The Color of a Silver Lining

by Julianne MacLean

  I love that she has a sense of humor about growing old, but it reminds me that she won’t be around forever, and eventually our Sunday dinners will be a thing of the past.

  Suddenly, I find myself imagining, somewhat morbidly, what I’m going to do with the house when she’s gone. Will I keep it? And will that just be a desperate attempt to hang onto the past? I remind myself that I have my own life now, and I’ve never been happier. I love my career, I make boatloads of money, and I have a handsome, devoted husband at home, along with a smart, responsible son who is a superstar in every way.

  Zack is just like his father—intelligent, sensible and respectful. He’s also captain of the hockey team and president of the student council. Alan and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

  Although it surprises me, Zack has never had a steady girlfriend—at least not yet. I’m biased, of course, because I’m his mother, but seriously… He’s an amazing catch. He’s extremely good looking—again, just like his father—and there’s nothing biased about that. I see the way girls look at Zack. They discreetly check him out in the grocery store, or chat him up at hockey games and other school events. But my son seems totally oblivious to it all.

  A few weeks ago, while Alan and I were cooking dinner together, I asked quietly, “Do you ever wonder if he might be gay?”

  Alan, who was chopping cucumbers for the salad, froze on the spot. “No. Do you?”

  Facing the stove, I dropped a handful of uncooked spaghetti noodles into a pot of boiling water. “Would it bother you if he was?” I carefully asked.

  For a few seconds, Alan didn’t speak. He just stood there, motionless, the knife paused on the cutting board.

  “Of course it wouldn’t,” he said with a frown, his gaze moving sharply to meet mine. He stared at me for a moment, his brow furrowed with annoyance. Then he lowered his gaze and resumed chopping the carrots.

  I inclined my head. “You can’t blame me for asking. You know what your father’s like. He’s not exactly tolerant.”

  He nodded, but there was an unmistakable note of impatience in his voice and he began to chop more quickly. “Yes, but I’m not my father.”

  I had touched a nerve and I knew it, because Alan hadn’t spoken to his homophobic, bigoted father in more than ten years. He despised the man who had been emotionally abusive to his wife and children. We rarely ever mentioned his name.

  I lay my hand on Alan’s shoulder. “Of course you’re not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Alan simply nodded while I moved back to the stove to break the pasta noodles apart with a fork.

  “As far as Zack is concerned,” I carefully continued, “even if he was gay, it wouldn’t matter to me. I just want him to be happy.”

  “Me, too,” Alan replied.

  Before I knew it, he was standing behind me, massaging my neck and shoulders and apologizing for his chippy tone.

  I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have mentioned your dad. You’re his opposite in every way, and that’s one of the reasons I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he replied, squeezing me tight. “More than anything.”

  Winston’s heavy sigh in the back seat of my car pulls me out of the past and back to the present. I glance over my shoulder and he’s curled up on his wooly blanket with his eyes closed, which makes me feel sleepy because I’d worked late in the OR the night before.

  I turn on the radio to help keep me awake, then I flick my blinker and turn onto the on-ramp. I check the dashboard clock. It’s only seven o’clock, so I have time to make it home, drop Winston off at the house, and reach the hockey rink before they start the game at 8:15.

  Within seconds, I am merging onto the main highway. I switch to cruise control once I hit a speed that works in the fog, and tune in to a classic rock music station.

  Chapter Two

  It all happens in an instant, so fast I don’t have time to think.

  An oncoming vehicle crosses the center line and I’m blinded by headlights. Adrenaline burns through my veins. Instinctively, I wrench the steering wheel to the right to swerve around the oncoming car, but it’s too late. It clips my back end with a thunderous crash of steel against steel and sends my SUV spinning like a top, as if I’m on a sheet of ice.

  My head snaps to the left. I shut my eyes and hang on for dear life as the car whirls around in dizzying circles. Winston yelps as he’s tossed about in the back seat. Suddenly, we catapult into the air. The vehicle flips over at the edge of the highway, then we bounce like a ball—crashing, smashing—tumbling down the embankment.

  Something strikes me in the side of the head and I feel multiple slashes cutting the flesh on my cheeks. I realize it’s Winston, who yelps as he’s thrown toward the rear.

  I want to hold on to him, to keep him safe in my arms, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s all happening so fast. All I can do is clutch the steering wheel with both hands while the world spins in circles and glass shatters all around me.

  We crash hard against something… The bottom of a ravine? Then everything is quiet, except for the pounding of my heart hammering against my ribcage.

  Panic overtakes me. My eyes fly open. It’s pitch dark outside, but my headlights are shining two steady beams into the mist, and the dashboard is brightly lit. I blink repeatedly and realize blood has pooled on my eyelashes. I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

  Think, Abbie. What do you need to do?

  The vehicle has been beeping an alarm since we came to a halt, as if it’s confused by what just happened and wants me to fasten my seatbelt. Or is there some other urgent problem? Is the engine about to explode? I quickly shut off the ignition. The interior is overcome by darkness.

  With an altogether new rush of anxiety, I fumble for the red button on my seatbelt, desperate to escape, but my hands shake so severely, I can’t release it. I shut my eyes and pause, take a few breaths, then try a second time.

