July 8
Andi awoke to the strange sensation of deja vu. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and rolled onto her side. As she did she caught sight of the alarm clock.
7:24 AM.
A shudder passed through her as she realized what day it was. July 8--exactly one month since . . .
She tossed back the covers and slipped out of bed. She had been so tired the night before that she had fallen asleep fully clothed. As she smoothed her rumpled jeans and sweatshirt she looked at Mike. His blankets were twisted around his lanky frame; his hair, usually neatly parted, was splayed wildly on the pillow underneath his head. She suppressed the giggles that threatened to burst forth and went to his side. She tugged the blankets back into some semblance of order and gently smoothed his wild tangles. His eyes slowly opened and he focused on her, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“Hey,” he whispered.
She smiled and waggled her fingers. When Mike tried to get up she gently pushed him back down.
“No, stay here. Get some more sleep.” To her surprise he quietly acquiesced, his eyes drooping shut.
“I’m glad you came back,” he mumbled before falling asleep once more.
She leaned over and kissed him with a tenderness she hadn’t been able to manage for some time. “I am too,” she whispered, and really meant it.
Her departure from the room was every bit as silent as it had been that fateful day, and when she reached the living room she found it just as still and peaceful as it had been a month ago. She descended the staircase and tiptoed across the house, her bare feet moving noiselessly. When she reached the back porch she stopped, staring out at the beach beyond. Her legs trembled but held her up.
“Are you going out there?” a quiet voice asked. Peter came up behind her, still in his pajamas, and placed his arms around her shoulders.
She patted his arm. “I guess I should, shouldn’t I?”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She gently disengaged herself and placed a shaky hand on the door. “No, that’s okay. I have to face this on my own. At least, that’s what that nutty psychologist said.”
Peter smiled and shook his head. It had taken two days for he, Mike, Micky, Davy, and Dr. Davidson to convince her to make an appointment with Dr. Marlene Blumenthal, a therapist who specialized in helping victims of violent crime. When Peter asked how it went Mike mumbled something about “wrestling a steer.”
Peter didn’t care. His sister was back; she was happier and more content than he’d thought possible after everything that had happened. True, the shadows and scars were still there--and would probably remain for a long time, but she was once again adjusting to life with her new family.
“Okay,” he said, giving her a supporting squeeze on the shoulder. “You do what you need to do, and when you get back we can have breakfast.”
“Deal.” She pushed the back door open and stepped into the cool air. Clenching her fists in determination, she marched down the stairs and onto the beach, oblivious to the wind that whipped through her long air. Her stride did not falter until she reached the spot where her life had very nearly ended. The blood had been washed away long before, of course, but she could still see it--could still feel it slowly bleeding out of her body as Mike came charging to her rescue.
“This is going to be with me a long time,” she said to herself. “But I’m not going to run from it any more. If I do I’ll never stop, and I’ll lose the best thing I ever had.” The words that had sounded so ridiculous in Dr. Blumenthal’s office suddenly made sense. She bent down and picked up two handfuls of memories. “You are NOT going to rule my life!” she shouted, as if the sand were her attackers. With a triumphant shout she hurled the sand with all her might, watching the wind catch and scatter it, then turned her back on the past and returned to her home.
~*~
Peter and Andi were just finishing breakfast when Mike came staggering downstairs, followed a few minutes later by Micky, then finally by Davy. She stood gracefully and held out her chair for Davy, who was too tired to show much in the way of gratitude.
“Okay, Pete. Who’s this and what did you do with Andi?” Micky said, watching suspiciously as Andi cleared the table, whistling cheerfully. She stopped whistling and started humming as she put clean plates in front of the late sleepers.
“Nothing,” Peter said, rooting around in the fridge for more eggs. They were there, of course. Since Andi had moved in the house was always stocked with groceries.
Andi leaned over and pinched Micky’s cheek. “What? I can’t have a good morning?”
Micky winced and rubbed his face. “Oh, so that’s what this is.”
The phone rang, and Andi looked at it sharply, remembering the last time she had answered it. Mike noted her discomfort and leaped up, snatching the receiver on the third ring.
“Hello?” He looked over at her. “Yeah, she’s here. Um, better, thanks. Well, um, why don’t you tell me?” His brow furrowed. “Because last time you called it caused a few problems. No, I’m not bein’ smart with you . . . ”
Andi walked over and leaned in close to the mouthpiece. “Detective, this is Anna Dellin. You have my permission to tell Mr. Nesmith whatever you were going to tell me.”
“Thanks,” Mike whispered. She winked. He listened carefully for a few minutes while his friends waited anxiously. Andi kept her gaze focused elsewhere, trying to keep her heart from leaping up into her throat.
“Thanks, Detective, for everything. Yeah, I’ll tell her. Goodbye.” Mike hung up the phone, his expression unreadable.
“Well?” Micky said, nearly falling off his chair.
“What did he say?” Davy asked, suddenly very awake.
Peter just wrung his dishtowel nervously, glancing from Mike to Andi and back again.
Andi’s expression was calm and neutral, and she even managed a smile as she said, “Well, are you going to tell us or am I going to have to jump on you?”
Mike smiled, suddenly, broadly. “They caught them. All four. They were tryin’ to rob someone right around the corner from the police station.”
Andi stared for a few moments, blinking her dark eyes. Then the ridiculousness hit her and she fell over onto her back, laughing in delight--and relief. Unfortunately her mirth precipitated a full blown wrestling match. They chased each other around the house for half an hour, stopping only when they had completely exhausted themselves.
Andi threw her tired arms around Mike. “Now I’m happy,” she panted, still out of breath. “Now I can get on with my life.”
“See? Didn’t I tell you? Now how much fun would you have had in that forest? You’d have missed all this.”
“No kidding. We still have to challenge Micky and Davy to a rematch.”
~*~
Later that evening the Monkees were playing music. Andi was sprawled out on the floor before them, letting the music wash over her. She took over bass during “You Told Me,” trying in vain to laugh and play at the same time, and eventually found time to apologize to her guitar for her ill treatment.
Maybe it wouldn’t last. Maybe her relationship with Mike would go sour and she would move on. But Andi was certain about one thing. As long as they loved her, and as long as they needed her, she would stick with them.
Mike looked over at Peter and nodded. They launched into “Sunny Girlfriend.” She stood with her arms crossed for a few moments, thinking, “That song sure as hell isn’t about me.” But after about five or six bars she began to do something they had NEVER seen her do.
Andi began to dance.
THE END
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