Roadside Assistance (29 page)

While running the pick through my hair, my eyes moved to two photographs stuck in the bottom of the mirror. Both were taken on Halloween and in the den; one featured Chelsea and me and the other Zander and me. I picked them up and studied them.

Then something Jenna had said last night echoed through my mind — maybe God’s been there all along.

Movement in my peripheral vision drew my eyes to the window, where I spotted Zander’s Jeep coming to a jerky stop in Whitney’s driveway. He slammed on the emergency break and then leapt from the truck without closing his door, his face showing panic.

I moved to the window and watch as he took the deck stairs in one bound and then heard him banging on the back door and yelling my name.

“Emily!” he shouted. “Emily! It’s an emergency. Emily!”

My heart racing, I dropped the photographs. As I ran down to the kitchen, Zander’s voice echoed through the empty house.

“Emily!” he yelled, banging on the glass. “Open the door!”

My body shook with fear as I unlocked the sliding glass door and opened it with a whoosh. When I saw his eyes, icy fear prickled my back.

“Emily.” He grasped my forearms. “I need you to come with me.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

He took a deep breath. “There’s been an accident.”

“My dad?” I whispered.

He nodded, and my knees buckled. He caught me and leaned down over me, his eyes probing mine. “Emily, I need you to be strong. Get your coat. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

I stared at him, trying to comprehend his words while tears flooded my eyes. “Is he …? Is he …?” I stammered.

“He’s hurt, but I think he’s going to be okay.” He swiped away my tears with his fingertip. “I need you to get your coat, and I’ll get you to the hospital as quick as I can, okay?”

I searched the kitchen, not remembering where I kept my coat. All I could think was that my dad was hurt, and he and I had fought last night. What if he …? The thought trailed off as fresh tears streamed down my face.

“I don’t know where my coat is,” I blubbered like a moron.

He rubbed my arm. “It’s going to be okay.” He moved me to a chair and gestured for me to sit down. “You sit here and remember where your shoes are.”

Shoes I could handle; they were always by the back door. I slipped on my boots while Zander disappeared into the hallway and came back with my coat. I shrugged into the coat, and we rushed to the Jeep.

Hugging my arms to my chest, I stared out the window while we drove in silence. A zillion thoughts assaulted my mind while worry and fear tangled within me. I wiped away my tears, trying in vain to be strong.

When Zander slowed to stop at a light, he covered my hand with his and the warmth of skin offered a little comfort amidst the panic.

I turned to him. “What happened?” I said softly, my voice trembling and thin.

Zander paused, and my heart thumped.
It has to be bad or he wouldn’t have to filter his words.

“We’re slammed with work at the shop,” he began, “so he
wanted to help out. He was sanding a car, and the grinder came apart.”

Bile rose in my throat, and I gnawed my lower lip. I’d heard of that happening, where the disk with the sandpaper flew off like a Frisbee, a missile shredding anything in its path.

“How …?” My voice trailed off.

“He was sanding a car and the disc got caught in the gap between two panels,” he said slowly. “The grinding disc broke in half. With it spinning as fast as it was, it turned into a saw blade.”

“And it sliced his left arm?” I asked, knowing that my dad was right handed and the disc would’ve flown toward his left.

“Yeah.” He took my hand in his again as more tears flowed from my eyes.

A car horn blasted behind us. Letting go of my hand, Zander quickly put the Jeep in gear and accelerated though the intersection.

“Is it bad?” My voice was barely audible over the whining of the engine.

Zander kept his eyes on the road. “Yeah.”

“How bad?” I asked. As grisly as it was, I needed to know if my dad was going to make it. I had to prepare myself for the worst.

“It was bad,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. He really cared, and it gave me comfort. “I think it was to the bone.”

“Oh no.” My tears flowed. I sniffed, hoping to get control of myself and stop my body from shaking.

“But we got him stabilized,” Zander said quickly.

I looked at Zander’s uniform shirt —really studied it —for the first time since he’d come to get me, and I saw dark splotches dotting the front it. Reaching over I touched it and then gasped.

“Is that my dad’s blood?” My voice sounded distant.

