Page 86 of Like A Moth To A Flame

She wouldn’t let me pull away, and after a minute, I ceased trying.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t have the energy. My mind was a whirlwind of fear and guilt, each emotion crashing against the other in a tumultuous storm.

My fault.My fault.

He could die because of me.

I numbly followed her inside, my mind painfully numb. She led me to a small room and handed me a damp cloth to wipe away the blood on my hands. As I wiped them, I looked up at her, searching for answers in the calm sea of her brown eyes.

“H-He’s gonna be okay?” I asked, my bottom lip quivering.

“I can’t tell you that,” she told me simply. “But I can tell you we’ll take care of him as best as we can. Wait here, and we’ll be back soon with an update.”

Minutes morphed into hours, and they all passed in a blur of antiseptic smells and fluorescent lights. I heard families around me talking animatedly to themselves, some watching me as I fought to scrub the gore from my hands.

Let them stare. Let them judge me. They could kiss my ass as they did it.

I was still scrubbing when I heard footsteps approach. Looking up, I saw a short, white-haired doctor coming toward me. He was older, and when he looked at me, his kind eyes crinkled at the edges behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“Miss Harper?”

I nodded.

“He’s stable for now,” the doctor said, his voice gentle but tinged with concern. “No internal bleeding, but he has severe injuries. A concussion, and some broken ribs. We need to operate immediately to try to save his leg.”

I nodded numbly, my heart a heavy weight in my chest.

“Do you know…” he paused, sighing as he crossed his arms across his chest. “Was he in an accident? Maybe a farm accident? The injuries seem to be blunt force, so I thought maybe he had a run-in with a bull. He seems like the farmin’ type.”

“I-I don’t know,” I whispered, tears flooding my vision. I was lying. I had to. “I came over for a visit and I just found him in the pasture.”

“He’s a lucky guy,” the doctor said, giving me a warm smile. “Much longer and he may not be as stable as he is right now.”

There was another pause, and while I tried to smile, all I managed was a pain-filled grimace instead.

“Why don’t you go ahead and find Shelly at the front desk? Fill out some forms for her, and give her your number. He’s in for the long haul, and sitting here in this uncomfortable chair isn’t helping either of you. Go home, and we’ll call you when he’s out of surgery.”

I did as he said, mindlessly numb as I floated up to the receptionist. She was a kind redhead with bright blue eyes and a welcoming smile. She was pretty. She was also very calm and patient with me as I fought to rattle off the information for her.

“Alright,” she said after a while, tucking the papers into a folder. “I’m here for the rest of the night, so I will personally give you a call when he gets out of surgery. Doctors said it could be hours, so why don’t you get home and get some sleep?”

I nodded, stumbling away from the desk and back toward the double doors, still smeared with Barrett’s blood. As I walked, my eyes fell upon a flier taped to a nearby wall, sitting crooked and barely holding on with the sticky-tack that kept it in place. Something about it seemed familiar. Shuffling up to the wall, I squinted at the tiny type through narrowed, blurry eyes.

Cottonwood Falls Harvest Ball

Saturday, September 21st

Reaching up, I ripped the flier off the wall, looking down at the tiny, off-center leaves and acorns that dotted the outside, and the blurry, too-big red and orange text.

That was this weekend.

Sniffling, I shoved the flier into my bra and wove my way out the doors and into the parking lot. Shaking hands found the phone in my bra and pulled it out.

I dialed the familiar number, my heart pounding in my chest. The phone rang twice before she picked up, her voice warm and surprised on the other end.

“Nessa?”

“Amelia,” my voice cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I need your help.”

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