Page 4 of Call Out
“So are cars,” I counter, staring out at Sunnyville as the vehicle veers left. This is my new hometown. A fresh start, with a new job and people who don’t know my history.
“It’s been a few months since we hung out, Danny. You’ve got to come over for a cookout. Tara is busting my balls about it. She wants to meet you.”
“We’ll sort something out,” I say with a non-committal shrug. “I’m renovating my place. Once that’s done—there’s the sign for Blossom Grove.” I point out the windshield, thankful for the deviation.
It’s not that I don’t want to join him for a burger and a beer, I just can’t be bothered with deflecting all the personal questions. I moved to Sunnyville to put the broken pieces of my life behind me, not spread them around town like sharp fragments of gossip glass.
Johnny parks the ambulance close to the main entrance and pulls up the handbrake. “I’ll see you in there.” He exits the driver’s side and enters the rear of the vehicle to do the prep work.
I take a deep breath, glimpsing at my reflection in the wing mirror. It’s taken me a handful of years to reach this point, earning a black shirt with an official paramedic badge. The rough-and-ready football player who originally majored in sports science, is now an employee for the emergency medical service. It’s not the path I dreamed of walking, but this is where I’ve ended up. Fate had other plans.
An older woman with messy hair and smudged lenses greets me at the entrance. “Thank you so much for coming. It’s Wini, she just—”
“What’s your name?” I ask calmly.
“Dot.”
“Okay, Dot. Can you take me to Wini?”
“Yes, this way. She’s through here.”
The faint smell of microscopic decay hits me when I step indoors. This is a home where people come to die. A waiting room for death. At least they had a long life. I nod at the elderly residents as I follow closely.
“In here.” She opens the door. “Louise is waiting with her.”
Vibrant orange blooms radiate like sunshine on a cluttered dresser. Framed photographs map the room as a timeline of the old lady’s life. On the floor by the bed, all I see is a powder pink nightgown and a pair of slippers peeking out the bottom.
“Louise, they're here.” A young girl with a sandy bundle of hair on top of her head rises and hugs her stomach.
“She’s struggling to breathe, sir.”
I move into the room and kneel. Short, salty strands cling to pigmented, thin, sweaty skin. The patient's eyes are dull gray and startled.
“Wini. My name is Danny Rocco.” She nods. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Chest.” Wini wheezes.
“Did she fall out of bed?” I glance over my shoulder.
“I don’t know. I came in to tell her I swapped my shift with Miss Swann. It’s book report day. We read a contemporary novel every week and then chat about it over coffee, but I have to go out later.”
Johnny appears in the doorway with a clipboard and pen. “I need as much information as you can give me.” He addresses the two ladies. “Danny, what are her vitals?”
“I’m setting up the EKG now. Temp 102.2, heart rate 130 and BP 180 over 110. No external signs of a head trauma.”
There’s a commotion in the corridor which escalates and stops at the doorway. I don’t look back because my focus is solely on my patient, not concerned relatives. “Oh no, Wini. I got here as soon as I could. What happened? Is she okay? Let me in.”
“Can you stand back please, Miss? My colleague is working with her now,” Johnny says in his usual chilled tone while I fix an oxygen mask over Wini’s mouth. He’s always calm and collected. I guess he’s mastered the skill from fathering twin boys under the age of five.
“Nope, not happening. She needs me.” The female ignores his request. A whirl of perfume chases the female’s flounce, landing beside my patient. She hisses when her knees rest on the carpet. “I’m here now, Wini. Did you fall out of bed?”
That thick seductive tone. Those fine black stockings peeping out from under a pale blue skirt. Skin colored Band-Aids cover both knees. And that swoosh of a fawn colored braid catches my attention. “Ma’am.” My gaze darts to hers.
Caramel skin scattered in pretty freckles glows with a sun kissed freshness. Toned arms flex and a glorious low neckline lifts with every breath. Dazzling hazel eyes, the color of a fall sunset, hold my stare. Black pupils flare with recognition.
“Biker guy?” she whispers. Her eyes squeeze shut for a beat, and her cheeks flush to the color of a fresh rose.
“Viv.” I smile. It's a wide grin that makes my cheeks ache, and it’s completely inappropriate given the circumstances. I drop the visual connection and continue to set up the electrocardiogram to check the patient's heart rhythm.