He looked at me and his mouth was a thin line. “You helped him?” I asked.

“Shawn, one of the auto body techs, is a certified EMT. He took his shirt off, and I helped him wrap the arm and apply pressure until the ambulance arrived. We had to stop the bleeding fast. Shawn said if we didn’t, your dad could’ve …”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. I already knew what he was going to say —my dad could’ve bled to death. “Thank you,” I whispered. “You saved his life.”

Zander shrugged and smacked on the turn signal. “I just did what Shawn told me to do while one of the other guys got on the phone and called for help.” He merged onto Main Street. “As soon as the ambulance got there and they took over, I ran out the door to come get you. I wanted to get to you as soon as I could. I didn’t want to call you because I thought I should tell you face-to-face.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I got your text from last night. I don’t know what time you sent it, but I must’ve been asleep. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Oh no!” I smacked my jeans pockets. “I don’t have my phone! How am I going to call Darlene and Chuck?” But then I remembered — my phone was dead on my dresser.

“It’s okay.” He cradled my hand in his. “I have my phone.”

As if on cue his cell phone began to ring from his pocket. He yanked it out and pressed it to his ear, while I stared out the window, questions and worry assaulting my brain. I silently prayed, begging God to not take my father.

I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Not now. Please, not now. The anniversary of my mom’s death was next week. I couldn’t handle this right now. It was like some cruel joke.

“Yeah?” he asked, all business. “Okay. How is he? Right. Yeah, I got her. We’re on our way now. We’re just around the corner. She’s holding it together okay. Yeah, I’m going to call them when we get there. All right. Thanks, Jack.” He hung
up and dropped the phone into the cup holder. “Jack’s at the hospital.”

I wanted to ask questions but was afraid my voice would betray me and my tears would take over.

Zander roared into the parking lot of Cameronville Memorial Hospital and steered to the drop-off in front of the emergency room. He brought the Jeep to a rough stop and I turned to him.

He’s abandoning me?
“You’re just dropping me off?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Are you serious?” he asked, looking stunned. “I thought it would be faster if I dropped you off while I go find a parking space.”

“Oh!” Relief flooded me.

“I’ll be back soon.” He gave me a forced smile. “Everything will be okay. Your dad is in God’s hands.”

“Right,” I said, climbing from the Jeep.

He waved me off. “Go on. I’ll be back.”

I slammed the door, and he motored through the parking lot. I rushed into the emergency room, finding a group of men dressed in the same uniform as Zander huddled together in a corner. I raced over to them and approached a man clad in jeans and a plain button-down shirt, assuming he was Jack since he wasn’t wearing a work uniform.

“Jack?” I asked, hoping to sound confident.

His eyes lit up. “Emily?”

“How’s my dad?” My voice betrayed my feigned confidence.

He sighed, and I bit my bottom lip, hoping to keep it from shaking. He placed a hand on my shoulder and led me away from the group. “He didn’t look good when they loaded him into the ambulance, but the EMTs said he was in shock.”

I sucked in a breath.

“Let’s get you up to the desk and find the doctor,” he said.

With his hand on my back, he steered me up to the desk,
where he told a woman that I was Bradley Curtis’s daughter. We then stood together and stared at a flat-screen television on the wall while we waited. A man on the screen rambled on about the possibility of rain, but his words didn’t register in my brain. All I could think about was my dad.

And I prayed.

I prayed he wasn’t in pain. I prayed for the doctors. I prayed for myself, begging God to not take my only living parent.

The waiting room doors opened with a whoosh, and Zander entered with his phone pressed to his ear. “Right. Okay. Thanks.” He hung up and approached me. “I called Whitney and Chelsea. They’re on their way.”

“Thank you.” I wrung my hands, and Zander pulled me into his arms.

“He’ll be just fine,” he whispered into my ear.

“The family of Bradley Curtis,” a female voice called.

Turning, I found a middle-aged female nurse wearing scrubs standing by the door leading back into the hospital. I hesitated, worry keeping me cemented in place.

Zander took my hand in his and gave me a hopeful smile. “I’ll come with you.” He led me to the nurse.

“Are you the family of Bradley Curtis?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Bradley is my father.”

