Sara opened her eye, She tried to open both of them, but the one remained closed, or something blocked it from opening. She couldn’t tell. She felt weak and hurt. Tubes ran out of her body. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. She let her head flop to one side because she wanted to look around, but she didn’t have the strength to actually move.

“You’re awake,” said Sara’s father, Ben. He was slim and made out of rawhide. He had lost most of his hair and the rest was combed over. He sat in a chair next to the bed. He had a dog-eared copy of some book in his lap. “I have to tell the doctor.”

“Kids?,” asked Sara. Why wasn’t her voice right?

“Your mother has them at the house,” said Ben. “We thought it would be better if they didn’t come to the hospital just yet.”

Sara closed her eye and went back to sleep with a smile.

She slept the next few days, waking up and just watching television sporadically. She didn’t have the strength or the appetite to eat. Her father, or mother, were at her side until she showed signs of getting better. Then they took breaks with the assurance that she was going to leave the hospital.

The doctors told her the damage they thought had happened, scheduled her for tests, told her to take it easy until she could get back to normal. Her father told her that the people in the Emergency Room had told him she was lucky to be alive. In fact, she had died on the table and they thought she was gone for good. But she had recovered enough to be worked on and saved.

She had beat the odds, but she was a wreck. She would have to get around with crutches for a while, then a cane, and then she would limp along on legs with pins in them to keep them together.

The doctors told her they would never be able to fix her eye. The blow to her head had broken the skull around the orbit. The eye had been partially crushed. The best they could do was install a plate to make sure the bones wouldn’t go into her brain and kill her at some later date.

The police had interviewed her a few times but that had been no help. She couldn’t remember how she had wound up in the hospital. The only parts she could help them with was why she had been at that spot to be run down.

She had stopped after work to pick up groceries. She was actually crossing the lot of the market when she was struck from behind. The police told her the car never stopped to make sure she was okay.

Years later, Sara was half-listening to a cartoon her girls liked in the afternoons after school from her kitchen. She had recovered enough to walk without a cane, be able to drive with just one eye, and overcome a surprising weakness in one arm. It wasn’t enough for her to go back to her job as a bartender, or wait tables, but she had been able to move up to being a manager/bookkeeper at a place a few blocks down from her old job.

Detective Crane arrived at her door on that lazy day. He looked like an undertaker in his dark suit, rings on his hand, and gold watch. He didn’t try to smile at her as he asked to talk.

“Come in,” said Sara. “We can talk in the kitchen.”

She led him through the house to the small kitchen. She gestured for him to have a seat at the kitchen table. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and asked if he wanted anything. He answered in the negative as he put his case down.

“I came by to talk to you about your case, Miss Flowers,” said Crane.

“I imagined, but as far as I know there was no progress,” said Sara. “I couldn’t

remember the accident, and I couldn’t tell the detective at the time what happened. I still don’t remember what happened.”

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“I’m going to show you a picture,” said Crane. “I want to know if you recognize the man in it.”

He opened his case and pulled out a mug shot. He passed it across to Sara. She looked at it with her one eye, and thought.

“I know the face, but not the name,” said Sara. “I want to say I know him from the Moonglow, the bar where I worked before my accident.”

“The bar?,” said Crane.

“I think he was a regular customer,” said Sara, sitting down at the table. “I can’t remember his name. We used to say he was a girl chaser, I think. Holly would know.”

“Holly?,” asked Crane.

“Holly Blaine,” said Sara. “We used to work the same shifts together. She knew everybody who came into the bar at least by sight. She had a much better memory then than I did before this.”

She gestured at her face.

“So she might remember this man?,” said Crane.

“She might be able to tell you everything about him if he was a regular,” said Sara. “I have her phone number. I can call her and ask her to come over.”

“I would appreciate it if you did,” said Crane.

Sara went to the phone on the wall and made the call. It took her a moment to

remember which buttons to push, but she did it. Holly instantly agreed to come over. She had never talked to a detective before. This would be something new for her.

Holly arrived, telling the girls that the tank driver was the cutest of the cat people, breezing into the kitchen with red hair and body stolen from Dolly Parton. She said that was why she made the better tips. She smiled at Detective Crane as she took a seat.

He didn’t smile back, immune to her charms.

“Mrs. Flowers said you would recognize the man in this picture,” said Crane. He showed her the mug shot.

“Miss Flowers,” said Sara. “I never married.”

“He was a deadbeat,” said Holly. She stared at the picture.

“Yes, and he ran off with some rodeo rider,” said Sara.

“Not him,” said Holly. She tapped the picture. “Him. He was a stiff.”

“You know him?,” asked Crane. He pulled out a notebook and pen.

“We threw him out of the bar right before Sara was run down,” said Holly. “That was why I remembered him. He had grabby hands. What was his name? I think it was Sam something.”

“When you say threw him out,” said Crane. “When was this exactly?”

“Midway through the shift, the night Sara was hit,” said Holly. “Say about nine.

Somewhere around then.”

“This is the guy with the orange Maverick,” said Sara. “I remember that now. The top had been ripped off.”

“Orange Maverick?,” said Crane. He took out another picture and showed the women. A wrecked car was on a tow truck line in the middle of a parking lot

“It didn’t look quite this bad,” said Sara.

“Yeah,” said Holly. “It’s the same car. That stupid sticker from Oklahoma is on the bumper.”

“Thank you, ladies,” said Crane. He put the pictures away. “Thank you for the help. We uncovered this guy in another case, and then a connection was made to your case, Miss Flowers. I’m still trying to nail things down.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sara. She did. Crane thought this customer had run her down, because he had been caught doing the same thing to someone else. How had they made the connection?

“We had another hit and run case three weeks ago,” said Crane. “This time someone saw the car. Then we identified it from the witnesses on the scene. Someone in Records remembered your file, and brought it up to the Bullpen. I have been trying to tie this guy to you, or the location ever since.”

“You think he tried to kill me?,” said Sara. “Why?”

“Right now, I don’t know,” said Crane. “The guy won’t talk about anything. His

lawyer is trying to broker a deal on the other case. We want to be ready to charge him again to change things our way.”

“Over getting kicked out of the bar?,” said Holly. “That’s crazy.”

“He hit the other victim over a noise complaint,” said Crane. He stood and picked up his case. “We would like to put him away for a long time.”

“I would like to be in court when he’s there,” said Sara. “When will that be?”

“I don’t know,” said Crane. “That’s up to the court schedule. The prosecutor might take testimony to try to tie him to the earlier attack.”

“Madge Knowles was the waitress he was harassing,” said Holly. “I don’t know where she is now.”

“I’ll find her and see if I can get her to confirm things,” said Crane. “Thank you.”

Crane left.

“Gloomy sort,” said Holly.

“Thanks for coming, Holly,” said Sara. “You were the first person I thought of when I thought of the Moonglow.”

“That guy,” said Holly. “You were right to have him kicked out. We should have known it was him.”

“Did he come around the Moonglow after?,” said Sara.

“No,” said Holly. “That’s why I never thought of him, or that orange piece of crap he drove.”

“That Maverick did stand out,” said Sara. “Do you think he pulled the roof off on purpose?”

“Yes,” said Holly. “I believe a fool like him would do something that stupid.”

“You know what?,” said Sara. “It’s been ten years since I got out of the hospital. I think I am going to celebrate. Let’s go. Girls! We’re going out.”

Sara smiled.

THE END