A pop like a balloon breaking caused me to jump. A bullet grazed the top of my head and embedded in the windshield. My head stung like I’d angered a swarm of bees. The shooter was either a pro or lucky.

A second pop and a bullet zipped by my left ear, sending me into a whirl of disorientation. My foot slipped from easing the brake to the gas.

My truck took flight. Spun. Flipped. More than once. Pain stabbed me like a jolt of electricity down the right side of my body.

My world went black.

36

SHELBY

Most people took each breath for granted, but not those who suffered from asthma. What had happened to my extra inhaler? After I had taken a hot shower, another welcome surprise compliments of the trailer’s hot-water tank, Aaron brewed me a cup of herbal tea with honey from their supply of groceries. Mom used to fix the same home remedy for asthma, although it seldom worked. At this point, I’d try anything. As a kid I had made more than one trip to the ER. That’s when the doctor insisted I always carry a spare inhaler.

“Let’s get a doctor to look at you,” Isaac said.

“Haven’t a prescription for an inhaler.” I wheezed and fought for breath. “I’ll be . . . fine.”

“You’re a far shot from fine.”

“I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten all day.” The sharp pain in my chest caused my eyes to water. “I’ll fix chili and corn bread.”

Isaac huffed. “Typical woman . . . change the subject when things aren’t going your way. If you get worse, I’m handcuffing you and we’re heading to the hospital.” His voice held a menacing growl, but I appreciated his concern.

“You two are my hero-protectors. I’ll keep you posted.”

Isaac shook his head. “No need. We can hear it.”

Not sure I could tackle any more cleaning with the inhaler operating on fumes. Everything in the trailer looked in order, but my approval had a lot to do with the condition of my lungs. Isaac helped Aaron remake the disinfected beds while I browned hamburger and onion and stirred together jalapeño corn bread. Tossed a salad too. After setting the small table, we scrunched around it together. I could hear and feel my labored breathing.

“Your wheezing is worse.” Aaron dug his spoon into the chili.

“I’m all right.”

Isaac spread butter over a hunk of corn bread. “What else can you take?”

“I said I’m all right.”

“In the words of Jon Bon Jovi,” Aaron said, “‘There’s a vintage which comes with age and experience.’”

I coughed, and it resembled a train whistle.

Isaac pointed his butter knife at me. “We’re old. Not senile. Your asthma isn’t getting any better. One last time . . . what do you need to stop a full-blown asthma attack?”

I’d tried not to think about the inability of a drugstore brand relieving the symptoms. Except hiding my gasps for air and wheezing had met the impossible zone. I took a sip of my second cup of herbal tea. “The best solution is an over-the-counter inhaler. I’m sorry. I always have an extra one, except this time. Must have been my concern about my mother.”