“Don't I know it.” Heath made a wry face. “A shower is going to feel wonderful.”
Candace opened her mouth to speak, but her attention was caught by the sound of screaming. Shrieking, really. Whipping her head around in the direction of the sound, she immediately pinpointed the source of the noise.
Indiana came charging across the sand as fast as her young legs would take her. She was sobbing and hoarsely yelling something unintelligible.
Heath and Candace both scrambled to their feet and rushed toward her. “What's wrong, honey?” Candace called.
Indiana grabbed her hand and tugged hard, almost jerking her off balance. Candace started to go in the direction she was being pulled. “Eason,” Indiana sobbed. “Th-the sand c-c-covered Eason.”
“Oh, dear Lord,” Candace breathed. She looked at Heath, who was jogging along beside them, and chills raised goose bumps on her arms despite the heat. “She says Eason is in the sand!”
Heath's face drained of color. “Show us where, honey.”
Indiana pointed. Some yards ahead, a small blue bucket lay abandoned near a depression in the sand…a depression that had been a sand hole moments before.
“Get shovels!” Heath shouted to everyone around them. “Call 911! There's a child buried in the sand.” Other people were standing and staring, and at his words, there was horrified comprehension.
Candace prayed Indiana was wrong. Maybe Eason was on the far side of that dune, just lost and disoriented. But in her heart, she knew where the little boy was.
Men converged on the site, several carrying the short, sturdy shovels like Skip had bought for Eason, and Heath motioned everyone back. “Don't get too close,” he directed. “There was a sand hole here. We could pack it down harder.”
“Indiana,” he said with a note of authority in his voice. “Show me where you think Eason is.”
“Right here,” the little girl sobbed. “I put the b-bucket right here and called you. I can't find my m-mommy.” The last words disintegrated into a wail.
“That was exactly the right thing to do,” Candace assured her, taking the distraught child in her arms, as Heath and the others began to dig. “You were very smart, sweetheart.”
Heath carefully dug straight down while the other men began to open a wide hole around the blue bucket. Another bystander had taken charge of the shoveling, and he’d said the wider hole was needed to keep sand from falling into the excavated area. It was like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack, Candace thought in despair. If Eason was buried beneath the sand, they could miss him by an inch or by a yard and they’d never know it. She began to pray.
Her prayers were answered, for a moment later Heath shouted, “Got something here! Yeah, his arm.” He dropped to his knees and began digging out sand with his hands flying like a dog's paws.
“Oh please, oh please,” Candace chanted beneath her breath. “Please, dear Lord. Let Eason be all right.”
Another man joined Heath and in just a moment, they were able to pull a limp little body in Buzz Lightyear bathing trunks from the sand.
Candace forced her breaking heart to the side and sought her professional calm. She looked around and found Brooke, who was standing at the edge of the crowd with Howie by her side, his hand clutching the skirt of Brooke's bathing suit. “Honey, I need you to watch them.”
Brooke nodded. Both children came forward, and Brooke put her arms around the sobbing Indiana as Candace ran to Heath's side. He and the other man had carried Eason over and laid him on a towel someone had spread out. They both dropped to their knees in the sand on either side of the child's sand-encrusted body. He did not appear to be breathing.
Heath's anguished gaze met Candace's. “What do we do? If there's sand in his mouth, I’m afraid CPR might drive it farther down his trachea.”
“Roll him over,” Candace said decisively. “Let's try a modified Heimlich like we do on infants.” They had no time to waste, she knew. Even if they could save him, he could suffer severe brain damage if he went too long without oxygen.
She saw that Heath instantly comprehended her idea. Turning Eason over, he put a hand beneath the child and positioned the heel of his palm in the space at the base of his breastbone. Candace nodded. Their eyes met again. Then she struck the little boy's back as hard as she dared.
A clumpy wad of sand flew out of the child's mouth. But he still wasn't breathing. She struck again, and again, more sand dropped free. But his chest remained ominously still.
