Jacob abruptly stopped screaming. Suzy went silent as well.
As Savannah moved to stand in front of him, a yard away, a tsunami of relief rushed over her. She quietly said his name. She was careful not to touch him. A critical precaution to reduce the chances of Jacob having a panic attack.
Savannah noticed that Suzy appeared calm, so Jacob didn’t need his inhaler. He stared down the street without acknowledging her presence. She made no attempt to get his attention.
Savannah followed his gaze out on the street. Crumpled faceup near the curb lay a woman dressed in khaki trousers and a white Queen’s Head Pub logo shirt.
“Nicole!” Savannah shrieked. Nicole was completely unresponsive. Not even an eyelash fluttered.
Terrified, Savannah became hypersensitive to every sound around her. The murmur of onlookers, the slowing of traffic in the street, the mockingbird singing nearby.
Nicole was a good friend. She worked in the pub right next door, owned by Savannah’s fiancé, Edward.
Shaking herself into action, Savannah placed two fingers on Nicole’s throat. She detected an irregular heartbeat. It was barely noticeable, and her infrequent breaths were shallow.
She pulled back Nicole’s thick blond hair to reveal heavy-lidded eyes. There were streaks of road filth down her face and her legs didn’t line up properly. From the back of her head, a terrible wound leaked a small stream of blood, which made its way to the curb.
This is bad.
“Call 911,” she yelled to the gathering crowd of bystanders, pointing at a balding man with his cell phone already in hand. “Hurry! She’s still alive.”
The man dialed.
A sour taste hit the back of Savannah’s throat. She knew better than to try to move a victim of trauma. Instead, she gathered Nicole’s limp and clammy hand in both of hers. “Nicole, can you hear me? Stay with me, girl. Help is coming.”
Chapter 2
Monday afternoon,
Webb’s Glass Shop
The St. Petersburg Fire Department truck arrived first, followed by Sunstar Paramedics EMTs, who specialized in Advanced Life Support first-responder procedures.
After the SPFD paramedics stabilized Nicole, they consulted with the Sunstar paramedics to ensure that everything possible had been done for the best care of Nicole.
The tallest SPFD paramedic spied a very pale Jacob and raised an eyebrow. He stepped over. “Son, are you feeling okay?”
Jacob held Suzy in his arms, staring at the spot in the street where Nicole had lain. He didn’t respond.
The paramedic continued, “Did you see the accident?”
Jacob dipped his head the tiniest bit and opened his mouth for a long moment, then closed it again. Suzy licked his chin. Jacob turned to stare at Savannah.
“Do you know this boy?” the paramedic said to Savannah.
She turned. “He’s my apprentice. His name is Jacob, he’s autistic, and he’s holding his service beagle, Suzy. He witnessed the accident. I’ve just left a message for his mother. She’s a judge. They’re interrupting the trial to inform her of this incident. Is he okay?”
“He’s pale, but not sweating. His breathing is good.” He reached out to touch Jacob’s forehead, but Jacob backed up a step and Suzy’s ears perked up.
Savannah turned to the man. “He never wants anyone to touch him. Suzy will give out a warning yip if he needs his inhaler for an anxiety attack.”
The paramedic shrugged. “I’ll get him a shock blanket anyway. It won’t hurt.” He pulled one out of his black bag, unfolded it, then draped it around Jacob’s shoulders without touching him.
Jacob exhaled a deep breath and Suzy’s ears relaxed.
Savannah phoned Edward. He should be here. Didn’t he hear Suzy? The call went straight to voice mail. “Edward, come out front right away. Nicole’s been hit by a car. I need you.” Her stomach churned, her breathing quickened, and she felt her chest tighten.
This could be fatal.
A Channel 9 news vehicle pulled over and a reporter lunged out the passenger door before the white van had come to a complete stop. “What’s happened here? How bad is she hurt? Did anyone see it?”
Savannah responded with an are-you-kidding-me? scowl and turned her back.
