Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (19 page)

If something happens… I left him in that field, just as I left Robbie when I went off to school. Even though he’s not alone, I want to be the one who’s there with him. I fall to Susan’s doorstep as sobs overpower me.

Something’s wrong with Sage. Susan knew. His mother knew.

Why didn’t he tell me?

I don’t think I can bear losing anyone again.

Z
ACHARY’S SCREAM
s snap me out of my pity party.
Get Zachary. Stay strong.
I rush past the kitchen into the unexplored areas of Susan’s home. A comfy sofa takes up most of the space in her modest living room. Zachary’s screams resound down a narrow hallway. My footsteps echo off the wooden floorboards as I hurry toward his cries.

Zachary’s door is open. He stands in his crib, grasping the railings with both hands. He shakes the wooden bars of his prison as he lets out another wail.

“Shh…” I reach into the crib and gently lift the little guy out. Zachary’s face is bright red and tears streak his cheeks. He stops crying as soon as he is in my arms, but he continues to sniffle.

The sound of the helicopter lifting off spurs me into action. Zachary’s already dressed, and I spot a stuffed diaper bag near the crib. Grabbing the bag, I head toward the door. “We’re going to meet your mama at the hospital.” I find some tissues and wipe Zachary’s face while balancing him on my hip. By the time the buzz has disappeared, we’re heading out the door.

Ten minutes later, I shift Zachary to my other side. I can understand why Susan relies on her sling so heavily. My right arm throbs from carrying him down the entire trail, but the pain barely registers. I’m
so
worried about Sage.

“Come on, missy,” Bob calls. His motorboat bobs next to the dock, already secured. When I near it, he tosses me a tiny yellow lifejacket. “Susan’s orders. Little Zac don’t get anywhere near my boat without the jacket.”

I fumble putting it on him, trying to support him with one hand while pushing and pulling the lifejacket on with the other. I end up with a tangled, screaming yellow bundle of baby. The urgency—we
must
get to Sage—only slows me down more.

“Hurrying ain’t helping. Set him down on the dock so you have both hands.” Bob smiles as if his directives have solved the problem.

Without a better idea, I rest Zachary on the dock. A ladybug crawls along one of the weathered wooden boards. Zachary stares at it, his crying ceasing immediately. As Zachary remains entranced by the bug, I untangle the jacket’s harnesses and safely strap him in. He messes with the buckles that secure his chest, but they are seemingly baby-proof.

“Hand him over to me so you can climb in.” Bob reaches out.

I grab Zachary, give him a little bounce when he begins to fuss, then hand him over. Holding the dock’s rope railing in one hand and the motorboat’s metal bar in the other, I step aboard. After taking a moment to get used to the small boat’s constant motion, I sit in the most secure seat I can find, center of the boat, behind a plastic shield to protect us from the bay’s spray.

“I’m ready.” I nod toward Zachary.

Bob has been giving the baby the official tour of the small boat, along with a lesson on boat lingo. He pauses before handing Zachary over to me. “Well, living along the water, he’ll need to know starboard, won’t he?”

Bob’s just being friendly, but I can’t have a conversation right now. My focus remains entirely on Sage. “Please. Please hurry. I need to get to the hospital.”

Bob revs the motor, and the small boat takes off across the bay, hitting the waves harder than I remember from my other crossings. I wrap my arms around Zachary, holding him as securely as I can. He doesn’t seem disturbed by the bumps, though. Instead, he giggles with each bounce and lurch of the boat.

“Five o’clocker’s leaving soon. You’ll have to run to catch it.” Bob pulls up to the town’s dock. He helps me with Zachary as I climb off the boat. “Hurry!”

The diaper bag hits my behind rhythmically as I run, and my left hip aches under Zachary’s weight. We reach the ferry’s dock as they’re withdrawing the landing ramp.

“Wait!” I wave a hand at the workers. “My friend was Life Flighted to the hospital. We don’t have time to wait for the next ferry.”

“Life Flighted? Is that an American thing?”

“I don’t know what you call it here. A rescue helicopter came and took him,” I say, as the ferry’s horn blares.

Zachary reaches for my chest and grabs on. The worker’s blatantly staring at my chest, but I ignore my embarrassment. “His mother’s at the hospital, too. You can see he’s kind of… hungry.”

The ferry worker’s cheeks blaze red. “Okay, but this is a one-time emergency exception. They’ll have my job if I’m letting every pitiful story on the ferry late.” He reverses direction with the ramp, so the metal once again connects the ferry to the dock.

“Thank you. Good deeds lead to good karma, you know.” As soon as the words are out, I can picture Sage saying them.