“On his back again,” Candace said tersely.
Heath complied, saying, “But I’m still afraid—”
“We have to try CPR now,” she interrupted. “We’re risking brain damage if he's down any longer. His oxygen supply already has been compromised.”
Heath nodded, and a distant, objective part of her marveled at how well they worked together. Candace bent over the child and used a towel someone handed her to brush sand from Eason's mouth and nose. Then she began the procedures leading to rescue breathing, while Heath positioned the heel of his hand on the child's breastbone.
“Two breaths?” he asked.
“Two breaths and thirty compressions for his age.” Together they began to administer CPR, Candace blowing into his mouth while Heath took his turn doing careful chest compressions. Almost immediately, she could feel sand grating between her teeth. She had brushed what she could away, but he was still coated with a fine whitish layer of sand. She made a face, as she finished the second breath, and another woman said, “Here. Let's try blowing at it.” Bending close, she blew deep breaths over Eason's face, and the sand around his eyes, on his forehead, and on his cheeks rolled away.
Heath had just counted, “Fifteen,” when Eason's body twitched, and the little boy coughed violently. The crowd that had gathered around them sucked in a collective astonished gasp, and one woman moaned, “Oh, sweet heavenly Jesus, let that little boy live.”
Candace immediately rolled Eason onto his side, but the child didn't vomit.
“My throat hurts,” he said in a thin voice. “Can I have a drink?”
The crowd went wild, screaming and cheering.
Candace ignored them. “In a little bit,” she said, smoothing back his hair. “Keep your eyes closed until we can rinse the sand away from your face.” She lifted her head and called, “Does anyone have an unopened bottle of water? Drinking water, not lake water.” Then she returned her attention to the child. “Can you take a deep breath for me, Eason?”
As his chest expanded and contracted, relief began to flood through her. Eason was all right. Thank You, Lord. And thank You also, for giving Heath and me the fortitude to be good parents even when we make an unpopular decision. She began to shake, as she thought of Howie's having stood in a sand hole just the day before.
Loud screams from the water's edge whipped her head again. Margie was running up the beach as fast as she could, Skip close behind her with Violet. “Eason!” screamed Margie.
Heath leaped to his feet. “He's okay,” he repeated over and over, as she approached. “He's okay.”
Margie and Skip embraced their son and hugged Indiana, while Brooke took Violet off and comforted her. Howie came to Heath's side and stood silently, his little hand firmly gripping Heath's. Skip gathered Eason into his arms while Candace monitored his pulse and respiration.
“Candace, thank you,” Margie sobbed. “I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry.”
Candace took Margie's hand with her free hand. “I know. It's all right. He's all right.”
Sirens screamed to a stop in the parking lot behind the dunes, and a moment later, emergency medical technicians were sprinting toward the knot of people. One man jogged out to meet them and explain.
Candace kept most of her concentration on Eason, until the EMTs took over. The crowd stepped back, and the men began to examine Eason, asking occasional questions of Candace. One of them smiled at Eason and said, “Okay, little buddy. We’re going to take a ride to the hosp
ital.”
“I want Mommy to come.” Eason's voice was quivering.
“Of course I’m coming,” Margie said. She took a deep breath and stepped back so the EMTs could cover Eason with a blanket and secure him to the stretcher. “Thank you, Candace,” she said again.
“You know each other?” one of the EMTs queried.
Candace nodded. “We’re vacationing together.”
“Looks like he's lucky you were close by,” the other EMT observed.
The first shook his head. “Those holes, man, they’re dangerous. They ought to post signs.”
Eason looked up at Heath. In a small voice, he said, “I should have listened to you, Mr. Carlson. I’m sorry.”
Heath knelt beside the stretcher. “It's okay, buddy. I’m just glad you’re feeling all right.” Skip, on the other side of the stretcher, placed a shaking hand over his eyes.
