Secrets of Harmony Grove by Mindy Starns Clark Page B

and began asking me strange questions, such as did I know what date it was and who was the president of the United States. For a moment, a small part of me wanted to answer in ways that were totally bizarre, like “1923” and “Tony the Tiger,” just to see how he would react. But I resisted the urge, afraid he might misinterpret the joke. At least I was thinking humorous thoughts, which had to be a good indication that I still had my wits about me.
    After checking me over, he said I looked okay but asked if I wanted to go to the hospital anyway. I told him that I did not, that there was no need, that I wasn’t hurt. Even the pain from my earlier spill on the sidewalk was gone.
    I thanked him and then watched absently as he placed his equipment back in its case, picked it up, and headed outside. Once he was gone, something inside of me wanted simply to slip away, to take a long rest or merely lapse into blessed unconsciousness. But then Georgia was sitting on the coffee table in front of me, one strong hand on my arm, giving me a gentle shake.
    “Sienna? I know he said you’re fine, but we can still take you to the hospital if you want. What do you think?”
    Telling myself to snap out of it, I shook my head and assured her I really was fine.
    “Is there someone we could call to come be here with you? A family member? Friend?”
    That was a good question. I gazed into her concerned brown eyes, my mind lingering in some sort of haze, one where the world wasn’t evil and people didn’t try to hurt you and they understood that when you said no, you meant no.
    Finally, I shook my head, telling her I had plenty of family in the area but that I didn’t need anyone to come here and babysit me, that I was just fine on my own, thank you very much.
    “All right. Well, you stay here for now, and I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    As she walked away, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes and did the only thing I could think of to do: I prayed. It wasn’t the warm, confident,solid prayer of my youth, but a mere whisper from one who hadn’t truly cried out to God in a long time and wasn’t even really sure these days if he was listening.
    Keep me safe, keep me from harm, keep me in your loving arms
.
    Ten years ago those were the words my counselor had suggested, three simple sentences I should be able to remember and utter even in the midst of crisis, even when the part of me that had been so wounded wanted to give up and simply go away.
    I don’t know if it was the prayer or the glass of water or the earlier, calming ministrations of the EMT and Officer Georgia, but slowly I began to feel myself returning to the moment. Taking several long, slow, deep breaths, I tried an old anxiety-fighting visualization tool, one I hadn’t had to use in a long time. Just as I did years ago, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine all of my problems, all of my cares, all of my anxieties washing away in the sea, carried off like shards of driftwood on the tide.

 

SIX
     
    By the time Officer Georgia came back to check on me, I was feeling more like myself and somewhat recovered from the shock of all that had happened. Still, the fact that I had lost control so badly was embarrassing. As I tried hard to show that I was now present and focused and could be helpful to all that was going on, I just kept wishing that these people knew me, that they understood what I was really like, strong and brave and not some frightened, trembling nut case who had to be led around like a child and coddled back to sanity. Most days I was a victor, not a victim.
    I guess Officer Georgia eventually got the point because she stopped looking at me as if she thought I really could use a babysitter and instead had me run through, step-by-step, everything that had happened since the moment I arrived. When we were finished, she told me the detective in charge of the case would be here soon, and he would be going through things