  Click.

  The seatbelt comes loose and I think—for one precious second—that I am free to move, but I’m not. My legs are stuck. I’m trapped.

  I fight to break loose but I’m pinned under the dash. The roof is pressing down on top of my head and I can’t free myself. I try to open the door but it’s dented and won’t budge. There is broken glass everywhere.

  My heart pounds faster and faster. I feel lightheaded, and am certain I’m about to pass out from shock and fear.

  I shut my eyes again and try to remain calm. Breathe… One thousand one, one thousand two…

  “Help…” I whisper in a trembling voice.

  Then I turn my head to the side. “Winston? Are you okay?”

  No response. I twist uncomfortably, trying to see into the back. There’s no sign of him anywhere and the rear window is completely blown out.

  “Winston!” I shout. “Winston!”

  I can’t make out anything in the darkness, and I worry that he’s injured or dead, lying somewhere outside the vehicle. I fight wildly to free myself but it’s hopeless. The dash is pressing down on my legs and I can’t move.

  I reach frantically to find my purse on the seat beside me, to locate my cell phone and call for help, but the seat is empty. Everything’s been tossed out the windows.

  Then I hear sirens in the distance, and I exhale sharply with relief. Thank God, someone’s coming.

  Knowing help is on the way, I let my head fall back on the headrest, and try to calm my racing heart.

  If only I had my phone. All I want to do is call Alan. It’s all I can think about as I swipe at the blood from my forehead and struggle to free my legs from under the crushing weight of the dashboard.

  Chapter Three

  “Try and stay calm,” a young firefighter says as he removes a glove and takes hold of my hand through the driver’s side window. It has no glass left in it.

  “Have you seen my dog?” I ask. “He was with me in the car but he must have been t
hrown out the back window.”

  “What kind of dog is it?”

  “A golden retriever.”

  Troy directs one of the other first responders to use his walkie-talkie to report my missing dog, then search the area.

  I hear the wail of more sirens and vehicles arriving—fire trucks and cop cars and ambulances. Colored lights are flashing, but they’re swallowed up by the fog.

  “We’re gonna get you out of here,” the firefighter says. “What’s your name?”

  “Abbie. Abbie MacIntyre.”

  “Hi Abbie,” he says. “I’m Troy. Everything’s going to be fine now.”

  I shake my head, fearing I might be sick. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “No wonder. You just took a nasty tumble, but don’t worry. Help’s on the way.”

  Two other firefights do a 360 around the vehicle, shining flashlights everywhere. I watch the beams sweep across the dark ravine.

  One of them speaks on a walkie-talkie to someone above us. He says something about the patient appearing to be stable. It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s talking about me.

  “If I could just get my legs free…” I say with a grunt, trying to move them, but it’s hopeless, and any movement makes my head hurt.

  Troy pats my forearm. “Don’t strain yourself. Just relax and leave it to us to get you out. We have all the right tools. It’ll just take a few minutes to get the equipment down here.”

  I nod my head. “Can someone please call my husband? I don’t know where my phone is.”

  “Of course. What’s his name?”

  “Alan.”

  Troy whistles and waves to the police officer who is skidding down the steep embankment. “Can you call the husband?”

  “Sure.” The cop arrives and peers in at me. “How are we doing in there, ma’am?”

  “I’m okay,” I reply. “Just pretty shaken up, and I can’t move my legs.” I don’t know why I’m telling him I’m okay when I’m nothing of the sort. “Can you please call my husband?”

  “Of course.” He pulls out a cell phone and dials the number as I recite it. I watch as he waits for a reply, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, there’s no answer. Should I leave a message?”

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation, frustrated that Alan isn’t answering his phone when I need him most.

  The officer explains the situation to Alan’s voicemail service and leaves a message that his wife has been in an accident. He leaves a number for Alan to call and tells him that I’ll be taken to the Fishermen’s Memorial Hospital in Lunenburg, only five minutes away.

  The cop ends the call. “I’ll try again in a few minutes.”

  I thank him, then realize I’m shivering uncontrollably. I concentrate and try to relax my body, but not even my fiercest, most focused willpower can stop the shaking.

  “Just try to stay calm,” Troy says. “You’re in good hands and we’ll have you out of there before you know it. Here they come.”

  I nod my head and try to be patient, wishing this nightmare would hurry up and be over. Just get me out of here…

  A team of five firefighters arrives with some heavy equipment they set up around my vehicle. This includes a noisy generator, a giant steel cutter, and a powerful spreader.

  I turn to Troy, who is still at my side. He looks so young… Not much older than my son, Zack.

  “Any sign of my dog yet?” I ask.

  Troy turns to look toward the cluster of flashing lights and emergency vehicles on the road above. “I don’t think so.”

  “Can you please find out?” I ask desperately, while one of the other firefighters proceeds to let the air out of my tires and places blocks under the wheels to stabilize the vehicle. “I’m worried about him.”

  Still holding my hand, Troy turns to call out to the cop who stands at the base of the embankment talking on his phone. “Hey. Can you check on Abbie’s dog? He’s a golden retriever and he was thrown from the vehicle. His name’s Winston and he can’t have gone far.”

