Page 68 of Under Pink Skies

“I’m here with you,” I said, giving her hand a tight squeeze. “You’re not alone.”

She rolled her shoulders back and readjusted her purse strap.

Abbie walked through the revolving door entrance and strode straight to the information desk.

“Hello. I received a call that my father, Malcolm Collins, arrived by ambulance a few hours ago.”

“Of course,” the receptionist nodded and began keying information on her computer. “Let’s get the two of you some visitor badges and figure out what floor he’s on.”

A few signatures, ID checks, and strained smiles later, we both had visitor badges and information that Malcolm was in the ICU. On the elevator ride up to the third floor, Abbie sighed, knocking her head back against the wall.

“Truth?”

I nodded.

“I’m about two seconds away from turning tail and leaving him here to navigate this by himself. How awful is that? My dad’s in the hospital, and all I can think about is whether he hurt someone else.”

“Would knowing if he hurt someone change whether you wanted to be here?” The question slipped out before I truly realized what I was asking.

Abbie considered this for a moment.

“No,” she said finally. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. “I’d want to see him one last time.”

I cleared my throat and gestured for Abbie to walk to the check-in desk first.

“I’m Malcolm Collins’s daughter. We were told he’s on this floor?”

“I’m glad you’re here, Ms. Collins.” A nurse behind the nurse’s station waved us forward. “Your father is at the end of the hall. He’s sleeping now after an extensive surgery, but you’re welcome to come sit with him after you speak with the police. They have a few questions for you,” the nurse said. Her name was Hadley according to her name tag.

“Right,” Abbie said shakily, tightening her grip on her bag. “The police.”

Hadley gave her an awkward smile.

“They were in the waiting room last I checked. Give me a few minutes to find you some place private to talk.”

Abbie rubbed her temple as she turned to face me.

“I’m not looking forward to this conversation,” Abbie murmured. I said nothing, opening my arms. She leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my waist, and I felt some of the tension drain from her body.

“I’m here with you,” I whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re not in this alone.”

It was all I could think to say in the moment, and I’d repeat it as many times as was necessary for her to feel safe.

At that moment, two officers appeared from the waiting room.

“Hi, Ms. Collins?”

“That’s me,” Abbie said, turning away from me in the officer’s direction.

“Mind if we talk with you?”

“As if we have a choice,” Abbie muttered before plastering a small smile on her face. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling. Not even the direst of circumstances would stop Abbie from being sassy. We approached the officers. The officer who called out to us gestured for us to take a seat in the waiting room, which was empty at this time of morning. I didn’t miss how the shorter man looked me up and down briefly before deciding against asking me to leave.

“My name is Officer Powell. This is my partner, Officer Laramie. We work with John Ludgate down in Watford. Your father was involved in a pretty ugly car accident a few miles outside of Watford,” Powell explained. “He slammed his car into the bridge over Highway 54 going thirty over the speed limit.”

Abbie put her head in her hands. Her shoulders trembled as the weight of the police officer’s words settled over us. I let out a long breath.

I don’t know what guardian angels were looking out for him, that he avoided harming anyone else. My anger didn’t belong here, but that didn’t stop me from being mad. I was angry with Malcolm for endangering the lives of others in this way, and I was angry with whoever let him behind the wheel.

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