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Emily Curtis,” I said. I touched Zander’s chest. “This is my best friend, Alexander Stewart.”

She gestured toward a small conference room off the waiting room. “Let’s go talk in there.”

I looked up at Zander, and he nodded, encouraging me to move. We followed her into the room and sat on a sofa across from her.

Her expression became grave. “Emily, your father is hurt badly.”

Zander squeezed my hand.

“He was cut severely by that grinder,” she said, her expression portraying sympathy. “It cut him almost to the bone, but the extent of the damage isn’t known yet. There is a team of doctors with him now, and they’ve taken him in for emergency surgery so they can assess the damage and see what needs to be done. They’re not certain yet if he severed muscles, nerves, blood vessels, or all three.”

I blinked, letting the words permeate my mind.

“Is Dr. Michael Stewart on the team?” Zander asked.

The nurse looked surprised. “Yes, I think he is.”

“That’s my father,” Zander said. He smiled at me. “Your dad is in the best hands, Emily. Have faith.”

A glimmer of hope flickered in my mind — until the reality set in. “Is my dad going to lose his arm?”

“No,” the nurse said with certainty. “Depending upon the damage, however, he may lose some function.”

A whimper escaped from my throat without warning.

“Hey.” Zander pulled me to him and I rested my head on his chest. “God is watching out for your dad. He’s in control.”

The nurse reached over and touched my hand. “Alexander is right. His father is an excellent orthopedic surgeon. In fact, he’s the best at our hospital. Your father is in very good hands.”

I wiped my eyes and nodded, unable to speak.

“Now, your dad will probably be in surgery for a few hours. I’ll come out to give you updates.” She squeezed my hand. “We’re going to take good care of him.”

Zander put an arm around my shoulders and led me back out to the waiting room, where he gave Jack and the rest of the crew from the body shop the update on my dad’s condition.

I glanced at the uniforms in front of me until I spotted a man in a uniform shirt without his name sewn onto it. I guessed he was Shawn since Zander had said that the man who saved my
dad had removed his shirt to stop the bleeding. He was a tall, lean man who looked to be about twenty-five or so. He had sandy blond hair and dark eyes.

I approached him and took a deep breath. “Are you Shawn?” I asked.

He stood. “Hi, Emily.”

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight as tears filled my eyes anew. “Thank you for saving my daddy.”

He gave me a sad smile. “You’re welcome, Emily. I think the world of your dad. I just pray he’s okay.”

Zander rubbed my back. “How about we go for a walk to get your mind off things?”

I nodded, wiping my eyes.

“We’ll be back in a bit,” Zander told Jack. “Have you met Brad’s sister, Darlene?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “She stopped by the shop the other day.”

“Would you keep a lookout for her?” Zander asked. “Also, could you look for Chelsea Morris? She’s a redhead and our age.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said. “I’ll text your cell when they get here.”

With his arm around my shoulders, Zander led me down the hallway. “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, my stomach growled, and I hugged my middle. “I haven’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday.”

“Let’s get you something to eat.”

I frowned. “I don’t know if I could keep anything down.” “Don’t be silly. Would you like a turkey sandwich?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Okay.” Then I patted my pockets. “I don’t have any money. I left my purse at the house.”

“Please.” He smiled, showing his dimple. “I think I can handle buying you something to eat. I do have a job, remember.”

We found our way to the cafeteria, and Zander directed me to the tables before getting in line for food. I sat at a secluded table in a far corner and rested my head in my hands while I tried to make sense of everything that had happened since I’d walked out of Whitney’s party last night. It had been a whirlwind of emotions — from a heart-to-heart talk with Jenna to the dreamy kisses from Zander. And then, without warning, my world came crashing down when I stepped into the kitchen and faced my father and aunt.

The conversation I’d had with Dad and Darlene played over and over again in my mind. It all seemed too surreal. I’d had the worst argument ever with my dad and now he was in surgery and would possibly lose function in his left arm forever. How was this possible?

The clatter of a tray brought me back to reality. I lifted my head and spotted two sandwiches, an order of fries, two pieces of chocolate cake, and two fountain drinks.