“I’ll go get it, Abuelita. Let me!” Graeme called from the living room where he was playing his new Wii.
Claire roused herself from where she was laying on the couch. “No, hijo, I don’t want you down there by that road.”
“Aw, Mom, you never let me do anything.”
“I know. You’re very deprived.”
He frowned at her as she walked by but was soon back into a heated tennis match.
“Could the package be at the post office, Abuelita?” Claire asked as she strode through the kitchen, headed for her red wool coat that hung on a peg by the door.
“Well, I suppose, but I haven’t gotten a notice. If it is, it’s too late anyway. It’s six o’clock.”
Claire had lost all track of time. “So it is. I hadn’t realized.”
“Hija?” Abuelita turned from the pot she was stirring on the stove to face Claire, who was still standing in the doorway.
Claire looked at her, wishing she could shake the sadness she felt. She knew it burdened her grandmother.
“Is there any way this could be a misunderstanding? Shouldn’t you give him the chance to explain?”
“I don’t think so, Abuelita. I mean, what is there to explain? What I heard was very clear.” Claire reached up and twisted a strand of her hair. “He had us all fooled—and me most of all. I’m sorry—for you and for Graeme.”
“Oh, pshh.” Abuelita waved her wooden spoon in the air. “Don’t be sorry for me. Be sorry for him if I ever get my hands around his neck.” She set the spoon down and formed her two hands into a circle, as if she were choking someone.
Claire had to laugh. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, as she walked out the door.
The sun was going down, and what had been flurries when Stephen started out had turned to larger flakes that were falling more consistently. The gravel road through Romeo’s back country was covered in a thin layer of white already, and Stephen could barely see it—as though through a bride’s veil. He was beginning to regret not wearing reflective clothing.
He pulled his collar up around his neck to try to keep out the cold and whistled to Duchess and Regina. He was revving up to turn his frozen legs on. If he could, he was going to sprint the rest of the way home. Enough exercise. If he couldn’t be with Claire, at least he could be in front of his fireplace tonight.
In that moment, two things happened: Stephen heard his beeper going off on his phone, but above that noise was the loud rumble of a vehicle approaching way too fast for the conditions. He turned to see what looked like Stan Evans’s brown truck coming toward him at high speed.
Claire wished, as she squinted her eyes in order to see the mailbox down by the highway, that she’d brought the flashlight. The painted bricks under her feet looked black instead of red. When she left the house she didn’t realize how dark it was already. But with the sun going down and the snow falling, she could barely see Abuelita’s iron gates.
That was something she hated about winter in Romeo—the shortness of the days. In fact, if Abuelita would go with her, she’d move to the Cayman Islands or somewhere it was sunny year-round. But Abuelita would never move, and Claire knew she couldn’t run away from her problems. She’d tried that once, and it obviously didn’t work.
She thought of Moira and Rob’s parents back in Arkansas. What right had she to take Graeme so far away from them—to remove him so far from their lives? And them from his? And yet, her abuelita was getting old; they needed to be near her, too. Claire resolved to do a better job of keeping in contact with Rob’s family. She would let Graeme go to Moira’s in the summer, and next Christmas she would get plane tickets before they were all sold out. She owed that to Graeme, to Rob, to them all.
Opening the big black mailbox, which was encased in brick, Claire saw the package Abuelita must’ve been looking for. She reached in for it and for a bundle of letters that were held together by a rubber band. As she turned to close the mailbox, Claire heard a sound that was as loud as a freight train. It seemed to be blowing directly in her ear. There was a crash like thunder and then the mind-rending screech of metal on metal. Claire turned around, but all she saw was a bright light that blinded her eyes. She dropped the package and the bundle of letters onto the ground, where they were soon covered in a cloak of snow.
Chapter Thirty-three
The truck slammed on its brakes, stirring up a cloud of dust and snow that momentarily blinded Stephen.
“That you, Dr. Reyes?” Stan’s deep voice called out of the open window.
