Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sawyer
THE AMBULANCE ARRIVES within minutes—its siren blaring long before it comes into view.
Two paramedics leap from the front, a third from the back. One runs toward us, gear in hand. “What have you got?” he calls, scanning the wreckage. “Anyone alive in there?”
I shake my head. “The driver’s gone. The child, her granddaughter, I think, was unconscious. I gave her CPR. She’s breathing now. I’m an ER doctor. Was,” I amend softly.
The EMT nods quickly and kneels beside the girl. He checks her pulse, then her pupils. Two others follow with a stretcher, working swiftly to stabilize her neck and lift her carefully into the back of the ambulance. Their calm professionalism steadies me.
They thank us quietly before driving away, and then a young county deputy approaches. He can’t be more than twenty-eight. His eyes keep drifting to the crushed car.
“The coroner’s on the way,” he says. “And the wrecker too.”
“We were behind the truck,” Jake says. “Saw it weaving all over the road. There was one close call, a car coming around a curve barely missed it. That’s when Sawyer called 911.”
I nod, still feeling the weight of the phone in my hand. “The truck crossed the line. It hit the woman’s car head-on.”
The deputy shakes his head. “If she’d been speeding, the girl probably wouldn’t have made it.” He glances at the cab. “I didn’t smell alcohol. But these guys drive all night sometimes. He could have nodded off.”
Jake nods, somber. “Could have.”
The deputy scribbles on his clipboard. “Can I get your names and numbers in case we need to follow up?”
We give him our information. Then we climb back in Jake’s truck.
The tires crunch over gravel as we pull away, the siren fading behind us.
Hattie licks our faces, whining softly, as if she knows the terrible thing that has happened.
I put a hand on her head and rub softly.
Jake reaches out and strokes her side. Our hands meet, and I slip my palm over his, the three of us absorbing comfort from each other.
We ride like that the rest of the way home.