“My children,” she gags out.
An EMT gives me an alarmed look and goes to radio fire, but I shake my head at them.
“The dolls?”
Mrs. Johnson nods as I put an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. “Go back in for them!” she insists.
I soften my voice, speaking slowly and clearly like I always do when someone’s in a crisis. “They’ll do the best they can to get the fire out, okay? I’m here for you. Just focus on me. Okay?” A tear leaks out the corner of her eye as she gasps in some air. I hold her hand, kneeling next to the gurney. “You’re doing great. In and out. Good.”
She starts to cry more as her breathing gets less ragged and it’s heartbreaking. We don’t have to deal with full house fires often, and it’s hard no matter who it happens to. But this is Ari’s grandma, and since her husband died last year, she only has Ari.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson.” The words could never be enough, but I have to try. “Let’s just keep breathing.”
And that’s what we do until the EMTs have her ready to go to the hospital. Ari isn’t here, and I can’t bear the thought of her grandma being alone and scared at the hospital. It’s always tough when we have to take someone to get care alone, and my gut twists at the thought of leaving her.
And even though Aria dumped me at the hospital after my concussion, I don’t have the heart to let someone so precious to her suffer alone.
“Mind if I ride along?” I ask.
THIRTEEN
ARIA
A distant buzzingsound cuts through my thoughts, not that different from Brodie’s chainsaw that irritated the piss out of me.
No, that’s a rhythmic buzz. My phone. No one calls me. This must be an emergency. I take stock of the people in my life. Richard. Granny. My ex?
I spring out of bed to where my phone charges across the room. I get there in time for the voicemail to come through from an unknown number.
“Hey, Ari. It’s Brodie,” his raspy voice comes through, sounding like he’s trying to stay calm. “I’m here at the hospital with your granny. They’re getting her checked out and she’s alert, but there was a fire at her house.”
Panic washes over me and I don’t even listen to the rest of the message. I scramble to put on some pants and race for the front door. I grab my fleece and keys off the hook, but when I step onto the porch, I fall. Pain bites into my knees and I look back to find Brodie’s basket overturned on the mat. Just as I’m cussing him out, I see a folded up paper with my name on it.
Whatever that is, I don’t have time for it right now. I stuff the paper in my pocket and head for my car, barely thinking on the drive to the hospital.
I’m Granny’s only emergency contact. She’s alone in life without me. Her house caught on fire and I’m just hanging out with Richard like the little brat I am. I could be in an entirely different city or state.
And for what?
To prove I’ve made it past my humble beginnings? To prove that there are people out there to love me who aren’t Brodie Campbell? To show my worth?
I do an absolutely rotten parking job when I get to the hospital a couple towns over and jog into the ER.
“I need to see Alberta Johnson. I’m her granddaughter.”
Time moves like molasses through the hourglass as I wait for them to pull Granny’s information, then lead me back to her. But just before I get there, I hear her chuckling.
Chuckling? And it’s accompanied by a lower laugh. I’m so stunned that I just wait on the other side of the curtain. The nurse who walked me back here is miffed at my confusion and slides the curtain open for me.
It reveals Brodie sitting next to Granny’s bed. They look like they’re sharing some inside joke, even though I have no clue what that could be. The smile wipes off her face in an instant, and she purses her lips under the cannula delivering oxygen to her nose. “‘Bout time you got here. This good-for-nothin’ let my children burn.”
Brodie stifles a laugh, the sudden betrayal taking both of us by surprise. “It was you or the dolls, Mrs. Johnson. It’s our job to choose you.”
“I told you to get back in there!” she protests.
“Our priority was getting you to safety and containing the fire,” he says slowly, his patience fraying.
I move into the “room,” a collection of curtains around a bed, a sink, and some monitors. “Granny, what happened? Are you alright?”