“Yes—hold on just a minute.”
Stephen staggered over to the window, flipping open his phone to answer the beeper.
“Dr. Reyes?” asked the caller’s voice. “We’ve got a two-car accident on Highway 142. A pedestrian was hit. EMS is there now.”
“I’ll meet them at the hospital.”
“Need a ride up to your house?” Stan offered, assessing the situation.
“That would be great; thanks.” Stephen climbed into the backseat of Stan’s blue Chevy, which was toasty warm. Marsha was sitting in the middle of the front seat snuggled up to Stan, and they seemed to be out for an adventure. “Where are you two headed on a night like this? And why are you in such a hurry?”
Stan gunned the engine and the truck leaped forward. He could have been an ambulance driver.
“Oh—it’s so exciting!” Marsha turned around in her seat to face Stephen, her pretty face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Our pastor’s wife is in labor! They don’t have a four-wheel drive, so they called us to take them to the hospital!”
Stan barreled down his drive and stopped just short of Stephen’s garage.
He looked at both of them for just a moment, feeling a wave of satisfaction. “Well, you guys be careful,” he said as he exited the truck. “And thanks.”
“We will. You, too.”
Stephen let his dogs in, grabbed his keys, and jumped into his truck. In ten minutes he was in La Jara. Another five and he was suited up.
“Dr. Reyes, glad you’re here. They want you take the patient down the hall,” Carlos told him, and Stephen took the chart he was holding out.
Thankfully, because it was New Year’s Eve, two other ER doctors had been at the hospital when EMS arrived. They had taken the most critical patients, whom Stephen understood to be an unrestrained male under the influence of alcohol who had been ejected from his vehicle and a father and his child. The drunk man, who could not be resuscitated, had been pronounced dead. The father, who had been driving the other vehicle, was already in surgery for a ruptured disc and spleen, while the child was being treated for a head injury.
Carlos handed Stephen a chart, explaining that he was to attend to the fourth accident victim: a pedestrian who had been injured by the colliding vehicles.
“I need to prepare you, though—” Carlos’s voice trailed off.
Stephen’s face went white as he read the chart. The name of the patient was Claire Caspian.
“Claire?” Stephen bent over the bed and stroked her hair. It had pieces of grass woven into it and felt damp all over. There was a huge knot on her head near her crown, and the hair around it was matted with blood. He felt the knot and saw that the blood was congealing—both good things. If anything about this could be called “good.”
Though Stephen was told that Claire’s situation was not critical, the wreck and the whole scene in the ER reminded him of Sydney Evans and that horrible night she died. He’d never forget having to tell her parents she was dead. Stephen shuddered.
Claire had multiple lacerations across her face, though none looked deep, and a black eye. Examining every inch carefully, he thought he could see the imprint of a brick on her cheek, like one had been thrown at her. Her bottom lip was bleeding. Stephen reached down to stop it with a piece of gauze. She flinched when the gauze touched the cut and opened her eyes slightly. He thought he saw the hint of a frown. Then she closed them again.
“Claire, this is Stephen,” he said caressi
ngly. “I’m here. You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay.”
He took inventory of all of her monitors. Her telemetry, which was her heart’s rhythm and rate, was normal. Pulse, 110. The pulse ox clamped on her finger showed 99 percent, which was good, and her blood pressure was 158 over 93. A little high, but understandable. It was okay for that moment.
Stephen pulled back the sheet that covered her. She was still fully clothed, in red flannel pajama bottoms and a long-sleeved Razorback T-shirt. There was not much evidence of the accident on her clothes, thanks to the long wool coat that had been removed by an EMT. It hung over a chair in the room and was covered in snow, mud, and grass. One of its wooden toggles hung by a thread.
Around the bottom of Claire’s pants, the fabric was wet. She wore white socks that were stained with mud and gravel. Her feet were cold.
