“Rissa!” Marlea nearly fell over her own feet when she reached the master suite. The set of rooms, shaped so like those in her own home, were different this morning—quiet, except for muffled sounds from the bedroom. Slowing, her heart pounding, Marlea trailed her fingers along the wall, not knowing what to expect. “Rissa?”
“Here.”
Sirens wailed in the distance, and Marlea’s stomach wrenched when she stepped fully into the warm and stylish bedroom. Eyes adjusting to the sun-filled room, she looked toward the bed and her mouth dropped. “Rissa…”
Sitting in the middle of the bed, still holding the telephone, fat tears spilled down Rissa’s face and she swallowed hard. “I don’t know what happened, Marlea. My baby…” Her eyes dropped and the tears came faster. “My baby…”
“Help is coming,” Marlea promised and hoped she was right. In the distance, she heard people talking, paramedics, she hoped. Somebody told them to go to the bedroom. Maybe Mrs. Baldwin followed me, she guessed, not concerned with whether she was right or not. Help had arrived. Concentrating on Rissa, she moved to the bed. Sitting carefully, she opened her arms and braced herself when Rissa collapsed against her.
“My baby,” Rissa whimpered.
“Is going to be fine.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that I’m not going to let you out of my sight until we both know.” She rubbed circles on her sister-in-law’s back and laid her cheek against her short, silky hair.
The paramedics, two strong-looking women, strode into the room and bent immediately to their work. Rissa was quiet as they fastened a blood pressure cuff to her arm and threw back her bed linens, preparing to shift her to the cold, white-sheeted stretcher they moved to her bedside. Her breathing was shaky and her fingers cold as she held Marlea’s hand tightly.
“Stay with me,” Rissa whispered and Marlea nodded, not knowing whether the words were for her or the baby.
Chapter 6
Lips pressed tight, the tall paramedic checked the blanket pulled over Rissa and looked to her partner. The chubby blonde nodded and grabbed the strap near Rissa’s feet. Towing the stretcher, she started off at a determined jog, her partner working with her. Marlea grabbed Rissa’s purse and ran with them, matching their every step.
“You have a hospital preference?” the tall one asked, never looking back.
Outside, the paramedics stopped and the back door of the ambulance slammed open. The wheels of the gurney clicked as the two women adjusted and lifted it. Rissa moaned softly as it clicked into place. “Monitoring is on you,” the chubby blonde said and headed for the driver’s seat.
“I’m on it.” The tall one slammed a door shut and started to climb in. “Hospital?”
“Southwest is closest, right?” Rissa’s golden skin had a distinctly ashen cast and her lips trembled when Marlea spoke for her. “Southwest.”
“Right.” The woman reached for the door, but Marlea was faster. She pulled and stepped up at the same time, landing on her knees at the foot of Rissa’s stretcher. The paramedic’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened.
“I’m going with her, and you can’t stop me,” Marlea said. The woman’s gloved hand moved toward her radio and Rissa moaned again. Marlea’s dark eyes narrowed when she squeezed onto the aluminum jump seat at Rissa’s side. “You won’t stop me.” Holding Rissa’s hand, she looked at the paramedic. “She’s my sister, and I’m going.”
The tall woman nodded and pulled the door closed. She pressed a button on the wall, murmured the name of the hospital, and the sirens started. The ambulance rolled and she took the jump seat on Rissa’s other side. Her eyes moved when she checked the blood pressure gauge still attached to Rissa’s arm. When she looked up, she was smiling. “You’re just like I thought you would be.”
Marlea’s eyes shot up to meet the paramedic’s. “Pardon me?”
“You’re Marlea Kellogg, right? The runner? With Project ABLE?” Her grin went crooked when Marlea nodded. “I thought I recognized you. I’m Tara Morgan. My brother Terrence is a part of your project.”
“Terrence Morgan?” Marlea looked down at Rissa and tried to place the name.
