Page 51 of Awaiting the Storm
Matty’s halfway off the bed before I hang up, panic etched on her face. “What happened? Is it Grandma? Grandpa?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s your dad. They think he might have had a heart attack.”
She goes still. Like a stone. Her eyes go wide and unfocused, and for half a second, she looks like she might have a heart attack herself.
Then she snaps into motion, wild and frenzied, grabbing for her dress and tugging it on quickly. Her fingers shake as she fumbles with the zipper, and she’s looking around the floor frantically.
“Where are my boots?”
“You kicked them off by the front door,” I say as I pull on my jeans and grab a T-shirt and flannel from the wardrobe.
“And my keys,” she gasps. “Where are my keys?”
I shrug on the flannel as I fish them out of the front pocket of my jeans and hold them up.
She reaches for them, but I keep my arm high, out of her reach. “I’ll drive.”
“Caison—”
“You’re not getting behind the wheel of that truck inthis state.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. I step close, grasp her shoulders in my hands, and wait until her eyes meet mine.
“I’ll get you there safe,” I promise. “And fast. Let’s go.”
The last of her resistance crumbles. She nods once and sprints out the bedroom door, and I follow as I tuck my phone into my pocket.
I grab our boots, bend, and help her into hers even though she doesn’t ask before stepping into mine. I lead her out, hand pressed to the small of her back, lock up, and guide her to the passenger side of the truck. Her braid’s half undone, dress skewed and wrinkled, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care.
Once I have her settled, I round the hood and climb inside. We tear down the driveway, gravel flying in all directions. I drive faster than I should, but I can feel her vibrating with panic beside me, bouncing her knee and chewing the inside of her cheek.
She hasn’t said a word since we pulled onto the highway.
I reach over and take her hand. She doesn’t pull away. Just grips mine tightly in return.
We’re maybe ten miles out from Wildhaven when she finally speaks.
“He was fine when I left,” she says quietly. “He told me how pretty I looked and told me to enjoy my dinner. I was distracted. I should have paid closer attention.”
I start to explain how these things can come on suddenly, how it isn’t her fault she didn’t see it coming, but I don’t. I just keep driving, holding her hand.
By the time we reach the hospital parking lot, she’s shaking violently. Her fingers reach for the door handle before I’ve even got the truck in park.
“I’ll go in with you,” I offer.
She looks at me, eyes wary but dry now. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
She nods once and opens the door.
We walk in together through the emergency room entrance. Bright lights and the smell of bleach assault us. It’s loud and crowded.
We find Charli and Shelby in the waiting area, pacing like caged animals in a sea of occupied chairs. Earl is sitting beside Evelyn, her face pale and drawn, her eyes rimmed red. Cabe’s standing off to the side with Carl, who’s leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and a blank expression.
When Cabe calls out to us, heads turn.
Matty beelines to Charli, who pulls her into a fierce hug and whispers something in her ear. I hang back, giving them space. After a beat, Matty glances over her shoulder. Her eyes search the room and find mine, and she reaches out a hand.
