Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Scott
N o matter how many times I stand in the observation area, watching the surgical team work with painstaking precision, trepidation flows through my mind. After years of working for another company, I invested almost all my money in this device. This is the culmination of hard work, stress, and sleepless nights. I don’t own the device, but I invested in and contracted with the company to secure the rights to distribute. With my contacts from my years selling devices for another company, I had plenty of recommendations and studied all the research to demonstrate complete knowledge of the device as well as possible complications.
In moments, it will be inside the patient’s heart. This is only the second time it’s been used at this Lexington hospital, which is known for its award-winning cardiac care. Only a few hospitals in the United States can perform the surgery until we get more feedback.
The patient is hooked to numerous beeping monitors as the surgical staff communicates in hushed whispers. Th e surgeon positions the device. Half of the time, I watch them live, and the other half, my eyes are glued to the operating room television streaming in the observation room. Holding my breath, I hope the device is calibrated to the precise measurements needed. The nurses clap when the doctors stitch him back together. Kudos all around.
A profound sense of purpose washes over me. The surgeon removes his latex gloves, throwing them into a container. He washes his hands and pushes through the door. “Scott, it went perfectly. You just saved this man’s life.”
“No, Doc, you did. Thanks to your steady hands.” He shakes my hand as I glance to watch the nurses performing the after care.
“I’ll write up all my notes tonight and send them to you. If the company has any questions, call me,” he says with a smile on his weathered face. A seven-hour surgery isn’t for the faint of heart, and you must have stamina, which is one of the reasons we chose this hospital and this doctor to perform the surgery. He’s the only surgeon in the South. Then we have a doctor at Mayo and a doctor at Cleveland Clinic also.
I follow the doctor to the locker room to shed my scrubs and put on my street clothes. It feels good to contribute to society. Checking the time on my phone, it’s already eight in the evening, but I also see a message from Wynter.
Bojangles. God, I love her.
On the way to my car, I call the device company and share the details of the surgery through my eyes and experience. What I observed, how long the surgery took, and that there were no complications. The CEO keeps asking questions until I’m already in the drive-thru at Boj angles in Versailles.
I place an order for three chicken biscuits. One for me. One for her, and one for us to argue over tomorrow. I chuckle, thinking that Wynter will win any argument, even when she’s not using her pregnancy as a ploy. She knows I’ll give her the world, and I don’t mind telling anyone who’ll listen that she deserves every bit of it. Wynter makes life exciting and adventurous, and I enjoy the ride.
Kissing Springs is about forty-five minutes away, so I call Wynter to let her know that I’m on my way home with her request. Her voicemail answers, which doesn’t surprise me since she usually falls asleep on the couch about this time every night.
Remembering the Kentucky Stallions basketball game is on, I switch the satellite radio to the local station. It’s March Madness and for the first time in a few years, we’ve made it to the Final Four. We haven’t been able to put together a team with chemistry since Dane Greathouse graduated and went to the NBA.
The announcer says, “Kentucky’s down by two. Bybee brings the ball up with seventeen seconds left in the game. If I’m the coach, I want Bybee to take the shot; if he’s double teamed, then Hager.” He takes a breath. “Bybee to Hager at the elbow. He swings it cross-court to Johnson. Back to Bybee. Five seconds. Four. Three. Gotta put it up. Bybee, a step back three and it’s goooood!”
I slam my hands against the steering wheel. “Yes!”
Life is good.
I’m married to the woman I’ve loved since I was a teenager. I’m having a family in a few short months. My investment is paying off, which will make our lives ea sier. Wynter can freelance as much or as little as she wants once she has our baby girl.
After the radio announcer says, “We’ll play Kansas for the title. Two blue bloods trying to be bluer,” he and his partner laugh. “We’ll be right back with the post-game show after a word from our sponsors.”
My phone rings, and it’s Heath from the Emergency Management team in Kissing Springs.
“Hey, Heath. What’s up?”
“Are you in town? If you are, we could use your help.”
“I’m about thirty minutes away. What’s going on?” I ask.
He says, “A man called in for an ambulance at the gorge. He said he saw a woman fall. He had to go to the main road to get a signal, so he’s not sure where she is exactly.”
“Do we need Bravo?”
“Yeah, since it’s dark, and we don’t have coordinates. We’ll meet you there.”