Project ABLE had drawn a lot of attention and a real following among athletes since its inception. Born of Marlea and AJ’s love of sports, his physical therapy practice, and her competitive nature, Project ABLE had stretched across Atlanta and beyond, helping hundreds of athletes find life after challenge. Being founded and sponsored by an NFL Hall of Famer and a Paralympics’ gold medalist had insured Project ABLE’s ability to generate press and funding. But it was their success in motivation and support that drew the attention of The President’s Council on Fitness, and kept them in touch with athletes like Terrence Morgan.
“Sprinter,” Marlea finally remembered, picturing his face. “Diving accident, right?”
“Broke his neck,” Tara said. “Came to your program through Piedmont Hospital, and now he’s a wheelchair racer.” Her crooked grin flashed again. “And he’ll graduate from Georgia Tech in the spring. Gonna be an engineer.”
“I’m glad.” Rissa’s moan made Marlea look down. The speeding ambulance took a turn, and she had to plant her feet to keep from rolling off the seat.
Rissa’s eyelids were drooping; they’d given her a sedative. “It’s over,” she mumbled, her fingers tightening on Marlea’s. “I messed up. I let him down, Marlea.” Shushing her had no effect; she was determined to speak. “He was depending on me…All I had to do was…”
“She’s a little shocky, but stable,” Tara explained. Leaning, she looked out the window, then back at Marlea. “We’re still about two minutes out.”
“Thank you.”
Tara’s crooked grin flashed again. “Thank you, from me and my brother.” The ambulance slowed and Tara moved between Marlea and the stretcher. “You’re going to have to move now. We’re taking her inside.”
The ambulance jerked to a stop and the door clanked when the blonde pulled it open. She blinked and stepped back. “What is she doing in there?”
“Relative,” Morgan said, sweeping Marlea with her as she pushed past.
A dozen hands moved in to help and Marlea hung close. When they moved, she went with them, feeling a bump in the pocket of her windsuit. Jamming a hand in the pocket, she pulled a cellphone free. For a moment, she wondered where it had come from, when she had gotten it. Probably Rissa’s. Probably grabbed it when I picked up her purse. The thought of a purse reminded Marlea of her own. It’s at home, with my children.
The hospital doors were flung open and everything around them seemed to pick up speed. Marlea found herself jogging alongside the stretcher, still holding Rissa’s cold fingers. When a woman in plum-colored scrubs and white rubber-soled clogs stopped her outside the ER, she felt breathless and numb.
“I’m Andi Marcus, and I’ll be handling intake for Mrs. Traylor.” The woman edged a step between Marlea and the double doors, and Marlea was forced to release Rissa’s fingers when the gurney slid through the opening. “We’re going to need her personal information. Did I hear somebody say you’re her sister?”
“Sister-in-law.”
“Close enough.” Ms. Marcus smiled, apparently satisfied that Marlea wasn’t going to keel over in front of her, and indicated a chair in front of the hospital green Formica counter.
Marlea sat. If the woman had given her name, she couldn’t remember it, but she tried to answer every question. Opening Rissa’s purse, she found medical and social security cards when requested. When the woman paused for breath, Marlea asked, “Can I see her?”
Sympathy crossed the woman’s face, and, rising, she nodded. “Let me check.”
She walked away and Marlea pulled out the cellphone and scrolled through the phone book. She hesitated, wanting to call AJ first. Determined to do the right thing, she passed his name and found Dench. Glancing at her watch, she tried to screw up her nerve. He would probably be out on the field or something, but he wou
ld want to know. He needed to know. Inhaling deeply, she pressed in the number.
“Hey, sweetness.”
Marlea’s heart broke. “Dench, this is Marlea, and I’m at the hospital…”
“What?” Confusion twisted across the line and he was silent for a long second. “Wait a minute, this is Rissa’s phone. Why are you on her phone? Did you say at the hospital? Is she okay? Which hospital?”
She heard the hot bright edge of hysteria touch his voice. I should have called AJ first. He might have taken this better coming from AJ. “We’re at…”
“It’s the baby, isn’t it?”
“I…Dench, we just got here and I’m still in Admissions. I don’t have any answers for you, but I think you need to be here with her. We’re at Southwest Medical Center.”
“Yes, of course. I’m at Flowery Branch…I’ll be there as soon as I can. Southwest—about an hour, okay?”
“Dench, that’s fifty miles in traffic…”
“About an hour.” He was breathless, running, she guessed.