Stephen reached into his pocket and took out his knife to cut off the wet hem of her pajamas. Then he gently pulled off the socks and threw them into the trash. He rubbed her feet between his palms to warm them, and she moved her toes—a good sign that she could feel them. Removing his own socks, he placed them on her feet. His size twelves swallowed her eights, but at least they were warm and dry. He added a blanket to the sheet and pulled the covers up to her chest. She stirred slightly.
The chart said that Claire had been found in a ditch six feet away from the vehicles, which were locked together in a head-on collision. She was responsive, though only semiconscious. She was able to move her arms and legs. The story the nurses pieced together with the EMTs is that Claire jumped into the ditch to avoid being hit as the cars collided. They slammed into the brick mailbox right beside her, sending it careening into the ditch where broken pieces of it—as well as glass from the cars—struck Claire. The worst and biggest piece of the mailbox landed on her head. She had multiple contusions on her knees, hip bones, and elbows from the impact of the fall and was believed to have two badly sprained ankles. The greatest concern, naturally, was her head. It was predetermined that she had a concussion. No X-rays had been done.
It was Stephen’s call whether to order radiography or lab, and he determined pretty quickly, since all of her vital signs were good and she wasn’t on IV meds, to order a head CT scan. After the CT, what she needed was rest. To be observed, as they called it in the ER. She was definitely obtunded and not moving her arms or legs at the moment, but the feeling was there. Nothing seemed to be broken. Stephen sensed she was going to be okay, and great relief washed over him.
After ordering the CT scan and some pain medication for Claire, he sat down in one of the chairs. Running a hand through his hair, he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
“Dr. Reyes?”
Stephen looked up to see Carlos’s anxious face at the door.
He walked to the door so they could talk softly through it without disturbing Claire.
“Does someone else need me?” Stephen asked, suddenly remembering he was on call for the ER and not only there to watch over Claire.
“No,” said Carlos, “but Claire’s abuelita is here. She wants to see Claire.”
“Okay—let me go talk to her.”
Stephen looked back at Claire, who seemed to be resting peacefully. Then he stepped outside the door. Abuelita was waiting at the end of the hall with an overnight bag, and she had a pained look on her face that didn’t alter when she saw him.
“She’s okay!” Stephen smiled, reaching out to hug her. “I’ve been with her the whole time, and I think she’s going to be just fine. She’s bruised—”
Abuelita flinched from his hug. “Is she awake?”
“No, she’s resting. The EMT report says she was semiconscious when they found her. She talked to them—mentioned Graeme’s name—and told them something about what happened. We believe she has a closed head wound. She’s about to get a CT scan, and then I want to observe her for the rest of the night—to see how she does when she wakes up.”
“Can I see her?”
“Of course. I’ll take you in there.”
Stephen thought Claire’s abuelita was acting strange, but he also knew she was in shock.
“I’d prefer to go by myself.”
She started to walk away from him, but Stephen caught her arm.
“Hey, where’s Graeme?”
“Martina came and got him, if it’s any of your business.” Abuelita shook him off, eyeing his hand as though it was leprous.
Stephen didn’t get it, but he didn’t let himself take it personally. “Oh. Well, okay. I’ll just go to my dictation room a few moments and get caught up. Then perhaps we can talk.” Maybe she’d be more normal after she saw that Claire was okay.
It had been only thirty minutes, but it seemed like hours before Abuelita emerged from Claire’s room. The attendant had come to take Claire on a gurney to radiology, and Stephen saw Abuelita follow them from where he was sitting at his workstation, doing documentation on the computer.
“Abuelita,” he called.
She scowled at him. “She opened her eyes.”
“That’s wonderful!” He jumped up from his chair.
She put her hand up to stop him. “You mustn’t go near her when she returns from the scan.”
Stephen was getting frustrated. He motioned for her to come into the little room, and then he shut the door.
“I need to see her if she is awake. There are certain questions I need to ask as her doctor.”