“But I still want a drink,” Eason said plaintively, and despite the gravity of the moment, Candace had to chuckle. Then the chuckle died in her throat. Her family. She wanted her family.
Adrenaline still making her heart race, she rose to her feet as the EMTs took Eason away, with Margie trotting along beside the stretcher. She hadn't even taken a step when she located her family. Heath still had Howie by one hand, and Brooke was holding Violet, who had her head on her shoulder and was sucking her thumb.
“Daddy?” Violet asked in a little voice that threatened tears.
“Daddy's right here,” said Skip from behind them. He had one arm around Indiana, and he took Violet from Brooke with the other. “You’re terrific,” he said to Brooke. “Thank you for caring for Violet.”
“You’re welcome,” Brooke said. Then she turned and buried her face against her mother and burst into tears.
Candace hugged her, and Heath picked up Howie, who simply laid his head on Heath's broad shoulder. Tears had left clean streaks down his dusty, sun- and sand-covered face.
“She was great.” The woman behind her spoke up. “The little girl was crying when her father set her down, and this young lady calmed her down. Then she made sure both kids stayed right by her side. I was going to help, but you didn't need any help, did you?” She smiled at Brooke. “Good job, honey.”
“Mommy?” Howie lifted his head from Heath's shoulder.
“Yes, honey?”
“I want to go home now.”
“I know.” Candace heard her own voice wobble, and she took a deep breath. “Let's go pack the car. We’ll say good-bye to our friends before we leave.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
WELCOME HOME FROM VACATION. HOW WAS IT?” Elena hugged Candace as she drew her into the houseon Sunday evening. Cesar's surprise party was about to get under way, and most of the guests had arrived.
“Oh, it was eventful. I’ll tell you all about it later.” Candace didn't want to get into the sand rescue just then. It was still too traumatic; she began to shake every time she thought of it.
Heath came up the walk, having parked the car around the corner. “Sorry we’re a little late. He's not here yet, is he?”
Elena shook her head. “No, you’re in plenty of time. Go on out back and get yourselves something to eat and drink. Rafael is waiting for me to text him to let him know as soon as Cesar pulls in.”
Candace and Heath walked through Elena's striking turquoise, black, and white kitchen to the door that led to her deck and pool area. As they stepped outside, Rafael hurried over. “Hey, there. Glad you could make it. Can I get you something to drink?”
They thanked him, and Rafael went off to fill their orders. Candace took a moment to look around and get her bearings; after the events of yesterday, it seemed strangely anticlimactic to come home and pick up the flow of life without missing a beat.
“Welcome home.” Anabelle waved. She and Fern were seated at a round table, while James and Cam stood behind them. There were a lot of people Candace didn't know. Some were cops and their wives, a couple of them were members of Rafael's band, and Candace was certain some of the teens gathered in a knot in one corner must be from the youth center where Cesar volunteered.
“Thanks.” Candace joined the Scotts and the Bells.
“So how was it?” Fern asked. “I haven't been to the beach in ages.”
“It was lovely, mostly,” Candace temporized. “We’ll fill you in later.” She looked at Anabelle. “How's Kirstie? Have you heard from her?”
Anabelle nodded. “She's having a wonderful time teaching group tours about those iguanas.” She grimaced. “Ainslee and I have realized that we're going to have to pretend to be thrilled by large blue lizards when we go up to visit next weekend.”
Candace laughed. “The things we do for our children.”
“In my house,” Fern said, “it's more ‘the things we do to our children’ at the moment. Gideon has been stolen by aliens. And in his place, they left a surly, academically indifferent, girlfriend-obsessed smart-mouth.”
“Oh dear.” Anabelle patted her hand. “I was hoping things would get better rather than worse.”
“They have, if only because James and Gideon are no longer on speaking terms,” Fern said ruefully. “We grounded him.”
“Tough love,” Anabelle said.
Fern nodded. “Yes. Except that his girlfriend got mad at him for letting his grades slip and getting grounded for fighting with Nelson, so now she's not speaking to him, and he's doubly angry at us.”
