Page 23 of Sparking Sara

“We’ll figure it out. I’m sure we’ll be able to make a call soon. Maybe the nearest tower is temporarily down.”

Her cries turn to sobs and she starts to hyperventilate. “Oh, my God, Conrad. We’re stuck in here. We can’t get out. We’re a hundred feet from the roadway with no way to call for rescue. We’ll freeze to death. We’ll starve. What will they tell the kids?”

“Calm down, Fran. I won’t let it come to that. I’ve always taken care of you. This is no different.”

“But, Conrad, we’re trapped. You can’t save me this time.”

He hugs her. Then he turns to me. “Why didn’t you save us, Denver?”

I startle awake, drenched in sweat, my mother’s sobs still echoing in my ears.

I sit up on the side of the bed, my head in my hands. At least this wasn’t one of the bad ones. They’re all bad, but most of the time, I watch them die. My mind has pieced together the bits of information given to us by the police, and different scenarios play out in my dreams.

Then a horrible feeling washes over me.

I pick up my phone and call the nurses’ station at the ICU. I don’t even feel bad that it’s one-thirty in the morning. They get Tiffany, the night nurse, on the line.

“Tiffany, it’s Denver Andrews. I just wanted to check on Sara. Is she okay? Nothing happened after I left, did it?”

“Get a bad feeling, did you?”

“Uh …”

“It’s okay. We get calls like yours all the time. Sara is the same. They have some procedures to do tomorrow after they review the results of the MRI, but other than that, she’s still being weaned off the Propofol.”

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. Then I ask, “Did her boyfriend happen to show up after I left?”

“No, sorry.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay. Thanks, Tiffany. Sorry to bother you.”

“No bother, Denver. Call anytime.”

I spend the rest of the night in a fitful sleep. What will the MRI show? I’ve done some research on brain injuries over the past few days, and from what I can tell, if the damage is extensive but her body is still strong enough to keep her alive, she could be hooked up to machines for the rest of her life, unable to walk, talk, or breathe.

And based on what I’ve read, even the best-case scenario would likely mean some kind of damage, whether it be to her cognitive ability or her physical ability. Suddenly, I get a sick feeling in my gut.What if she can never paint again?

I won’t be able to see Sara until after my shift. My twenty-four-hour shift.

And somehow, I have the feeling that the next day will be one of the longest of my life.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, convict,” Steve Hanson says when I walk into the firehouse.

I roll my eyes. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that, technically, I’m a felon. Well, I was until I was cleared of all charges and exonerated last year. But they’ll never let me live it down thanks to the one drunken night I spent out with Engine 319 a few months ago.

“Hi, Duck,” I say, calling him by his nickname that he earned by not being able to walk with his feet straight.

“I hear we’re stuck with you until Auggie gets off desk duty.”

“That’s the word,” I say, putting my turnout gear by the rear door of the truck.

“Well, you know your way around. Go drop your shit in the bunk room. We designated one for you since you’ll be here a while. The rest of the company should be in shortly.”

I pass by some other guys I know from a different shift. One of them lifts a chin at me. The other doesn’t even bother to acknowledge me.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I say sarcastically.

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