Undaunted, the reporter waved to the driver, who turned off the ignition and walked around, opening the back of the van to grab a microphone, which he tethered to a large camera. He handed the microphone to the reporter, who stood in front of their van so that the logo was in the shot.
Savannah ignored the news van and watched the paramedics as they wrapped a brace around Nicole’s neck and strapped her onto a board.
Nicole’s purse had been thrown to the curb by the impact. The contents were strewn in an area over six feet long, except that her phone was still in an inside zippered pocket. Savannah scooped the contents back into the bag and put the cross-body strap over her head.
“I’ll take that along, miss,” said the paramedic, a sturdy young woman with short black hair. “She’s going to be needing that for insurance and identification.” Savannah took off the handbag and offered it over.
“How does it look? Will she be all right?” Savannah felt the catch in her voice.
The paramedic headed toward the driver’s seat and looked at her teammate. “We can’t tell yet, but it is very serious. We’ll be taking her to Bayside Medical Center. You should get her family there as soon as you can.”
The paramedic stuffed Nicole’s handbag into the front seat of the ambulance and returned to her partner as he inserted an IV into Nicole’s left hand. They lifted her onto the gurney, then rolled her up into the ambulance. The woman paramedic climbed into the back with Nicole and they drove off with lights flashing and siren blaring.
Jacob hadn’t moved a muscle, his shock blanket was still draped around his shoulders, but he had tucked a corner over Suzy. Savannah put out her hand and pulled back just before she touched his shoulder. His gaze snapped to her face and he stepped back a pace. “Your mom will be here soon to take you home.” He nodded but faced back to the street.
Jacob watched the ambulance leave. He stood silent and held Suzy.
Savannah hadn’t heard from Jacob’s mother. Frances was the sitting judge for the Pinellas County Sixth Judicial Circuit and specialized in juvenile and family cases. Court was normally only in session until about 4 P.M., but Judge Underwood sometimes forgot to turn her cell phone back on. She answered after the fourth ring. “Hi, Savannah, what’s wrong? You never call me at work.”
“Sorry, Frances. You need to pick up Jacob from Webb’s Glass Shop. Nicole Borawski from Edward’s pub has been severely injured in a hit-andrun.”
“Oh my God. That’s terrible. How bad is she hurt?” Her speech was harried and staccato.
“It looks very serious. Jacob saw it and seems to be stunned mute. He won’t talk to me.”
“That’s not a good reaction from Jacob. Is he cold or shaking?”
“No, he doesn’t appear to be in shock. One of the paramedics tried to examine him, but Jacob would only accept a shock blanket. The paramedic stopped trying and let him alone. Jacob is very quiet and won’t answer any questions.”
After describing to Frances Underwood what she thought Jacob had seen, she called Edward. This time he answered.
“Hi, luv. I’m sorry. I saw your call. I was elbow deep in a huge order of hand-formed crab cakes. When I start making them, it’s a can’t-stop job. What’s up?”
Savannah told him.
He was stunned into silence. but after a moment, he told her he would arrange for someone to take care of Queen’s Head Pub and that she should follow Nicole to Bayside Medical Center. After he rearranged staffing, he would meet her there.
The next call Savannah made was to Nicole’s wife, Elizabeth. The couple had only been married a little more than a year—they’d recently celebrated their anniversary at Queen’s Head Pub. Her office was just across the Howard Frankland Bridge in Tampa.
Panic made her voice tremble. “I’ll be at the emergency room as soon as I can get there.”
“Do you have someone who can drive you?” Savannah asked. “You’re upset, and you shouldn’t be behind the wheel.”
“No, that would take too long to arrange, and I can’t wait. I’ll be right there.”
Savannah spied Judge Underwood’s car making its way down Central Avenue. She waved her whole arm and watched Frances pull over, slam on the brakes, throw the car in park and leap out onto the sidewalk. Frances flew to Jacob’s side. “Darling, are you okay?”
Jacob turned and shook his head slowly from side to side.
“Okay, I’m going to take you home for root beer. Is that okay?”
Jacob tipped his head. She turned to Savannah. “I’ve got him. Get going to the hospital. Nicole will need her friends.” She gripped Savannah’s upper arm. “I hope she recovers.”
