1. Dove
DOVE
T he early morning sky was an ominous gray color, the sun unable to shine past the thick, rain-filled clouds.
The day before had been muggy and humid, nearly unbearable to work in. The dark rainclouds had rolled in overnight but had yet to break, causing the air outside to be heavy with the scent of impending rain and making the animals act nervous and skittish.
Definitely a storm, then. I chewed at my bottom lip, worried.
Mom and Gareth had left a few hours ago to start their trip to the hospital. Living rural had its perks, such as higher air quality, no shitty neighbors for miles, and the ability to have raging bonfires whenever you wanted.
But it meant the closest hospitals were nearly an hour’s drive away.
I lounged on the porch for a few extra minutes, simmering in my worry, before I downed the rest of my lukewarm coffee and set the mug—and my distracting thoughts—aside.
They’d been going into the city for over a year now for mom’s treatment. Each time they made it back fine, even if Mom was a little worse for wear after every visit.
They said the chemo was killing the cancer inside of her, but to me it just looked like it was killing her .
It zapped her of energy, health, and even her megawatt smile.
The doctor reassured us this was all normal, but Mom rarely smiled these days, and it’d taken so much to get that smile back after Dad died that it killed me inside to see it locked away again.
But the doctors (and Gareth) were optimistic, so I tried to be, too.
Which meant a little rain wasn’t going to do anything but dampen the day, and I had chores that needed tending to.
So, with a push off the porch swing, and a small stretch, I got to work.
Somehow, even with my mental pep talk, the twisting dread in my stomach refused to go away.
I’d made a habit of keeping my cellphone on me since I’d been given one at fifteen.
It wasn’t that I was glued to social media or needed to text my friends every five minutes.
There was just something in me that wanted to be reachable—if my family needed me, I wanted to be there.
I also wanted the ability to get help if I ever needed it.
Working on a farm could be dangerous, and you never knew what situation you might get yourself into.
I didn’t use it often, honestly—maybe a quick call from Mom to have me pick up milk from the general store before I got home from class, or a random text from someone inviting me to something they knew I’d likely not attend.
Mostly, I used it to FaceTime my best friend, Reverie, who’d moved away to California.
Even though I rarely looked at the thing, I needed it, and having it with me reassured me—just in case.
And after he left…
Well, it never left my side after that.
I was mucking Shadow’s stall when the melodic ringtone floated up over the sound of rain and thunder outside the barn.
I paused, wiped my forearm across my sweaty forehead, and strained to hear.
There were times I swore I heard it ringing when it wasn’t.
My therapist said it was normal, that we all had phantom moments where we thought we heard something we didn’t.
But that wasn’t the case this time.
When it rang again, I sprang into action.
The worn mucking gloves covering my hands got shucked carelessly, and the shovel I’d been gripping clattered to the floor—forgotten.
I slipped on the remaining dirty hay sprawled on the ground as I practically ran to grab my phone, which rested on a ledge just outside Shadow’s stall.
There were only a handful of people who had my number, and the friends who did have it didn’t bother to call anymore. Not since we graduated. Not since I became the recluse farm girl.
So, that only left a select few people.
My heart pounded as I lifted the screen up, but it stopped just as suddenly when I noticed it wasn’t a contact I had saved. The number was a local area code, though, which worried me all the same.
Tamping down my disappointment at not seeing his name across the screen, I swiped to accept the call.
“Hello?” I nearly shouted into the phone, the rain bouncing off the tin roof near deafening.
“Is this Dove Riley?” a firm male voice asked on the other end of the line.
I gulped, the dread that had festered low in my belly since morning leaping to life with a vengeance.
“Yes,” I answered back anxiously. “This is her.”
“This is Officer Ringgold from the Lynnton police department.” His tone turned grievous. “I’m sorry to inform you that your mother and father have been in an accident.”
The words spun around my head, but the only thing I could focus on was…
Stepfather. The word thickened in my throat, lodged, unable to come out. He’s my stepfather.
Where had all the air gone? My chest grew tight, and my breathing turned shallow, the room closing in on me until I had to lean against a wooden beam for support.
