Perfect Strangers

How did I get home? I wondered groggily as I woke up on the sofa in my den, my husband, George, and my next-door neighbor by my side.

I'd been Christmas shopping at the mall when I started to feel woozy. I'm diabetic, so I figured I'd better hurry home for something to eat. I went out to the parking lot, but before I even got close to my car, I felt myself falling.

The last thing I remembered was my head hitting the concrete.

"An ambulance is on its way," George said. Behind him stood a man and woman I didn't know. Both dark, her face covered so that only her eyes were visible, the couple appeared to be Middle Eastern. My neighbor tried to ask them questions, but the man only repeated, "I'm here to take care of her."

When the ambulance arrived, the medics wheeled me out, George and my neighbor close behind. In the commotion, the couple slipped away.

Evidently, they had checked my wallet for my address and driven me home in my car. Then they must have carried me inside before alerting my neighbor, who called George at work. That much we figured out at the hospital.

When I returned home, I was stunned to see that my purse had not been opened. I keep everything a certain way, and nothing was out of place. My wallet was exactly where I had left it, my keys untouched.

And still more puzzling: Out of the hundreds of cars in that crowded parking lot, how did the couple know which was mine?