“Carlos can do it. Let him ask all of the questions.”
“Is something wrong? I mean, other than Claire’s accident? I don’t want to be a bother to you, but I don’t understand how you’re acting.”
“No entiendes? Estoy hasta la madre! No tienes una corazón! Eres tan estúpido como un burro. Baboso! Cerdo egocéntrico!”
Stephen wasn’t completely proficient in Spanish, but he was pretty sure Abuelita had just called him a heartless, stupid, egocentric pig. “Whoa! Slow down! What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Claire. And Graeme. And you leading them both on. What kind of a sicko are you to get a kick out of hurting people—especially people who have been hurt so much already? You’re a doctor! You’re supposed to care about people!”
Abuelita suddenly looked very old. Her rouge was smeared, as was her mascara, presumably from crying. She tucked the hair that had fallen into her face back up with a comb, putting herself and her composure back together.
“I do care,” Stephen said as sincerely as possible. “In fact, I love your granddaughter and her son. I would never hurt any of you on purpose. I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” He knew his voice was pleading.
Abuelita studied him, narrowing her dark eyes as though to reduce him down to nothing. Nothing but the truth.
“You have no intentions of getting back together with your ex-wife?”
“What?” Stephen felt like he’d been hit on the head with a brick. “No! None at all. She’s married to another man.” He ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly aware of why Claire had been avoiding his calls. “Where did Claire—and you—get that idea?”
Abuelita seemed to sense that he was genuinely astonished, and she sighed, mulling this over. “She went to your office to surprise you the other day and overheard you talking to your wife on the phone. She assumed—she believed—you were deceiving her. I told her she should let you explain. But she’s so stubborn! I don’t know why she jumped to such conclusions.”
Despite his astonishment, Stephen couldn’t help but savor the irony of Abuelita’s words. He raised his eyebrows and a grin tugged at his lips. “Hmm. I’m glad you would never do that.”
A smile crept around the corners of Abuelita’s mouth, and her voice softened. “You have to understand, hijo, that Claire has been abandoned by many significant people in her life. Both of her parents and then her husband. All through death. They would never have willed it—but that is abandonment just the same. I’m afraid if you’re going to love he
r you must take on this baggage, until the day she is truly able to lay it down.”
“I want to—I will, gladly,” Stephen said. “I thought she already knew I loved her, but I haven’t told her yet. I’ve been waiting for the right time to say the words.”
“Maybe that time is now.”
While Claire was getting her scan, Stephen and Abuelita shared a cup of coffee in the lounge. Then the two of them walked back towards Claire’s room. They met Carlos, who was just coming out.
“I’d say she’s doing great,” he said to Abuelita. “Called me her ‘shining caballero’ the minute I walked into the room.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Abuelita said. “Was she hurting?”
“Said she was sore.” Carlos looked at Stephen. “I gave her the Percocet you ordered.”
“Good. That should help her rest.”
“Yep, doc, she knew everything. Got all of the questions right.” Carlos seemed very pleased with himself and with Claire.
“Well, okay, that’s great. Thanks, Carlos. We’ll go in and see her now.”
Carlos stopped them. “Don’t wake her up! She fell asleep while we were talking. Said she was really exhausted. I saw your note to admit her, but I thought we could just leave her in this room until she wakes again—I mean, if that’s okay with you, Dr. Reyes.”
Stephen nodded. “Of course.”
Carlos ambled back to the nurses’ station with the air of a small-town ER nurse. He knew everyone and could do a little bit of everything.
Stephen and Abuelita tiptoed into the room and found that Carlos was right. Claire seemed to be sleeping serenely.
Stephen stooped by her side and touched her face as Abuelita stroked her other hand. “I love you, Claire,” he whispered in her ear.
Back outside, Abuelita quizzed him. “Are you going to be here all night?”
“I am. I won’t leave.”
“I was going to spend the night.” She indicated her overnight bag, which was still sitting on the waiting room floor.
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 26