I hang up and call Wynter again to leave another voicemail. She’ll worry if I don’t. This search and rescue may not take much time since a man knows her approximate location, but you never know when it’s dark.
“Hey, baby. If you wake up, and I’m not there, don’t worry. I’ve been called for search and rescue. I’ve got your chicken biscuit, and I’ll call you on the way home in case you’re craving something different. I love you. I was just thinking about how lucky I am and how wonderful my life is. Being married to you is like living a dream. I can’t wait to kiss you and that beautiful baby belly when I get home. Love ya.”
Pulling out my red emergency light, I place it on the dashboard. There’s no traffic this time of night on the parkway, but it makes me feel better about goin g ninety miles per hour. When I arrive at the main road going into the gorge, I meet Heath, an ambulance, a firetruck, and several police car lights pulsing like a Vegas club on New Year’s Eve.
Heath instructs the volunteers, including me. I whistle for Bravo, and he pounces to my side so I can add his leash. “Do we have any missing persons yet?”
“No, but the man who called it in has taken two officers down to the trail where he was standing when he heard a woman’s voice echoing and brush crunching and snapping.”
“Bravo, ready?”
He barks once with his ears perked up. He’s a German Shepherd that was used by Delta Force, and they retired him after five years. I had gone to school with Bravo’s military handler and in Doug’s will, he wanted Bravo to be used for search and rescue missions. His wife knew I was trained with search canines, so she asked if I would train with him. Bravo and I have been on a dozen missions over a three-year period.
Two short whistles tell him we’re ready, and it’s all professional from here. No scratching his back or petting his head—we’re on a mission. With the gorge stretched before us in complete darkness, I put on my headlight as we face rough terrain. We head down the trail until we meet up with the man and the two officers. I talk to him for a minute just so I can hear his story firsthand. Maybe I can pick up on a clue that others have missed.
Bravo senses the gravity of the situation and wanders to a boulder. He barks, focused on the task at hand. He tugs on the twelve-foot leash, smelling something in the opposite direction. I wish we knew who we’re looking for so we can get a piece of clothing for Bravo to know the scent. H owever, Bravo is the best rescue dog I’ve worked with, and I trust his instincts. He moves fast through the rocks, and I call out, “Halt.” The last thing we need is to fall ourselves. It must have rained earlier because the rocks are slippery, and there’s mud in spots. “Slow.” Bravo heeds my orders but still goes faster than I want. My heart pounds as I realize he’s on to something. He’s consumed with the scent he’s latched onto as we go through some underbrush.
Bravo stops.
Bravo barks, standing on point at complete attention.
Two barks. He thinks he’s found her. I look around but don’t see anything. Tugging me to the left, Bravo looks back over his shoulders at me. My blood pumps furiously through my veins, hoping we’re close. As we round the corner, a figure lies twenty feet below, seemingly a woman from this vantage point. Now, we have to figure out how to get to her, and a rush of relief runs through me that I’ll be able to get home to Wynter soon.
I press the button on the emergency walkie talkie. “Eyes on the subject. We’re going to need a stretcher.” I shoot my flare even though I’m not that far from everyone else.
“Copy that. Medical personnel will follow you.”
“Seek,” I command. Bravo and I navigate the treacherous terrain as the darkness distorts every branch and bush. Since we’re no longer on a hiking path, the dense vegetation scratches against my jeans as the sounds of forest animals blanket the air. With each cautionary step, we get closer to the person who fell.
I call out, “Search and rescue. Can you hear me?” We’re probably about fifteen feet away. The fallen hiker doesn’t answer, so I glance over, and the medi cal team isn’t far behind me.
The next step I take, I feel something man-made shatter under my feet. Crouching down, I stare at a camera lens. Studying it between my fingers, it’s the same make and model of the new lens I bought for Wynter for Christmas.
No, it can’t be hers. Hundreds of people have this camera lens. It’s sold at the largest box store in E-town..
Suddenly, there’s an undercurrent of desperation in my limbs and voice. Oh God, it can’t be her. “Wynter. Wynter.”
Instead of Bravo leading me, I’m working furiously against nature to reach the fallen woman, hoping it’s not Wynter. But with Bravo’s training, he surges past me and barks twice.
Bending down with my headlamp directed on the woman, my heart stops—it’s her—my wife.