“Of course.” She couldn’t make herself end the call. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave her alone. I’ll be here when you get here.”
“Thanks, Marlea.” Fear was pushing hysteria aside. She heard it in his voice.
“Drive carefully.” She pressed the button, disconnecting the call.
The politely cleared throat made her turn. The woman in the plum-colored scrubs stood just behind her. “If you need a minute,” she indicated the cellphone, “I’ll be right back.” Marlea nodded and she disappeared around a corner.
Marlea looked at the phone in her hand and pressed the number in.
“Hey, Rissa. What’s up?”
His voice was as familiar as her own right hand and comforted her as no other could. “It’s me, AJ. I’m just using Rissa’s phone.” She waited a beat when he covered the phone with his hand and said something to one of the Project ABLE staffers.
“Yeah, Silk, what’s up? Everything okay?”
Holding the phone in both hands, she lowered her voice. “AJ, I’m at the hospital with…”
Silent alarm raced between them. “Are you all right? The kids?”
“I’m fine, and the kids are with Mrs. Baldwin. They’re fine, too.” She braced herself. “It’s Rissa, she…Well, I don’t know yet. Can you get here? I’ll stay with her, but AJ, please?”
There was silence, and she knew he was nodding. “You already called Dench?”
“He’s on the way.”
“So am I. Southwest, right?”
Marlea nodded. “Right.”
“Hold on, Silk. I’m on the way.”
The man was a rock and she was grateful as she closed the phone and dropped it into Rissa’s purse. The hand that touched her shoulder made her jump. The woman in the plum-colored scrubs stood beside her and, as hard as she tried, Marlea could read nothing in her expression. “Is she all right?”
“At her doctor’s request, we’re going to hold her for observation. But in the meantime, she’s stable and you can see her now,” the woman said and gave her quick directions.
Forcing her feet not to run was a job all on its own as Marlea found herself taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. On the third floor, she stepped out of the stairwell and into the sterile hall. She was nowhere near out of breath, but when a woman pushing a fetal monitor passed her, she felt like she’d been punched. One hand on the wall, Marlea forced herself to stand straight and breathe normally. Putting one foot in front of the other, hand still on the wall, she forced herself to read the room numbers and walk toward Rissa’s room.
When she found it, the door was closed. Looking at the door made her stomach hurt and she dreaded opening it, but she knew how much the woman on the other side needed her right then. Maybe she didn’t lose the baby. Maybe it’s just a complication. They can fix complications. Maybe…Marlea closed her eyes, wished she could stop shaking, and prayed. Whatever is on the other side of the door, please help Rissa to bear it. Dench is on the way, Lord. Please let me be enough until he gets here. Straightening her shoulders, Marlea opened her eyes and pushed the door open.
White, beige, and deep gray shadow dominated the room. Stepping in, Marlea let the door close behind her. Rissa lay on the narrow white-sheeted bed in the middle of the room, silent and unmoving. Plastic tubes at her face and inner arm delivered oxygen and glucose. On the wall behind her, one low-wattage light bar burned and a monitor beeped regularly, verifying her heart rate and breathing. Whatever else happened, she’s alive. Marlea licked her lips and stepped forward. “Rissa?”
“Here.” The single word was filled with bitter defeat.
“I thought you could use some company.” Looking around, Marlea found a neutral-colored chair and pulled it from the corner. “I brought your purse, and I called Dench. He’s on the way.”
The cracked sob and sudden movement on the bed stole the strength from Marlea’s legs, dumping her into the chair. “Rissa?”
Rissa pushed the oxygen tube down and pulled the edges of the sheet to her nose. Holding the sheet tightly, she sniffed hard and turned her face to Marlea. “Thank you for getting me here.”
“Of course…”
“I wish I was dead.” The sheet twitched as she pulled it again. Marlea reached for the box of tissues on the bedside table. Rissa pushed them away and twisted the sheet to her face. “I lost the baby.”
Though she’d half expected them, the words raked Marlea’s soul. “Rissa, I am so sorry.”
“All I had to do was hold on.” Bitterness slimed her words. “I couldn’t do it. I tried and I just couldn’t do it.”
