Page 13 of Sparrow's Grace

Because I sure as heck hoped it was only an accident.

I already felt bad enough for the decision to leave; I didn’t need to feel any worse about it.

And when I heard my name from someone, in a voice that I swore only existed in the devil's playground.

One that was raspy, as in he smoked a carton of cigarettes a week and sounded like his throat was coated with honey. I asked, “Do I know you?”

How else would this man know my name?

I’ve never even stepped foot out of California.

Hell, I didn’t know anyone personally in the state of Tennessee, just saw them at the clubhouse.

Either it was the pain in my hip, or the asphalt digging in my back that caused me to be slow and not take the man in, I didn’t know. Oh, but when I did finally take him in, I wish I had done it right at that moment.

“No, Angel, you don’t know me, but Gaston reached out to my Pres. Powers said you were headed this way and asked us to keep an eye out.”

And that was when, without realizing I had done it, my hand was rubbing circles on my belly.

The man’s eyes landed on my belly, and I watched as his eyes flared, as his throat convulsed when he swallowed, and in that raspy and somewhat panicked tone, he asked, “Where are you hurting, Angel?”

That was when I turned my head in the man’s direction and immediately had to squint my eyes; the sun had to be right over us.

“Hip,” I said as I started to bring my other hand to block out the sun, but before I could, this man shifted his body to block it out.

The softness in his eyes, the likes of which I have never seen before as he looked down at me, surprised me, then he asked, “That better?”

Smiling weakly, I said, “Yes, thank you.”

And that was when he nodded, then pulled his phone from his pocket and placed a call.

Five minutes later, emergency services were there, then I was being loaded up in the back of an ambulance.

“I’ll be right behind the ambulance, Angel,” the man that I didn’t know told me, and yet… there was something comforting in his tone.

Something that told me he meant what he said, and he would do what he said. Actions spoke louder than words with me.

Sadly, I learned that way too early in life. First with my father, then my mother, then with Deck. That was three too many people to let me down.

The ride in the ambulance was a blur as I answered their questions as best as I could.

All the while silently wondering where the man was. I didn’t refer to him as the man that had run me over with his bike, no, he was simply someone who cared about my needs by moving in front of the sun so I would be a little more comfortable.

Sure, that was something small to someone else and they probably wouldn’t realize how nice of a move that was. But for someone that has been treated as I have by Deck, it wasn’t small. It was huge.

When we came to a stop, the paramedics readied to remove me from the back. The doors opened, and there he stood, strong, not moving.

The moment they got me out of the back of the ambulance, he was right there at my side, telling the medical staff what had happened.

Somehow my hand found his, and I squeezed, “Did Gaston tell your President I was pregnant?”

He nodded, “Yeah, that’s why I was concerned about where you were hurt. It would have killed me had your baby gotten hurt.”

“How far along are you?” someone in navy scrubs that was standing beside him asked.

My eyes never left his, though, as I muttered, “Almost nine weeks.”

And after that, everything really was a blur.

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