Page 56 of The Strawberry Field
“She’s not breathing,” I say. And then I let my instincts take over from there, thinking what I would do if I were in the ER, if this child were brought to me there. I feel for a pulse. There isn’t one.
“Can you get her out of the seat, Jake?”
He struggles with the snap on the belt holding her in the seat. As soon as it loosens, he gently lifts her and places her on the grass. I begin to work as hard as I know how, as hard as I ever have, something frantic inside me screaming, “You can’t lose her. You can’t lose her.”
And I won’t. I work without conscious thought, determined to breathe life back into this child. I hear Jake say he’s going to check on the driver of the truck. I keep working until the child coughs and gasps for air. Her eyes flutter open. And she looks at me,her voice quivering when she says, “Grandma. Where’s my grandma?”
My heart drops, and I feel the blood leave my face. The horror of what has happened here is beyond anything I can imagine a child this age having to process. I block her view of the wreckage with my body. “You’re okay, Hannah. I’m a doctor, and you’ve been in a car accident, but the ambulance will be here soon, and they’ll get you to the hospital to be checked out.”
Her lips part, a question in her eyes. But before she can form the words, they flutter closed again. Jake is back. I look up, remembering the truck’s driver. Jake shakes his head, somber. Grief again descends over me, and I pray the paramedics will be here soon. Maybe it’s better that the child isn’t aware of her surroundings at this point. What has happened is too terrible for words.
Jake puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes hard. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“You saved her life.”
I glance at the car behind us, my stomach lurching again at what has happened to this child’s grandmother.
We meet eyes, and I see that he is feeling everything I’m feeling. There aren’t any words to put to it to make it more real than it is. He takes my hand, links his fingers through mine, pressing hard, as if he knows I need this connection. “I know,” he says. “I know.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sawyer
THE AMBULANCE ARRIVES within minutes—its siren blaring long before it comes into view.
Two paramedics leap from the front, a third from the back. One runs toward us, gear in hand.“What have you got?” he calls, scanning the wreckage.“Anyone alive in there?”
I shake my head.“The driver’s gone. The child, her granddaughter, I think, was unconscious. I gave her CPR. She’s breathing now. I’m an ER doctor. Was,” I amend softly.
The EMT nods quickly and kneels beside the girl. He checks her pulse, then her pupils. Two others follow with a stretcher, working swiftly to stabilize her neck and lift her carefully into the back of the ambulance. Their calm professionalism steadies me.
They thank us quietly before driving away, and then a young county deputy approaches. He can’t be more than twenty-eight. His eyes keep drifting to the crushed car.
“The coroner’s on the way,” he says.“And the wrecker too.”
“We were behind the truck,” Jake says.“Saw it weaving all over the road. There was one close call, a car coming around a curve barely missed it. That’s when Sawyer called 911.”
I nod, still feeling the weight of the phone in my hand.“The truck crossed the line. It hit the woman’s car head-on.”
The deputy shakes his head.“If she’d been speeding, the girl probably wouldn’t have made it.” He glances at the cab.“I didn’t smell alcohol. But these guys drive all night sometimes. He could have nodded off.”
Jake nods, somber.“Could have.”
The deputy scribbles on his clipboard.“Can I get your names and numbers in case we need to follow up?”
We give him our information. Then we climb back in Jake’s truck. The tires crunch over gravel as we pull away, the siren fading behind us. Hattie licks our faces, whining softly, as if she knows the terrible thing that has happened. I put a hand on her head and rub softly. Jake reaches out and strokes her side. Our hands meet, and I slip my palm over his, the three of us absorbing comfort from each other. We ride like that the rest of the way home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jake
SAWYER AND I make a half-hearted attempt at the dock repairs, but the morning has already emptied us. We stack the boards and leave the rest for another time.
I head back to my house, not because I don’t want to be with her, but because the grief has become too much to carry in company.
Alone, it hits me now.
