Page 45 of What About Us
“Is she ok? Is she able to talk now?” Sweat trickles down my spine when I think of what could happen if I don’t get to her in time.
“She’s ok, but she’s drinking some water.” I hear her ask Finn about her CGM app, but Finn is either not talking or she’s so quiet that I can’t hear her over the blood rushing in my ears.
“Ask her to check it,” I bite out, gripping the steering wheel as I come up on someone in a thresher going at a sloth’s speed in front of me. It’s wide as fuck and I can’t get around him. I briefly consider parking my truck and running the rest of the way, but then I’d have to waste time looking for Finn’s keys to take her to the hospital. Also, I can’t risk that if her car is blocked in by a guest vehicle. Minutes matter in these situations, especially clear the fuck out here.
I hear her weak voice. “It’s high. Tell him it’s too high.”
Finally, the turn off for Chicory Lane comes into view and the guy in the thresher is able to move over slightly. I fly past him faster than I should be going, but the road separating my family’s ranch house and the B&B is rarely traveled at this end because the only turnoff ends with Timber Haven Inn.
The farmhouse that Wrenley grew up in comes into view, and I see Finn’s car parked at the front of the gravel drive and one other car I am assuming belongs to Shelly. I pull into the driveway next to the garage so I can still get out in a hurry.
“I’m here. Where are you?” I ask Shelly, jumping out of the truck with the phone clamped between my ear and shoulder.
“Out back, by the garden,” she tells me.
My heart is in my throat, and when I finally spot Finn, she’s slumped in a chair next to the garden with her head in her hand. Her shoes are dirty as well as her hands and her hair is tied back in a braid, some wisps hanging over her face. Dirt is smudged on her forehead and gloves are discarded nearby, along with a small shovel and trowel.
A woman I’m assuming is Shelly stands bent at the waist near Finn, talking softly. She looks up when she sees me. She’s maybe midfifties andtall, and by the dirt on Finn’s knees and Shelly’s shoes, I’m guessing she helped her up from the garden and into the chair she’s sitting in.
Finn looks up at me as I approach, and her eyes fill with tears. I crouch down in front of her and bracket her face in my palms. Her skin is warm—too warm—and flushed, and her lips are dry and chapped. The garden is currently shaded by the giant weeping willow, but God only knows how long she was out here.
My eyes roam her face, and the back of my throat stings when emotion tries to bubble up out of my throat. I clear it and force my voice to come out strong. “Are you ok?”
She nods, but she’s lethargic and her head barely moves.
“Your pump?” I ask. Dropping my eyes, I search for evidence of the small device. Paige
wears a tiny fanny pack around her waist, but Finn has always kept hers in her pocket.
She shakes her head but doesn’t speak. What the hell does that mean? Did she forget it? How does that even happen?
I pat her down, checking her pockets for her pump. Nothing. I can see her sensor stuck to her arm, but there’s no tubing. There should be tubing. I consider pressing her for more information, but the more vital issue at hand is getting her insulin, help, or both.
“Her phone?” Shelly hands it to me, and thankfully, it’s still unlocked, having just disconnected from our call. My thumbs fly over the screen, eyes scanning for the app that I know she and Paige both use for their CGMs. I find it easily after a couple of swipes and click into it. The reading shows HIGH. I know from Paige’s CGM, that isnotgood.
Slipping her phone into my back pocket, I take her face in my hand again. God, she’s so pale, even with the flush to her cheeks, and her eyes are kind of glassy and unfocused.
“Can you stand?” I ask. She’s weak and sick, but now that I’m here, some of the panic I felt before subsides a little. Her number is dangerously high. She wraps her arms around my neck and tries to stand.
Not wasting any more time, I climb to my feet and scoop her up into my arms. She lays her head on my shoulder and lets out a contented sigh.
“Who’s working tonight?” I ask, looking down at her.
“Allie,” she says, not lifting her head.
Once I’ve got her settled in the truck, I turn back to Shelly, who has followed us out front.
“I’m going to call another employee to cover, but if you need to leave—"
“I’ll be here. There isn’t anywhere I need to be. My husband and sons went hiking with our friends and won’t be back for a few hours,” she says.
I thank her and climb into the truck, shutting the door behind me. I gently shake Finn’s leg “Just hang on, ok?” I tell her, brushing a few loose strands of hair off her cheek with one hand while cranking the engine with the other.
She cracks an eye open and nods. Pulling out her phone, I realize it’s locked. I grit my teeth. “What’s your passcode?”
“Your birthday,” she says weakly.
Something unfurls in my chest at her reply, but I don’t have time to unpack that right now So, I tap out the digits and then scroll to find Allie’s contact.