  With every passing second, I grow increasingly worried, because Winston is deeply attached to me and extremely protective. If he ran off, he must be injured or in shock.

  The cop trudges up the hill and I fight not to become hysterical while Troy tells me he’s going to cover me with a blanket that looks more like a canvas tarp.

  “They’re going to use the Jaws of Life to cut the vehicle apart and lift the dash upward to free your legs,” he explains. “This will shield you from bits of flying glass and metal.”

  I nod my head in agreement because I want to be calm, but I’m terrified, and he knows it.

  “I’ll be right here with you the whole time,” Troy says as he covers me, then he slides into the seat behind me to move out of the team’s way.

  The noise of the cutter is deafening. All I hear is the roar of machines, the crunching of metal, the shattering of glass. I’m afraid it’s all going to collapse on top of me, but the feel of Troy’s hand squeezing my shoulder and the sound of his voice in my ear, explaining everything along the way, helps me stay grounded.

  “They’re making a series of relief cuts in the frame,” he says. “I know it’s loud…”

  My stomach turns over as I recall the horror of the crash, and the rapid, tumbling descent…

  “Okay…” Troy says when the cutter shuts off, “you’re doing great, Abbie. Now they’re going to use a spreader to lift the dash, which should ease the pressure on your legs. Just hang in there. We’re almost done.”

  I try not to think about the potential damage to my legs. It’s not easy to assume everything will be fine. I’m a surgeon. I know there are certain things that simply aren’t fixable.

  Instead, I focus my thoughts on Alan and pray that he’s gotten the message, and I think of Zack at the rink, who has no idea his mother is trapped in a car wreck at the bottom of a ravine. Then Winston… Where is he? Please God, let him be safe.

  I wish the police officer would try calling Alan again, but I can’t ask him because I’m secured under a tarp and surrounded by rescue workers who are ripping my car apart at the seams.

  The spreader begins to slowly lift the dash, and I feel a weight come off my legs. Suddenly, my thighs ache with a bone-deep pain, but I can wiggle my toes. A good sign.

  As soon as there’s an opportunity, while the spreader is still raising the dash, I reach down to run my hands over my knees and calves. My jeans are ripped and there are a few surface abrasions, but I’m able to bend my legs at the knee joints.

  Another good sign.

  Troy removes the tarp, but I barely have time to look down and get a visual on my legs before a brace is fastened around my neck and I’m gently lifted out of the vehicle and onto a backboard laid on a gurney. All this is carried out by two paramedics, one male and one female, who must have scrambled down the slope with their equipment while the firefighters were cutting my vehicle apart.

  “I’m a doctor,” I tell them. “What are your names?”

  “I’m Carrie and this is Bubba.”

  I can’t move my neck, but I can shift my gaze to Bubba, who looks like a bouncer with a brush cut. The name suits him.

  Carrie, on the other hand, is a pretty, petite blond who appears extremely focused and capable as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm. I give her a few seconds until she releases the air in the cuff.

  “What’s my BP?” I ask.

  “It’s excellent. One-twenty-six over eighty-five.”

  “That’s a bit high for me, but given the situation, I’ll take it.”

  Others gather around to transport me up the hill.

  “How’s your pain?” she asks.

  “Manageable. My legs are sore, and these abrasions on my face are stinging a bit, but it’s no big deal. Let’s just get me out of here.”

  I’m aware of Troy still at my side, helping to carry me up the steep slope, which is no easy task because the rocks and debris are unsteady.

  As luc
k would have it, it begins to rain. Soon I’m feeling ice pellets on my cheeks and I’m forced to close my eyes.

  A moment later, we are up on the road, and again I ask, “Has anyone seen my dog?”

  Carrie is busy pushing my gurney toward the ambulance. She slips and slides on the ice. “You had a dog with you?”

  “Winston. He’s a golden retriever,” Troy adds. Then he leans over me. “Don’t worry, Abbie. We’re looking for him, and I promise, we’ll find him.”

  “Can you check about it now? I need to know he’s okay.”

  Troy nods and leaves my side.

  I wish I could sit up and look around, but I’m strapped to the gurney and wearing a neck collar. There’s even a strap across my forehead, and two red foam blocks press against my ears so I can’t turn left or right. All I can see is the cloudy night sky over the paramedics’ heads, and the glistening freezing rain coming down as they slide me into the back of the ambulance.

  “Wait. Please… I don’t want to leave without my dog. Winston!” I shout, hoping he’ll hear me and come running.

  My heart rate accelerates.

  Carrie speaks reassuringly while she secures the gurney in the ambulance. “Don’t worry, Abbie. Troy is a dog lover. He’ll do everything he can to find Winston. But we really have to go.”

  Bubba closes the ambulance doors and I feel a lump form in my throat. I want to cry because I can’t bear for Winston to believe for one single second that I’ve abandoned him.

  And what about Alan? Does he even know yet? I ask Carrie to try calling him again, but there’s still no answer. Then I ask her to call Zack, but he must be on the ice by now. He doesn’t answer either.