“Hey, I’m Molly. You Betsey? Holy smokes, is that Moses?”
Betsey wiped under her eyes and stood. “Yeah, I’m Betsey.”
“Damn… I mean dadgum, you look like you went a round or two with Muhammad Ali. What happened to your clothes?”
Betsey looked down at her torn uniform and clutched the dirty fabric to hold it closed as best as she could. “Never mind my clothes. Can you take me to the hospital?”
Molly became all business as Betsey opened the car door and settled into the front seat. “The one in Sylva is pretty far, and Dr. Swaim’s office is closed, but he’s got a new doctor started there a while back who might could see you for an emergency. I looked up his address in the White Pages and called him at home. He said he’d meet us at the Swaim office. He said he done got another call ’bout some hurt people. I bet it’s from the motorcycle thing.” She reached and grabbed something from the back seat. “I got my daddy’s laundry back here. I was supposed to take it over to the laundromat, but then he told me to stay put when they got the call ’bout the bikers. It ain’t gonna fit, but at least you won’t have to keep holding your bra together.”
Betsey slipped on the oversized brown shirt that smelled faintly of Aqua Velva and sweat. “Thanks.”
The girl grinned. “Ten-four, good buddy. We are rollin’.” She flipped on the siren and spun out with a spray of gravel. Only then did Betsey realize she’d never considered calling her parents.