“Rissa, it’s not your fault.”
“Who else do you think was carrying the baby?” Rissa snorted and choked. “I should have seen the specialist like they said, but I was so damned tired of doctors and everything was going so well.” She turned swollen, red-rimmed eyes to Marlea. “It’s my fault, all my fault.”
Rissa snatched her hand away when Marlea reached for it. “I wanted this baby so badly. And Dench, he…”
Marlea settled for pulling her chair close enough to hold Rissa’s gaze with her own. “You already know that man will forgive you anything. He’ll never blame you for something that is so clearly not your fault.”
Rissa glared, then turned her face away.
“Look, I’m not trying to minimize your pain.” Marlea reached out, her fingers touching Rissa’s shoulder. “Of all the people you know, I know what it is to wake up in the hospital and have your life irrevocably changed.”
A despondent tremor shivered through Rissa’s body and she curled in on herself. “Marlea, you got hit by a car and woke up without two toes. You lost a chance to make the Olympic team, but you got a second chance in the Paralympics. I lost a baby. Now you have a good shoemaker and I have an empty womb—where’s the justice in that?”
Ashamed to say the words, Marlea admitted, “There is none.” In her heart, she heard the words she would never say: This was never about justice, was it? This was about heart’s desire and love unfulfilled. This was about investing everything and not having anything but pain and emptiness to show for it. This was about losing faith, and losing yourself in the effort.
The tremors shaking Rissa’s body grew deeper and Marlea hurt for her. At a loss, she pressed both hands to Rissa’s back and laid her head against them, wishing she knew how to fix this, how to make it better—but she had nothing. Please, God, she prayed, where is Dench?
AJ pulled into the parking lot and shoved the gear into park. If I go into the deck, I’ll miss him for sure. He turned the key and pulled it from the ignition. He won’t get past me here. The thought had no sooner occurred to him than he saw the truck. Dench made a two-point turn and AJ hit his horn.
Seeing him, Dench angled the truck into a slot and hit the ground running. AJ bailed out of his own truck two steps behind him. The two men ran for the hospital entrance like the wide receiver and running back
they had once been. The doors slid open before them, but not fast enough. Dench’s shoulder hit one, sending it swinging as he plowed toward Admissions. “Rissa Traylor,” he demanded. “Where is she?”
Ike Whitman looked up from his textbook, The Anatomy Coloring Book, in time to see Dench take out the door across from the desk. The student’s eyes grew wide behind his spectacles and his mouth formed the sibilant word his mother kept telling him not to use. The two big men in front of him were in a hurry and they looked ready to fight. And Ike could tell that the one doing the talking meant every word.
Trying to think fast, to remember everything he’d been told in orientation, Ike heard him make his demand again and didn’t have a clue as to how to answer him. The woman he was asking about—what if she was an abuse victim? Lord, what if she had died in an accident or something? I don’t want to be the one to tell him! Ike looked around and found himself alone. Now how the hell did that happen?
Dench’s fist landed hard on the counter in front of him. “Where is my wife?”
“Sir, I need to check…” Ike stood and looked up at the big man.
Andi Marcus stepped behind the counter and stood next to the student. She gave him a look that made him step back, then turned to Dench. “Did I hear you ask for Mrs. Traylor?” Dench nodded. “I did her intake. Let me get the room number for you.”
Grateful, Dench nodded. AJ clapped a hand to his shoulder and he nodded again when Ms. Marcus gave him the number. He turned away, then back again. “Is she all right?”
“She’s stable.” Andi wiped a suddenly sweaty hand on the hip of her plum-colored scrubs and watched the tall men run down the hall. The husband has nice eyes, she thought and a little piece of her heart broke for him, already knowing the news he would get when he reached his wife.
Ike Whitman stood behind her and wondered if it was too late to change his major.
Taking the same path Marlea had chosen, Dench and AJ climbed the stairs to the third floor. Stepping out into the sterile corridor, it took a moment to get their bearings. Dench reached out to the first person passing—a youngish man with an afro in baggy brown corduroy pants, a tired blue shirt and a white lab coat.
Dream Keeper Page 9