Candace laughed. “Oh goodness. Can it get any worse?”
“I hope not.” Fern shook her head and joined in the laughter.
Rafael came rushing into the center of the partygoers. “Dad's on his way in,” he announced. “We’ve got to get quiet. When he opens the door, yell surprise.” He retreated to a spot near the door and bent to speak to a woman in front of him, putting his mouth close to her ear. She turned and smiled up at him, and Candace realized it was Sarah Fulton, the mother of his daughter. Sarah laughed at something, and Rafael put his hand on her shoulder. Candace noted that Sarah's beau from the Fourth of July did not appear to be in attendance.
I'm such a sap, she thought. She always had thought it would be so lovely if Rafael and Sarah ever got back together. Not just for Isabel's sake—although that would be nice—but because there seemed to be some invisible connection between them.
The back door began to open then, and everyone held a collective breath. Then Cesar's solid figure appeared.
“Surprise!”
Cesar looked completely and utterly stunned, so Candace had to assume Elena had managed not to tip her hand. Someone began to sing “Happy Birthday,” and everyone took up the song.
When they had finished, Cesar shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing. “Thanks, everyone. If I have to join the Geezer Club, being surrounded by family and friends is the best way I can think of to do it.”
There was a rumble of voices from the corner where the group from the youth club was standing. One tall boy grinned and said, “Mr. R., you’re the coolest guy we know. If you’re in the Geezer Club, I hope I’m just like you when I join it.”
Everyone laughed and applauded, and Cesar thanked the boy who had spoken.
He turned and indicated Elena, who was standing behind him. “She's a sneaky one. I never suspected a thing.”
Elena beamed. “Sneaky Rodriguez…I think I like it.” There was a ripple of laughter, and she pointed toward a table at one side of the party area. “Cake's over here. Come blow out your candles, and we’ll feed all your friends.”
When everyone had cake, Elena finally took a piece for herself and stood back in a corner to eat it. She couldn't stop smiling. Cesar appeared thrilled by this party, and she was so very glad she’d done it.
“Hey, Elena.” It was one of Cesar's oldest friends in the department, a street cop whose family also attended Holy Trinity where she went to church.
“Hey, Steve. Thanks for coming.”
“No problem. I’d do just about anything
for your guy here.”
“Hey, bud.” Cesar overheard the comment and came to join them. “The feeling's mutual.”
“Don't I know it.” Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Did he tell you about the day he helped me move the contents of the Smithsonian?”
Elena's forehead creased. “What?”
Cesar laughed. “We joked that that's what it felt like the day I helped him move his daughter.”
“Oh, right.” She remembered now. She’d been concerned by Cesar's fatigue afterward.
“She had about four million boxes, two couches, and a queen-sized mattress that had to go up two stories to her new apartment. It about killed us.” Steve shook his head. “I told her this was her freebie. Next time she has to hire movers.”
They all laughed. Elena's amusement was tinged with relief. So that was the story behind the exhaustion. Now it made sense.
“That was a good experience for me,” Cesar told Steve. “It showed me just how out of shape I really was. It inspired me to start watching the ol’ calories more closely, and to really push myself harder during my workouts and runs.”
It wasn't quite such a good experience for me, Elena recalled silently. That had been the catalyst for her concern about Cesar's heart health; and from then on, she looked at every move he made through that perspective.
Yet another wave of relief surged through her, and she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. “I think you’re in fine shape.”
“Better than I was.” Cesar smiled broadly. “Some days, I feel like I’m twenty-five again.”
Steve gave a hearty cough. “Uh, hate to break it to you, buddy, but there are a few too many silver strands in your hair to pass for twenty-five.” He squinted. “But I’ll give you thirty.”
And Elena laughed as an exchange of insults began. Who created the rule that the better the buddy, the more zing there is to the insult? she wondered. It appeared Steve and Cesar were very good buddies.
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