Page 82 of What Hurts Us

“Eight.” She shoved in another bite of pastry. “I just know they’re not gonna let me have so much as a cracker at the hospital. And when they finally stop starving me, it’ll be something low-carb and sodium-free.”

“Where is your greatest pain?”

She let out a quiet sigh, staring into the container of leftovers. “Seems like my hip. Tried to stand up and couldn’t make it.” For a moment, Gran looked her age. She was tired. Weary.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” Shane said with a broad smile as he strode in. I saw his eyes darting back and forth, assessing the situation.

He tipped his head toward Missy, who nodded. It was the silent communication that was learned after years on the job. You didn’t always want your patients to know everything that was going on.

“So, here’s how our date is gonna go,” he said, getting the gurney situated in the kitchen. “We’re gonna get you in this bed. Then, we’re gonna take a scenic ride to the hospital where you’ll get all dressed up in a sexy little number in blue that has a real low back. You’re gonna love it.”

Gran was too charmed by his antics to realize he had run through her vitals. It was a good thing, too. Gran, in her own surly way, probably would have pestered him about why he needed to know anything about her blood pressure, asked for a handful of Tylenol, and called it a day.

I hustled through the house, grabbing a change of comfortable clothes, some toiletries, a Whitney West book that was sitting by her bed, her phone charger, and her pill organizer.

“Layla, dear,” she said, lifting a finger as Shane gently loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Anything,” I said, reaching over my shoulder to beep my keyfob at my car. I took an empty spot in the back with Missy while Shane slammed the double doors and hopped behind the wheel.

“Call my son.”

I frowned. “Shane said dispatch is trying to get a hold of Cal, but he’s on duty. Might have his radio quiet if he’s dealing with something right now.”

Gran rolled her eyes. “Not mygrandson.” She nodded toward her phone that I was keeping safe until she was settled in a hospital room. “My son. Callum’sfather.” She pointed a wrinkled finger at the bag that housed her phone. “Tell him where Shane is driving us, then I have something to tell you. Something you need to hear.”

28

CALLUM

“You know, Callum. You just bring that sweet bride-to-be of yours over, and I’ll teach her how to make these for you,” Estelle Gould said as she stuffed a plastic container of banana muffins into my hands. I’d been sent out to the Gould place for the fourth time this week to check on Estelle.

Early in the week, she called in because she suspected someone was stealing the apples off of her apple tree. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was probably just the deer. But, I took photos and made a show of writing up a report. Then it was the robot vacuum again. The third call was because there was a strange woman lurking around her driveway in a—quote—kidnapper van.

It was the Amazon delivery driver dropping off a present her grandkids had sent her.

Today’s emergency had been one of the property-damage variety. Someone had hit her mailbox, knocking it clean to the ground. I stifled a laugh when I saw the scraped paint and dented bumper onhercar.

Dainty little Estelle had no business standing on the side of the road with a shovel to dig out a spot for a new mailbox. I promised her that as soon as I got off duty, I’d stop by Grady’s Hardware for supplies and come back to put in a new post.

“No sense in you missing out on time with your woman,” she tut-tutted as she walked me out to my cruiser. “Time is in short supply these days. Gotta make the most of whatcha got.” She patted me on the arm as we lingered beside my car. “It’s good to see you happy, dear. It’s all your Gran, and the rest of us have ever wanted for you.”

A mirage of memories from the first time I met Mrs. Gould spun through my head. I had been an angry, short-tempered teen teetering on the edge of a slippery slope. The day I moved into Gran’s house, Mrs. Gould had dropped by with enough banana muffins to feed an army. It was a good thing too. I was a growing boy with an appetite that could have bankrupted Gran.

Estelle thanked me for coming to investigate the troublemaker who had hit her mailbox, then shuffled back into the house. I turned up the volume on my radio after having silenced the endless stream of casual chatter so I could have a talk with Mrs. Gould about what constituted arealemergency.

I reached up and keyed in my radio as I backed out of the drive, careful to avoid the mangled metal post that used to hold the mailbox. “Unit 2-1-2 leaving 452 Pine Belt Drive. All clear.”

“Thank fuck!” Pamela, the dispatcher, shouted over the radio. “Do you realize how many people have been trying to get in touch with you for the last hour? I almost sent additional units out to find you!”

I eased back onto the road and headed toward the station. I hadn’t bothered looking at my phone. I wasn’t at Estelle’s that long. “What’s going on?”

“Gran’s in the hospital. Layla got up with Hutch to get EMS out there. She’s at the hospital with Gran now.”

Tires screeched as I did a tight U-turn in the middle of the road. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. One glance at the screen showed a million missed calls from Layla. I tossed it into the cup holder and gunned it.

* * *

The sharp burnof industrial cleaner and depression wafted around me in a toxic cloud as I sprinted through the automatic doors of the emergency department. “Doris Fletcher,” I barked at the girl behind the desk. “She was brought in on an ambulance. I’m her—”

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