daughter,” Chase said. “May I use your cell phone?”
The second boy handed over his cell phone. Chase stared at the keypad, unable to conjure the telephone number. She couldn’t recall the aftercare’s number or her office’s number … or Samantha’s … or Paige’s. All she could think of was Stone’s old cell number and how she needed to tell Stone that she had wrecked. But Stone was dead, she kept telling herself, her mind a runningblank tape to anything else.
Emotion choked at her throat. “I can’t remember the number,” she said to the boy.
“What’s the name? I’ll call information.”
She thought a second. The siren was growing louder. Her head was hurting, and she suddenly realized that since she’d been helped from the Jeep, she hadn’t felt she could remove her right hand from the side of her head, as if by doing so, the pain would radiate even further, or everything would fall out of her head. “I can’t remember—”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
She nodded.
“In the Jeep?”
“Somewhere—my purse.” She leaned against the Jeep and held her head. The red lights of an ambulance were appearing anddisappearing as the vehicle weaved around traffic. Both boys had dived inside the Jeep. When they emerged, one boy had her purse, the other her cell phone. The one with her cell phone rattled off the names of her contact list. “That’s it!” she shouted.
A second later, she was listening to the ring and silently giving thanks for the quick-thinking teenagers. “Mrs. Kamaka?” she said. “This is Chase Anderson, Molly’s mother.” Her voice was breaking with emotion. “I’ve been in a car accident. I’ll get there as soon as—what? Who picked her up?”
Chase squirmed for comfort in the emergency room bed. Her head was pounding with noise and pain. Why had Samantha picked up Molly? Who had told herto do so?
Her head had been throbbing since the accident, but the nurse said she wasn’t allowed any medication until after the CT scan. All Chase knew at this point was that someone, she had no idea who, had surmised that during the impact with the guardrail, her head had clunked into the rear-view mirror. Maybe the police officer had told her this. He had asked her lots of questions, including whether she had been drinking, and when she explained about the brakes, he had left her to climb into the driver’s seat. He pressed his foot on the brake. “Yep, they’re gone.”
The curtain suddenly swept to the side of the cubicle to reveal a worried Samantha and a frightened Molly. “Mommy!” she said and ran to the bed. She looked as if she were about to crawl up into the bed with Chase,but hesitated, taking her mother’s hand instead. “I want you to come home now,” she said.
“Soon, I hope.” Chase smiled at her daughter.
Samantha was in one of her trademark prairie skirts and peasant blouses, her red hair looking as if she’d driven all the way from the base in a convertible, but Chase knew better.
“Who called you?” Chased asked as Samantha was dropping her purse on an empty chair near the bed.
Samantha glanced at Molly and smiled. She patted Chase’s hand. “We’ll talk about that later,” she said in a tone too cheery. “Rumor has it you’re going to be just fine, honey. How do you feel?” There was that look of sympathy again, the one that could compel Chase’s emotions to surface and spillover.
She wiped her eyes and said to Molly, “You went home today with Miss Samantha?”
Molly nodded.
Chase looked back at Samantha. “But I called Mrs. Kamaka right after the accident, and she said—”
Molly patted her mother’s hand. “Miss Samantha bought me an ice cream.”
“Is that right?” Chase asked.
“Strawberry,” Molly said, then held up fingers, “ two scoops.”
Chase and Samantha exchanged smiles. Chase’s head was hurting too much to piece together the puzzle. She settled her head back and closed her eyes against the white
The second boy handed over his cell phone. Chase stared at the keypad, unable to conjure the telephone number. She couldn’t recall the aftercare’s number or her office’s number … or Samantha’s … or Paige’s. All she could think of was Stone’s old cell number and how she needed to tell Stone that she had wrecked. But Stone was dead, she kept telling herself, her mind a runningblank tape to anything else.
Emotion choked at her throat. “I can’t remember the number,” she said to the boy.
“What’s the name? I’ll call information.”
She thought a second. The siren was growing louder. Her head was hurting, and she suddenly realized that since she’d been helped from the Jeep, she hadn’t felt she could remove her right hand from the side of her head, as if by doing so, the pain would radiate even further, or everything would fall out of her head. “I can’t remember—”
“Do you have a cell phone?”
She nodded.
“In the Jeep?”
“Somewhere—my purse.” She leaned against the Jeep and held her head. The red lights of an ambulance were appearing anddisappearing as the vehicle weaved around traffic. Both boys had dived inside the Jeep. When they emerged, one boy had her purse, the other her cell phone. The one with her cell phone rattled off the names of her contact list. “That’s it!” she shouted.
A second later, she was listening to the ring and silently giving thanks for the quick-thinking teenagers. “Mrs. Kamaka?” she said. “This is Chase Anderson, Molly’s mother.” Her voice was breaking with emotion. “I’ve been in a car accident. I’ll get there as soon as—what? Who picked her up?”
Chase squirmed for comfort in the emergency room bed. Her head was pounding with noise and pain. Why had Samantha picked up Molly? Who had told herto do so?
Her head had been throbbing since the accident, but the nurse said she wasn’t allowed any medication until after the CT scan. All Chase knew at this point was that someone, she had no idea who, had surmised that during the impact with the guardrail, her head had clunked into the rear-view mirror. Maybe the police officer had told her this. He had asked her lots of questions, including whether she had been drinking, and when she explained about the brakes, he had left her to climb into the driver’s seat. He pressed his foot on the brake. “Yep, they’re gone.”
The curtain suddenly swept to the side of the cubicle to reveal a worried Samantha and a frightened Molly. “Mommy!” she said and ran to the bed. She looked as if she were about to crawl up into the bed with Chase,but hesitated, taking her mother’s hand instead. “I want you to come home now,” she said.
“Soon, I hope.” Chase smiled at her daughter.
Samantha was in one of her trademark prairie skirts and peasant blouses, her red hair looking as if she’d driven all the way from the base in a convertible, but Chase knew better.
“Who called you?” Chased asked as Samantha was dropping her purse on an empty chair near the bed.
Samantha glanced at Molly and smiled. She patted Chase’s hand. “We’ll talk about that later,” she said in a tone too cheery. “Rumor has it you’re going to be just fine, honey. How do you feel?” There was that look of sympathy again, the one that could compel Chase’s emotions to surface and spillover.
She wiped her eyes and said to Molly, “You went home today with Miss Samantha?”
Molly nodded.
Chase looked back at Samantha. “But I called Mrs. Kamaka right after the accident, and she said—”
Molly patted her mother’s hand. “Miss Samantha bought me an ice cream.”
“Is that right?” Chase asked.
“Strawberry,” Molly said, then held up fingers, “ two scoops.”
Chase and Samantha exchanged smiles. Chase’s head was hurting too much to piece together the puzzle. She settled her head back and closed her eyes against the white
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