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patient somewhere? A psych patient was in this car alone with you in the middle of the night?”
    â€œYou make it sound worse than it was.” He had a point. The way he put it, my decision to drive Frankie Jean, or whoever she was, back to the shelter, did sound a little unwise. But what else could I have done? “She was harmless,” I asserted again, to both me and Leon.
    He shook his head before turning the music back up. “I’m holding you to your promise to return that pager. No more late Saturday nights. I’ve been missing my wife.”
    â€œI’ve been missing you.” I smiled and ran a palm over his chocolate bald head. He gave me another side glance and I saw the heat in his eyes.
    Mmmm. This man was mine. All six feet and two inches. My husband was too fine and if we weren’t already pulling into the church parking lot I would have suggested that we go back home and make up for the lost night.
    And then the rumbling in my stomach began again. A thick queasiness that made me think of hot, curdled mayonnaise oozed up my esophagus . Hurry up and park the car! I wanted to scream as a sour, metallic taste filled my mouth . I cannot throw up! How would I explain such a thing to Leon? There was no way I was telling him about the positive pregnancy tests. No need to alarm him over what I was sure was defective merchandise. I’m going to try a different brand tomorrow. I swallowed hard, willing the bubbles gurgling at the back of my throat to settle down.
    Leon had the car in reverse, repositioning it between an SUV and a minivan. Normally a smooth driver, the car seemed to start and stop in awkward positions as he struggled for a perfect alignment.
    His attention seemed elsewhere as he sighed and began straightening out once more.
    â€œExcuse me.” I smiled, my words calm and easy, the exact opposite of the unsettledness that rippled just below my collected exterior. “I need to grab something from the back.” I was about to blow. I needed a bag, a bucket, an old soft drink cup, something, anything to catch the catastrophe that was four seconds away from emptying out of my raw stomach. Thank God we had used my car. Trash, old tissues, or something was bound to be on the rear floor since I wasn’t as fastidious as Leon when it came to keeping a clean vehicle. I prayed and swallowed hard again as I reached behind Leon’s chair in search of something that would address my predicament.
    My fingers touched cold plastic.
    A clear bag with the words M ETROPOLITAN C OMMUNITY H OSPITAL printed on it, a dingy housecoat tucked inside, lay on the floor behind me. Blue slippers.
    â€œOh no!” I whispered for many reasons. The first being that my sick stomach was not going to be stopped. And the second: I still had Frankie Jean’s belongings in my car.
    â€œLeon, I need to get out!” I pushed the car door open just as he cut the ignition, and just in time, too. My stomach emptied right there on the church parking lot. A woman wearing an oversized white feather hat frowned as she passed our car. I pulled myself out of the car and stood, gripping the top of the car door for balance. The snow had stopped falling, and it wasn’t piling up anyway. There was nothing to hide or cover up my current situation.
    â€œSienna, are you okay?” Leon somehow was standing next to me, his broad palm rubbing my back.
    â€œI’m fine.” I pulled away from his touch, not wanting him to be too concerned. “That patient left her bag with her stuff in it in the back seat, and it, the bag, and, uh, remembering some things about last night made me gag. You know how weak my stomach is.” I wasn’t lying, I convinced myself, forcing the memory of her dancing with her open housecoat, with nothing underneath, into my mind. Yeah, that was enough to make anyone gag. “I promise you, I’m fi . . .” The words got caught in my throat as another wave