“Wait until I secure it.” At the sound of metal clicking, he waves me on. “Okay, hurry aboard. They’re already radioing me about the delay.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” I meet his eyes before hurrying up the ramp and onto the ferry.

Two frustrating hours later, I finally stumble into the lobby of Sydney Hospital. After the twenty-minute ferry ride, I found myself back in the confusion of Circular Quay. Sydney has many transportation options—ferry, train, bus, and even a monorail—but they all converge at Circular Quay. I studied the map for only a moment before Zachary began to wail. After bouncing him around and pointing out the boats on the harbor, he had calmed… until I glanced at the map again. I have no idea how Susan raises a child herself.

The only way I end up at the hospital is by the kindness of another mother who gives me detailed directions and a Ziploc bag full of goldfish crackers. I rush to the information desk. “I’m looking for Sage. Sage…”
How do I not know Sage’s last name?
Real-world information—last names, phone numbers, addresses, and apparently, medical conditions—seemed so inconsequential on the farm.

“I’m going to need a bit more information, my dear.” The matronly woman smiles at me patiently from across the desk.

“Um, the rescue helicopter. He was the one who arrived on the rescue helicopter.” I gesture to Zachary as he begins to grumble once more. “His mother flew with Sage. The baby’s really hungry, so I need to find her right away.”

The women’s eyes soften as she glances at Zachary. She turns her attention to the computer sitting in front of her. “Poor little guy. I should be able to find you a room number in the next few minutes.”

I can’t hold in my sigh any longer. Focusing on the baby’s needs worked. Everyone wants to keep a baby safe, well fed, and happy. I’m eager to return Zachary to Susan so I can focus on my real urgency. Sage, convulsing on the ground, devoid of all awareness.

I blink away the tears that threaten to flow.

“Dear, don’t cry. He’s in room 207. Just take the elevator to the third floor then turn right.” She wiggles her fingers at Zachary until he returns the gesture with a full-arm wave.

I hurry to the elevator, step side-to-side while waiting for the gleaming metal doors to open, and glance at the lit numbers as they make their slow progression from 15 to 0. When we finally board, I press the two with my shaking finger. Almost there. The question I couldn’t let myself think of earlier comes rushing out.
Did I make it in time?

The waiting room’s sterile plastic chairs alternate between bright pastels: greens, yellows, and blues. Most of the chairs sit empty, but I spot Susan in a faded blue chair, facing away from us. She speaks rapidly into her phone, but I’m too far away to hear what the conversation’s about.

Zachary holds out both arms. “Mmmumm. Mmmumm. Mmmumm.”

“Zachary?” She spins around, phone still to her ear. “They just arrived. Thanks for everything.” She turns the phone off before sticking it in her back pocket.

“Sorry it took us so long to get here. He wasn’t very happy at times, so it took a while.”

“Oh, baby.” Susan rushes to take him. “You’re probably starving.”

In response, Zachary reaches toward her shirt.

Susan probably wants a detailed update of our trip into Sydney, but my sole focus is on Sage. “Is… is he okay?”

“When I left, he was resting in his room.”

“What happened? Why did he have a seizure? How did you know what was wrong?” I can’t staunch the flow of questions.

She leads me to a set of double doors, pulls the door open, and gestures down the hallway. “He’s four rooms down on the right.”

The corridor stinks of a nose-tingling antiseptic that stops me in my tracks. I know this smell. I spent far too many hours of my life breathing in this artificial odor. One sniff brings all the memories of Robbie back.

I
hate
hospitals.

I force myself to keep moving past the first three doorways, but I pause in the doorframe of the fourth. Sage rests against propped-up pillows in the narrow hospital bed. The green walls feature mounted paintings of ferns.

“Well, the good news is the accommodations are much nicer than at my hospital in Michigan.” He smiles back at me. “The better news is you’re my first real visitor.”

“Your hospital in Michigan?” I take a step into the room. The surge of anger surprises me. I want to question him, find out every secret he has hidden from me. But relentless questions won’t help. They’ll just spread my negativity around. “Are
you
okay? It was terrible. I found you. You wouldn’t stop shaking. It was
terrible
.”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Sage doesn’t meet my eyes. “I’m sure it was traumatic, after...”

He doesn’t need to finish.
After losing Robbie.
Even in this hospital bed, on the other side of the world, Sage thinks only of me.

“I should have warned you something like that could happen.” He shakes his head. “I felt so healthy, I thought I was keeping it at bay.”

Keeping what at bay?
I cycle through the diseases I know about.
Epilepsy?
That’s the disease that makes you have seizures, after all.

Before I can ask, a nurse enters the room. “Mr. Hansen, we have a few more tests to run. Are you ready?”