct or his own brand of sudden onset insanity, he shoved the boxes on top of her car and shifted his body—without touching her—so she was boxed in. Not with the intent of scaring her, but with the intent of making her feel secure.
    â€œAll right, darlin’. It’s okay. You’re fine. It’s all good, sugar, you’ll be just fine.” He talked to her much the same way he’d talked to Lolly when she’d been anxious and scared coming out of the anesthetic after her first surgery. Gently, but firmly. “Nothing bad is happening. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
    He wished he understood why she went from normal chick to crazy chick like she did. It obviously had something to do with coming into contact with people. Not dogs, apparently. She’d spoken quite naturally and calmly about meeting Lani, Alva, and Barbara Hughes, too. Maybe it was just men—which meant, he belatedly realized, it was highly likely at least one of his gender had done some not-so-nice things to her. In the recent past perhaps? Who the hell knew. He was an auto mechanic. He fixed engines, not people.
    Still, he felt a bit bad for being so pissed off about it all. He should have figured it out sooner. He remembered the way she’d stared at him when she’d said, “I’m not crazy,” as if willing him to believe she really wasn’t the loony tune she’d seemed back in his garage.
    â€œI-I’m . . . s-so . . . s-sorry,” she said, stuttering the words, trembling even harder, jerking his complete attention back to the present. “About . . . the fire. That’s terrible. Who’d do that? Only . . . no, it was electrical. The storage place, next door? It was so windy. And your garage—” She gasped. “You ran in! You ran in when it was burning. Why, why would you do that? What was worth saving that you’d risk—oh no! Poor Lolly. Poor baby. Oh my God. If you hadn’t gone in—”
    She was talking and looking right at him, though it was as if she could see straight through him. Or straight into him. She clearly wasn’t in the here and now, anyway, nor was he quite sure she even knew what she was saying. It was as if she was a million miles away in some other reality only she could see. Except the things she was talking about were very real and specifically about him. She had the details exactly right.
    â€œIt’s okay. Lolly is okay.” He thought if he responded rationally, calmly, maybe it would calm her. He wanted nothing more than for her to snap out of it. He honestly didn’t know what the hell was happening or what might have happened to her in the past, but at the moment, all he wanted to do was get