Page 48 of Defending A Promise
As I get settled in my new office, I set up a few decorative things that I had to make the place feel less cold. It’ll need a lot more help, but for now, it doesn’t completely feel like I’m in someone else’s space working. I bought a small little plant on my way in and put up a picture of Nicholas, one of my parents, and the last picture taken of my brother before he died. I need to get one of Declan, too. We can work on that this weekend. Maybe one with the three of us.
After about an hour of finishing my proposal for the Hooplas presentation tonight, I call my client to talk about the surprise fiftieth birthday party she wants to throw for her husband.
“So, Mrs. Accorto, how many people are you planning on inviting?”
“I’m hoping to invite a hundred, but I think only seventy-five will actually attend. Some of his family are out of the countryand I don’t anticipate them flying across the Atlantic to attend a birthday party. But, if I don’t invite them, I’ll never hear the end of it,” she laughs over the phone.
“I get it. Well, that number of people will certainly fit at the country club if we use the ballroom.” My phone alerts another call coming in and I look to see who’s calling me. “Excuse me, Mrs. Accorto, I’ll have to call you back. My son’s daycare is calling me. I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I had little ones once, too. Talk soon.”
“Thank you.” I say and then take the call from Little Tykes. “Hello? Is Nicholas okay?”
“Hi Miss Ashford. Unfortunately, Nicholas has a hundred and four point five temperature and he’s really lethargic. Can you come get him?” Miss Rachel asks.
I’m already on my way out of my office building and to the truck. “Yes, I’m on my way, but I need you to do me a favor.”
“Sure. Anything.” She says.
“I need you to keep a very close eye on him. He tends to have febrile seizures. If he starts to seize, please call 911. Okay?” I start the truck and start to navigate through the parking lot while at the same time, not burn my hands on the steering wheel.
“Of course, Miss Ashford. He’s resting on the couch in my office. We’ll watch him until you get here.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.” I toss my phone onto the front seat and maneuver through the daytime traffic which is unusually heavy for this time of day. Why is it that when you need to get someplace in a hurry, every person on the planet wants to go ten under the speed limit?
Finally, after fifteen minutes of driving like a loon, I pull into the parking lot of the school. I don’t even take a parking spot. Instead, I just stop right in front of the door and rush inside and what I walk into is something of a nightmare.
Its chaos. There are teachers trying to corral crying children away from a giant pool of blood in the middle of the playroom as other teachers are grabbing anything within reach to hold pressure on a little girl whose hair is caked in blood. Miss Rachel is trying to control the chaos as she’s talking on her phone to what I’m assuming is 911. What the fuck happened?
I open the half door, something that is not allowed by the parents, but I don’t care, and approach Miss Rachel. I see the little girl lying on the ground and her eyes are opened, so she’s breathing – which is good – so I want to get my son and get the hell out of here.
“Yes, Little Tykes School.” Miss Rachel is telling whomever she’s on the phone with when she notices me and points to her office.
I look down at the little girl on the ground and Miss Rachel just nods and gives me the thumbs up and then points again to her office where Nicholas is waiting for me. The wound on the little girl must look worse than it really is, but there are plenty of people taking care of her. I turn around and go to find Nicholas, but her office is empty. There’s a little pillow and blanket there, but not my son.
Maybe he was corralled with the other kids outside and away from the scene in the playroom, so I go outside and scan all the kids and teachers, but Nicholas isn’t one of them and then the panic starts to set in.
I run back inside and grab one of the teachers standing to the side. “Where’s Nicholas Ashford?” I demand.
She shakes her head and starts looking around. “I don’t know. Did you look outside?”
“Yes! I looked outside. Where’s my son?” I yell at her.
“What’s going on?” Miss Rachel approaches us.
“Where’s Nicholas?” I yell again. “Where’s my son?”
“He’s in my offi..” she starts to say.
“NO! HE’S NOT!” Now I’m screaming.
As I follow her around the school calling my son’s name, rescue shows up to work on the little girl bleeding everywhere.
Miss Rachel turns to me, “Perhaps your husband or your parents picked him up already?”
“My parents are in Europe and Declan’s not my husband.” I say through my teeth. “You’re responsible for my son. You called me not fifteen minutes ago. Where is he?”
“Why don’t you call Declan while I go deal with that situation over there,” she points to the little girl now being worked on by paramedics, “and then we’ll figure this out. Okay?”
