Page 45 of 3rd Tango
I turn and spot the EMT standing at the rear of the ambulance. “Time to leave.”
With JJ in tow, I make my way to it. “I’m going with Mom. I’ll check on Charlie as soon as we get there. Will you keep me informed about what’s happening here?”
“Absolutely. And Meg?”
“Yes?”
“Tell her I love her.”
I reach the ambulance, hop inside then swing to JJ. “You tell her. She’d rather hear it from you anyway.”
For the first time since I arrived on scene, JJ smiles. “You’re right. And thank you.”
17
Charlie
My head pounds, throbbing like a damn bass drum inside my skull.
My nose stings from the airbag impact, the powder from it lodging in my chest. I feel like I have asthma, my breathing tight and irregular even after the EMT gives me oxygen.
At the hospital, a nurse named Yolanda says I’m lucky—I only have three tiny pieces of glass in my cheekbone to remove before the doctor stitches me up. Yes, I’ll probably have two black eyes tomorrow, thanks to the airbag, and my arm feels like a hundred-pound weight from the bandages the EMT wrapped it in, but, she says, trying to cheer me up, “You’re alive!”
She’s obviously a glass-half-full type of person.
“How is my mother?” I flinch as she tweezes at one of the slivers.
I hate hospitals, especially emergency rooms. We’re behind a curtain, acting as a makeshift wall, as others come and go from the admission desk down the hall. Next to my six-by-nine space, a guy groans on the other side.
The smell of alcohol makes my eyes tear as she dabs at the blood running down my cheek. She’s dressed in a SpongeBob scrub top, which seems completely incongruent with the environment. “I believe the second ambulance just arrived with her,” she says.
“I need to see her.” Paper crinkles as I start to slide off the exam table.
Yolanda is short, has chocolate brown eyes that exude patience and a no-nonsense attitude, and is strong as an ox. Her gloved hand grips my good arm and halts me in my tracks. “Not until we have you stitched up and the doctor has a look at your wounds.”
My phone rings from the front pocket of my briefcase across the room on a crowded countertop. I was in a small amount of shock at the scene, but I made sure the EMTs understood I couldn’t leave it behind. “I need to get that. It could be my sister.”
The dark eyes study me, her smile that of a kindergarten teacher reaching to new depths of patience. She doesn’t release me. “Do you want scars on this pretty cheekbone of yours?”
I sense a threat under that smile. “Sorry?”
“You have beautiful skin. Removing glass from it is a delicate procedure.” She emphasizes the last two words. “I suggest you sit still and let that ring until I’m done.”
“But—”
“Ms. Schock, do you have a clue who runs this ER?”
I bite back a sarcastic reply. She’s trying to help and has the right to ask for cooperation.
I flick dust from my dress pants for the umpteenth time, disgusted that they, like my car, are ruined. “You?”
The smile grows, as if she’s given me a gold star for getting the answer correct. The strong lamp she’s pulled over to help her see spotlights a section of her dark skin. “You’re not allowed to use a cell in my ER while being examined. That means ignoring it and sitting absolutely still. If you don’t? Your phone will accidentally end up in that waste bin over there. You don’t want that, do you?”
The red biohazard symbol mocks me, as if taking Yolanda’s side. I shake my head like a good little student, but internally I’m fuming.
She must see it in my eyes and decides to emphasize her point. “Also? I might have to call Dr. Gomez instead of Dr. Marx who is much better with a needle. Her stitches are so precise. Gomez?” She makes a face. “His are dicey.” The smile returns. “Do I make myself clear?”
I’ve possibly met my match here, yet I sense her threats are borderline serious and I’m not in the mood to go more rounds with anyone today. “Crystal.”
