June 11
A week after the attack Andi was released from the hospital and allowed to return to the Pad. All four Monkees were there first thing in the morning to pick her up.
“Ooh, a royal escort,” she had giggled. They made it back to the house without any serious problems, and Mike and Peter carried her into the downstairs bedroom, easing her into Peter’s bed.
“But where are you going to sleep, Peter?”
Peter smiled. “In Davy’s bed, and Davy’s going to sleep in yours.” He had insisted upon it, determined as he was to be her caretaker.
“So I get to be with my little brother,” she murmured sleepily. Her eyelids drooped and she slowly drifted off.
Mike closed the door behind them, letting out a relieved breath. It had been an adventure just getting her in the car without jarring her wound, and the trip, which would normally take about ten minutes, took thirty.
“Okay, guys,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “for the next couple days we’re gonna have to work to make her comfortable, and--”
“Sure, Mike. No problem,” Micky said brightly. Peter and Davy nodded.
“Well, okay.” Mike had expected some grumbling, and wasn’t quite sure what say now. “There’s not much we can do until she wakes up, but I think one of us should stick around in case she needs anything.”
“I’ll do it,” Peter said quickly.
“All right. Pete’s got the first watch.”
~*~
Andi returned to consciousness slowly, savoring the warmth of the blankets around her and the light breeze that wafted in from the open window. Her eyes focused on the cracks in the ceiling, then moved to the wall, and down to where Peter sat, asleep. His head lolled to one side, the book he had been reading resting precariously on his thigh.
I missed that face, she thought, smiling. After a few moments the smile faded.
She gripped the edge of the mattress with stiff fingers and slowly pushed herself upright. Pain ripped through her and she clenched her teeth, stubbornly determined not to let it stop her. She reached for the crutches that rested on the bedpost and was just pulling herself to her feet when Peter woke with a start, his book crashing to the floor.
“Andi! What are you doing? You’re supposed to stay in bed!” he said, jumping up immediately and reaching to steady her.
She shook him away. “I’ve been in bed for the last three days. I can’t stand it any more.” Resting her weight on the crutches, she limped out of the bedroom and made her way to the living room.
Mike looked up from his guitar, a pencil clenched in his teeth. When he saw Andi the pencil clattered to the floor and he was on his feet, handing his guitar to Davy.
“What are you doing up?” he demanded, taking hold of her arms and easing her down onto the couch. He moved the crutches aside and knelt beside her, touching her timidly, as if afraid she was going to break.
“I’m tired of lying in bed,” she said. “I miss you guys.” She pointed to the bandstand. “Play something for me.”
Mike stood and bowed mockingly. “As you wish, milady.”
“I prithee, play, so that mine ears may be happy,” she said, waving her arm languidly.
“I pray thee, tell thy humble servants what will pleaseth thine ear,” Micky said, holding his arms out in a beseeching manner.
“Oh, how about--” She was interrupted by the insistent ring of the phone. She lifted it from its cradle, her lips curving into a wry smile. “Nesmith’s House of Blues.” The smile disappeared. “This is she . . . yes, I remember you . . . no, that’s all right . . . uh huh . . . oh . . . ” She sat and listened to the voice on the other end, biting her lower lip. “No, I’m doing okay . . . no, well . . . I appreciate it . . . thank you.” She hung up the phone with a trembling hand.
“Andi? What is it?” Mike asked, setting his guitar down.
“That was the police. The man they arrested--the one you knocked out, Mike--confessed, but he refuses to say who his accomplices are. The police haven’t caught them. They’re still out there.” She shivered involuntarily. “It’s cold in here. May I have a blanket?”
Peter jumped off the bandstand and ran into the bedroom as Mike, Davy, and Micky exchanged puzzled looks. It was at least eighty degrees outside, and only slightly cooler in the house.
Peter emerged with Andi’s worn quilt and draped it over her, tucking in the edges with infinite care. He leaned over and gave her a tentative hug. Even though she didn’t pull away, she didn’t return the embrace.
“Hey, guys,” Mike said quietly. “Just forget about the music, okay?”
Davy set down his maracas. “Sure, Mike.” Micky followed suit, placing his drumsticks on the floor, and the pair slipped discreetly out the back door.
Mike sat on the edge of the couch, taking one of her hands in his own. “It’ll be okay, Andi,” he said. Her only reply was a flinch and a frustrated scowl.
“Something’s wrong,” he said quietly. As usual, he could tell right away that all was not well in Andi-land.
“No, nothing,” she said.
“Bull,” he replied. “That cop told you something and you’re not sharin’ it with me.”
Andi had always experienced difficulty opening up. It was no secret to anyone, but this time Mike was not going to accept her silence.
“The man who confessed also told the police why they attacked me.”
Peter, who was still hovering nearby, came around to sit next to Mike. “So why did they?”
She shuddered. “There was no reason. They . . . were just out walking and decided it would be . . . fun.” The last word came out as little more than a whisper.
Mike was stunned. He looked at Peter, who had his head slightly cocked, his brows drawn together as his mind worked furiously to understand what he had just heard.
“Fun?” he said in disbelief. “That doesn’t make any sense!”
Andi closed her eyes. “No, Peter. It surely doesn’t.”
“Listen, Andi--” Mike began.
“No, I don’t want to talk about it,” she murmured.
“But--”
Her eyes snapped open, their irises burning with frustration. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!” she snarled. “Look, just . . . go away. I need to be alone for a while.”
Mike sighed and held up his hands in an “I give up” gesture. “Okay, okay. But we ARE going to discuss this later.”
Andi turned away. “Sure. Whatever.” She closed her eyes, feigning sleep until they were gone. The terrible dead weight in her stomach refused to leave, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.
No reason. There had been no reason for the attack. They hadn’t wanted to rob her, had no quarrel with her--they just wanted to see if they could hurt her. Her head spun. “No wonder Peter was confused,” she whispered to herself. How would the others handle it once they knew?
“They’re going to feel sorry for me.” She knew they were going to be unbearable mother hens, and the mere thought brought a sudden, irrational surge of anger.
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