“Not too far away. Why?”
“My cousin Artie just called. He cut himself making dinner, and wanted me to run him to Jonah to see if he needs stitches. But I’m out at the lumberyard in West Stoneburg with his parents, picking out wood for their new cabinets.”
“Seatbelts on,” I murmur to Jocelyn, as she buckles herself in. “They’re out on River Road near the bluffs, right?” I say into the phone.
“Right. Sorry to bother you, Walker, but?—”
“No problem. I’m already on my way.”
I throw the car into gear and start driving at a solid clip. “Did you catch the gist of that?” I ask Jocelyn.
“Yeah.” I glance over to see her lovely, shy smile. “I understand…Mr. Unofficial Town Ambulance Driver.”
I smile. “This should just be a run to see Jonah, so it won’t be that far.”
I phone the clinic, but there’s no answer. Then I try Jonah’s direct line. Still nothing. So I call the so-called OHV hotline, aka the red phone in the lobby of City Hall, where there’s always someone who knows what’s going on.
“Heya, it’s Jerry.”
“Hey Jerry, Walker. I’m going to be running in a kid that probably needs stitches. Is Jonah in the clinic?”
“Sorry, no. He’s picking up supplies at the hospital.”
“Shit,” I mutter half under my breath. “Okay, thanks. I’ll run Artie straight to the hospital then.”
As we approach the house, I reach out to squeeze Jocelyn’s knee. “I’m really sorry about this. Artie is around sixteen. I’ve only met him a few times, but he’s a good kid. We can pick him up, then I can drop you back downtown or whatever if you don’t want to make the hospital run with us.”
“Well, let’s see how he is first.” She’s already folding up the blanket, taking off her sweater and rolling up the sleeves of her dress. “Maybe it’s just a paper cut or something.”
Artie is sitting out on the front porch looking very pale, with a couple of dish towels wrapped around his hand.
Oh.
It’s…definitely not a papercut.
Shit.If we were in any of my other vehicles I’d have a complete first aid kit with me. Not that just a bandage would help right now.
Jocelyn flies into high gear. “Walker – your belt. Now.” In seconds she has my belt tightened around Artie’s arm just above the elbow and has re-wrapped the dish towels to apply pressureto the cut. She didn’t even flinch when she took them off long enough to glance at it.
“It’s not that bad,” she tells Artie with a reassuring smile. “Just a couple of stitches. But I know it’s a bit of a shock, which is probably why you feel a little woozy. Let’s get you to the doctor.”
I wrap an arm around him to help him into the backseat. When he’s not looking at us, Jocelyn catches me eye and shakes her head. “It’sbad,” she mouths. “We’d better hurry.”
She climbs into the back seat with Artie, who looks like he’s about to pass out. Jocelyn just smiles brightly, buckling them both in while I put the convertible top up for better aerodynamics, not to mention safety considering the speed at which I’m about to drive.
By the time I’m backing down the driveway, I can see in the mirror that Jocelyn has already arranged his arm on the rolled-up blanket, applying consistent pressure to the cut. “Hey Artie, what’s your favorite subject in school?” she asks him.
He’s barely spoken beyond mumbles up till now, but looks up at her curiously. “I like science. Especially biology.”
“Cool. So you know how the heart and lungs are all interconnected, right?”
“Yeah…”
The second I’m on a larger road, my foot hammers down. I would never ordinarily drive this fast with a teenager and – hopefully – my new girlfriend in the car. But I don’t like the color of Artie’s cheeks, and Jocelyn did say to hurry.
“Well, if you lower your heart rate, but keep it very steady, you lose a bit less blood,” she says brightly, as if she were telling a funny story. While I keep my eyes on the road and drive as if the Devil himself were on my heels, she teaches him a breathing technique to calm his heart rate.
By the time we roll up to the hospital in almost record time, Artie no longer looks like a wax mannequin, and they’re discussing crazy anecdotes from their respective science classes.