Savannah hopped in her gray Mini Cooper and set out for the hospital.
Chapter 3
Monday evening,
emergency room
Savannah stood inside the emergency room entrance and noticed that her keys were jangling. Her hand was shaking and she could feel her heart race.
She took a deep, calming breath. She held her elbows tightly to her sides, knowing that she dreaded hearing news of Nicole’s condition.
Those tangled legs, fluttering pulse, and bleeding skull—she didn’t think Nicole would be leaving the emergency room alive.
* * *
The waiting room was decorated in the exact opposite mood of bright and cheery. It was dismal, depressing, and painted a dull flat gray. Savannah wondered if this was the plan, or perhaps lifeless décor was the only kind that could withstand the high traffic. The man behind the reception desk was thin, pale, and had shaved his head as a solution to his natural baldness. His mucky brown eyes stared at her through thin round frames.
“What’s the condition of Nicole Borawski?” Savannah asked.
“Can you spell that?” The reception man opened a red binder with about a dozen sheets of paper, one for each patient.
Savannah frowned. “B-O-R-A-W-S-K-I. Her first name is Nicole. N-I-C-O-L-E.”
He flipped a few of the pages and stopped. “Yes, she’s here. Are you a relative?”
“No—”
“Okay, then the only thing I can tell you is that she arrived and that she is in critical condition.”
Savannah lifted her head to look at the ceiling. At least Nicole made it here. “Thanks. Her wife will be arriving shortly.”
“Wife?” The receptionist pursed his lips, then pressed them into a thin line. “She’d better have the proper identification if she expects to be let in to see a patient.”
Savannah raised one eyebrow and turned back into the waiting room.
The coffee was bitter and stale. Even when she followed the handwritten instructions taped on the wall on how to make a fresh pot, the only difference was that it was now hot, bitter, stale coffee.
She repeatedly clenched her hands into fists and released them, trying to ease the tension that plagued them while she worried about Nicole. Savannah sat on the green chair with her head in her hands. She tried to recall if she had locked the doors at Webb’s Glass Shop before leaving.
The automatic doors swooshed open and Elizabeth Hartford frantically looked around the room. She was slightly taller than Savannah’s six feet, with short, scruffy locks of sun-bleached hair and the kind of weathered tan that comes with years of sailing on racing yachts. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her gaze landed on the information desk. With the unconscious grace of an athlete, Elizabeth ran over to it, but the receptionist had stepped away.
Elizabeth pounded a rat-a-tat with her fist on the desk. Then she looked at everyone, desperately searching for someone in charge. She said to the room in general, “My wife is supposed to be here. I was told she was in an accident. Her name is Nicole Borawski. Can someone help me?”
Savannah walked over and gently touched Elizabeth on the arm. “Elizabeth, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Savannah Webb. I own Webb’s Glass Shop next door to Queen’s Head Pub. Nicole is here. The receptionist will be back in a moment. I’m sure.”
Elizabeth’s tanned skin was tinged with a yellow paleness. She blinked her deep brown eyes repeatedly. “What happened? What do the doctors say?”
“I’m not her next of kin. They’ll only tell me she’s in critical condition.” She gently turned Elizabeth back to the receptionist, who was sitting down in his chair. “This is Nicole Borawski’s wife, Elizabeth Hartford. She needs to know what’s happening.”
The receptionist looked up. “Ms. Hartford, may I have your identification and insurance cards, please? I’ll also need proof of your”—he pressed his lips together—“marriage to the patient to indicate that you are her next of kin.”
“I don’t understand. Where’s Nicole? I need to see Nicole,” she said frantically.
Savannah firmly held Elizabeth and spoke quietly but clearly into her ear. “I know it’s hard, but you must calm down. They need to make sure it’s you, first. They will give you all the information you want as soon as they confirm your identity. It’s the privacy act, I think, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know anything. You need to get in there and see the doctor. Do you have your ID handy?”
