TMI (2014 Collector's Dream Winner)

TMI - Chapter 30

Tuesday morning dawned gray and cold. Bailey had been up for forty minutes already. She quickly finished her morning routine so she could make it over to Chase's house to help Meg get ready for school. She headed downstairs, reached for the granola bars and changed her mind.

Pop-Tarts. Definitely. Meg loved Pop-Tarts.

She popped one of two different varieties into the toaster and texted Chase while they warmed.

He didn't reply so she wrapped the hot pastries in paper towels, slung her backpack and her bag of stuff for Meg over her shoulder, and left. Across the street, she paused to examine Meg's front yard. It looked good. No more toilet paper or diapers had appeared during the night. She smiled happily and resumed her walk around the block.

"Bailey. Hi, Bailey!"

Bailey turned, saw Meg's mom, waving frantically her over from the front porch. "Hi, Pauline!" Meg's mother hated being called Mrs. Farrell. Her mom also liked being called by her first name but Bailey couldn't ever remember a time when Meg had said, "Hey, Nicole!"

Meg was funny that way.

Bailey walked back to the steps that led to the porch. "What's up?"

Pauline wore sweats and no make-up and looked like she hadn't slept in a week. "I packed some things for Meg. Could you run them over to her at Chase's house? I have to get a few hours' sleep."

Bailey took Meg's backpack plus the gym bag Pauline gave her and swung them over her other shoulder. "Sure."

"Thanks."

Bailey made it down the path before Pauline stopped her again. "Is it bad? The cut on her hand? There was so much blood in her room."

"I didn't see it." Bailey looked away and shivered. She was a horrible friend who made her best friend cry. It was her fault that Meg got hurt in the first place and had to spend the night with the guy who loves her forever but she can't love back because she's stubborn and—and—just wrong.

"…so much blood."

Bailey's head snapped up. "I'm sorry. I'd better go. I don't want Meg to be late."

"Tell her to call me. If she's in pain. I'll come right away. Tell her, please?"

In Pauline's wide brown eyes, Bailey saw exhaustion and worry and bit her lip. "I will."

With one last wave, Bailey walked quickly down the street and around the corner, juggling four bags and two Pop-Tarts and the weight of her own guilt. She knocked on Chase's front door, waited a moment and finally heard the scrape of locks turning. Chase opened the door, rumpled, shirtless, and majorly depressed.

"Hey, cutie. What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. He did open the door wider to let her in. Bailey took a few steps inside, dropped all her gear near the staircase and spotted Meg on the sofa, her hand resting on a throw pillow, a dark brown stain on the bandage that almost swallowed her whole hand.

She gasped. "Oh, God, Chase. It's still bleeding? Is she okay?"

He nodded and yawned. "Bad night. You got this? I'm gonna get dressed."

"Yeah."

While Chase climbed the steps, Bailey shook Meg's shoulder. "Meg! Time to wake up."

Meg woke up with a jolt. "I'm up! I'm – ow!" She clutched her hand to her chest and winced. A few seconds later, her eyes hardened and she glared at Bailey. "What are you doing here? Where's Chase?"

"He's upstairs, getting dressed. I came to help you. Look! Pop-Tarts." She lifted a corner of the paper towel, waved the pastries under Meg’s nose.