“Are they—?” Those two words were all I could choke out, unable to finish the sentence.
The man’s hesitation was noticeable over the phone. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Riley. They’ve been in a severe accident, and they’re both in critical condition. They’ve been taken by ambulance to All Saint’s Hospital.”
My eyes prickled with tears, heart clenching. The very hospital they’d been leaving, having visited just that morning, only to wind back up there. Both as patients this time.
“I’m on my way.” I stalked out of the barn, instantly soaked as the rain pummeled me and I ran for the cover of the house.
All the animals were in, having prepared for the rain before it came, and I was glad for my planning now.
There was no way I could go to the hospital like this.
I needed to quickly change and grab my car keys.
My stomach twisted at the thought of getting behind the wheel, of driving in this weather, but what could I do?
Now wasn’t the time for my hang-ups, not when my mom and Gareth needed me.
Would the hospital need me to bring anything?
Was I supposed to have their insurance information?
What if they needed blood transfusions? I cursed myself for not knowing something as simple yet lifesaving as my mother’s blood type.
Thoughts flitted through my head so fast I barely heard his reply.
“Miss, there’s a storm advisory in effect?—”
“I’m going to the hospital,” I insisted as I ran carelessly through the mudpuddles littering the dirt driveway, barely feeling it drench the hem of my jeans.
“Do you have someone who can drive you?”
My heart stuttered in my chest. At one point in time, I’d have answered that question with a wholehearted yes. But now…
“No.”
His heavy sigh came through the line. “This storm isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I’d rather you not drive yourself in these conditions. I’ll contact your local precinct and have them send an officer over, so we ensure you make it there safely. Will you wait for them to arrive?”
Under the cover of the porch, my hands shook, the phone nearly slipping out of my grip.
Water dripped off my hair, running into my eyes, mixing with my tears.
He had a point. There was no way I could safely drive myself in these conditions in the state I was in.
He hadn’t said it, but I knew it was why he’d asked if I had someone who could take me.
Someone who wasn’t nearly on the brink of a panic attack.
Through blurry eyes, I watched the downpour continue, flooding the yard like it always did, harsh gusts of wind swaying the trees in the distance.
It was just as likely I’d end up in that hospital with them if I drove myself.
“Yes,” I relented in a whisper, praying whatever condition they were in was stable enough for me to make it there in time.
Waiting for the cop to arrive gave me time, at least, to steady my panicking thoughts and gather myself.
So I could make the one phone call I’d vowed to never make.
Anger churned in my belly as my call went to voicemail.
I couldn’t remember what words I snapped out in my fury, if they’d been concise and coherent or if my worry and hurt had bled into what I’d said.
A part of me wanted to hang up without saying a word, so he could panic and fret over why I called without any explanation.
But this situation was far more important than my need for petty payback.
My bottom lip stung where it was raw from gnawing at it, a bad habit I’d acquired at a young age, and my hands hurt from the grip I’d kept on my phone.
As mad as I was at him for not answering, I still wished for it to ring the entire ride over as I sat silently in the cop car, my unease and dread growing by the minute.
A part of me craved to hear the deep timbre of his voice, how it would drop lower as he reassured me everything would be okay.
I really needed the comfort I knew it would bring, but that voice lived only in my memories now. I hadn’t heard it in three years.
No amount of wishing was going to change that.
The moment I stepped into the emergency room, all those thoughts flew from my head.
They were replaced with sterile white walls and nurses walking around casually as if the fragility between life and death wasn’t clinging like a bad stench to this place.
It transported me back to a time that still held me in its grasp, when I was too young to understand what this place really was.
But I knew now, had learned firsthand, and I hated being here. I hated not knowing the outcome of my visit, if I was going to walk away with good news or the kind I’d never recover from.
The officer at my side guided me to the front desk with sure strides, where he exchanged a few polite words with the receptionist, who looked at me with sympathy.
Her nails clacked against the keyboard as she entered the few bits of information the officer gave her. Her eyes grew sad, but when she glanced up at me, her smile was encouraging.