Elizabeth blinked rapidly, unzipped her windbreaker and removed a worn Spider-Man billfold from the back pocket of her shorts. She placed her driver’s license and medical insurance card on the counter.
The receptionist took them. “Do you have proof of your marital status?”
Elizabeth frowned. “I don’t carry our marriage license around with me, if that’s what you mean.” The pitch of her voice boomed in the large waiting area. Elizabeth was used to yelling over the sound of crashing waves and grinding winches while racing through the ocean.
“Calm down.” Savannah’s whisper contrasted sharply with Elizabeth’s volume. “This will go easier if you take the high road.”
Elizabeth woodenly turned to Savannah with absolute terror shining in her eyes. “I don’t have proof.”
“Wait a second, wouldn’t your insurance company have that information? Isn’t that on your card?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never been questioned about our relationship before.”
“You haven’t had an emergency since you married?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
Savannah picked up the insurance card from the window shelf. “Look. There’s a number to call. Hang on.” She dialed the number and explained the situation to the insurance agent. In less than a minute, Savannah handed her cell phone to the receptionist. “Maybe this will be proof enough.” She accompanied her comment with a ferocious look.
The receptionist took the phone. “Hello, this the Bayside Hospital emergency room.” He listened for a few seconds. “No, of course we don’t discriminate, we treat everyone who comes in. Personal information is different.” He listened again. “Okay, but—” He pursed his lips but continued to listen. “Okay, fine.” The receptionist handed the phone back to Savannah.
“Is everything clear, now?” Savannah said between clenched teeth.
“Yes, ma’am. We treat all your kind.” He took Elizabeth’s ID and insurance card from the counter. “I’m going to copy these. Meanwhile, please fill out these forms. All of them.” He handed Elizabeth a thick set of forms that were attached to a clipboard. He also gave Elizabeth a pen with the hospital’s logo printed on it. “Have a seat. As soon as you complete the forms, we’ll get you logged in as the next of kin and the doctor will be able to tell you what’s happening.”
Elizabeth glared at the receptionist, then spoke each word slowly, calmly, fiercely. “Can you please tell me if she’s alive?”
Chapter 4
Monday evening,
emergency room
The silence in the waiting room smothered the tense group like a wet woolen blanket.<
br />
The receptionist shifted back in his chair, the shock of the request plastered on his face. He stuttered, “The . . . the . . . last I heard, she was . . . was alive. I’m not a doctor, you know.” He pointed to the clipboard in Elizabeth’s hands and regained his composure. “The quicker you manage to fill those out those forms, the quicker you can see the patient—your wife.”
Savannah took Elizabeth’s arm and led her over to one of the horrible plastic chairs. “Sit right here and get those forms filled out. In the end, this will save time. The receptionist doesn’t know and won’t tell you anything. You must be brave, but hurry.”
With a trembling hand, Elizabeth poised the pen over the first blank, but that’s as far as she got. Savannah took the clipboard and pen from her and quickly filled out the information she knew. She asked Elizabeth a few questions about the remaining blanks. Then Savannah pointed to the signature line and held the clipboard steady while Elizabeth scrawled a wavering signature.
Savannah pulled Elizabeth up. She led her by the elbow over to the receptionist’s desk, then handed in the clipboard. “That’s all the forms done. When can Elizabeth see the doctor?”
The receptionist pursed his lips and reached for the telephone. He spoke to someone in a syrupy voice and replaced the handset. “Doctor Smith will be right out.” He stood, leaned over the counter, and pointed to a plain door along the same wall as his cubicle. “He’ll be coming out that door. You can wait right over there in those seats.” He pointed to the chairs nearest the door.
They sat. Elizabeth turned even more pale and rubbed her tummy.
“Are you going to be sick?” asked Savannah.
“Oh, I hope not.”
After what seemed like an hour but was probably only two minutes, the door opened. A very young man no taller than five feet two looked from Savannah to Elizabeth and back to Savannah. “One of you is Elizabeth?”
“That’s me,” Elizabeth said as she stood. Savannah stood as well.
Down in Flames Page 3
