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  “So I just called him to check in, and he sounded so worried and defeated. Then my sister-in-law got on the phone, and she’s freaking out too, and of course, her family is giving her all sorts of crazy advice, and she doesn’t know who to listen to.”

  “But you’re a doctor,” I interject, “so obviously whatever you say should go, right?”

  She nods. “But it’s hard for me to know what’s going on over the phone. I really need to look at her. Look at her skin, her eyes, see if she’s dehydrated. I don’t know whether to tell them to go to the ER or what. And if they do, I’m not going to be there to treat her. I just feel so damn bad!”

  “Should you go? I mean, most everything is done here now except the cake cutting…”

  She lets out another sigh. “I thought about that, but I feel like Ben and Jamie are probably making it out to be worse than it really is. I mean, kids get sick and vomit all the time. She probably just has a 24-hour virus. They’re just really new at this, and it’s the first time she’s been sick. She’s not a newborn—she’s two…”

  “Yeah, I can see you’re torn. I understand.” I want to reach out and pull her toward me and wrap my arms around her, but I’m afraid she will push me away.

  But then she looks up at me, her eyes so full of pain, heartache and confliction. Before I can even open my arms to offer a hug, she falls toward me, landing with a soft thud against my chest. Next thing I know, she’s heaving with loud sobs and apologizing with every breath that comes out of her mouth. I have no idea what to do, so I embrace her, pulling her tightly to me till there’s no space at all between our bodies.

  I had envisioned dancing with her later this evening. I had no idea she was going to end up crying on my shoulder, but now that she’s in my arms, I don’t even care how she got there. All I know is that her body feels so soft and warm against mine. I lean down and breathe in the incredible scent of her hair, and I don’t even want to move, it feels so right.

  She finally pulls back. “I am so sorry. I never cry…I’m not a crier, I just feel like I should be there and be here at the same time, and this whole storm thing and trying to keep Sonnet going and—”

  “You’re not Wonder Woman, Brynne; it’s okay. You can’t be in two places at once, and you’ve done an amazing job helping Sonnet pull off a beautiful wedding. Just hang out a little longer till the cake is cut, then go check on your niece. I think they’re going to do it soon. We’re going to try to get everyone out of here by nine.”

  “We are?” she looks at me with an eyebrow arched.

  I nod. “I talked to Drew’s dad earlier. That nor’easter is sending even more rain and flooding our way. We need to get everyone out before the bridge floods. We’ll probably be fine until the tide comes in at eleven, but we don’t want to take any chances.”

  “That makes sense. Yes, I will leave just after the bouquet toss then—”

  “Oh, right. You wouldn’t want to miss that!” I give her a wink.

  Shocking the crap out of me, she wraps her arms around my waist and gives me a hug. In her heels, she’s not that much shorter than me, maybe only an inch or two. Her breath falls against my neck right before she whispers, “Thank you, Chris.”

  I pull away just long enough to look into her eyes, and I want to kiss her so bad. I lift my hand to her chin, preparing to draw her toward my lips when the doors from the main room burst open, and Drew’s dad stumbles out.

  “There you are!” he shouts. “Brynne, you’re needed right away. Mrs. Wilson collapsed! Hurry!”

  Fourteen

  I follow Drew’s dad around the building in the rain, nearly falling in my heels twice. Fortunately, Chris is right behind me and catches me both times before I end up on my ass in a huge mud puddle. We’re quickly losing daylight, but the cabin and the main shelter building both have floodlights, which are illuminating a few fallen trees. We carefully step over branches, twigs, and big clumps of wet leaves that are strewn everywhere.

  Bob Clark runs surprisingly fast for someone in his sixties. I see a small group of people has huddled under the awning attached to the restroom facilities. Naturally, they’re all watching me make a fool out of myself running across the puddle-soaked yard in a dress and heels.

  “What happened? What’s wrong?” I shout into the blowing storm, and I can barely hear my voice as it carries on the wind.

  Sonnet and Drew aren’t among the group congregating at the entrance to the restrooms. It’s Claire, Jack, Sophie, Karen, Mr. Jayne, and Mrs. Clark. “What’s going on?” I shout again, even though I’ve reached them now.

  “Mrs. Wilson fell in the bathroom,” Claire explains. “Sonnet’s Mom is in there with her, but from the sound of things, it’s not good.”

  “Oh, shit,” I murmur under my breath, and everyone moves aside so I can swing open the door. Sure enough, Hurricane Victoria herself is lying on her back, limbs twisted, and a sharp grimace carving her features.

  “What happened?” I ask as calmly as humanly possible.

  “Mom slipped in some water and—”

  “—This whole thing should have been called off!” Mrs. Wilson whines. “My selfish granddaughter should have known better. It’s not safe for us to be here right now! There’s a raging storm out there. We’re all going to die, and I can’t even walk.”

  I decide to ignore her histrionics. “Where does it hurt, Mrs. Wilson?” I ask, crouching down beside her in my dress and heels. If I’m going into work mode, I really need to ditch the bridesmaid get-up.

  “It hurts everywhere!” she shouts in my face. “I’m an old woman, for crying out loud! Where did you go to medical school?”

  Seriously? She’s going to question my credentials?

  “Mrs. Wilson, I need to know where you’re having pain so I can assess whether or not you have any fractures or broken bones. Can you please calm down and answer me so I can figure out the best way to treat you?”

  Chris pokes his head in the door. “Is everyone decent in here?”

  Maybe she’ll respond better to a man. I hate even saying that, but—it is what it is.

  “Hey, come on in,” I shout over to him, then turn my attention back to our patient. “Corporal Everson is with the state police. He’s going to assist me, okay?” I flash him a look, and he nods. For some reason, I am experiencing déjà vu. Must have been that older lady in the Cadillac we dealt with in the ER a few weeks back.

  Mrs. Wilson glances up into Chris’s face, which is towering over her as he assesses the situation, and her expression immediately softens. How did I know?

  “Mrs. Jayne, do you want to wait outside with the others? We might need a little more space,” Chris suggests, laying a gentle hand on Sonnet’s mother’s arm before he crouches down to eye level with me.

  “Oh, sure, okay,” she mumbles, then seems relieved to slip out the door.

  “Where does it hurt?” Chris asks our patient.

  “My hip, right here,” she points to a spot where her thigh meets her pelvis, “and my hand caught on the doorstop right here when I fell. My finger is throbbing. I think it’s broken.” She cranes her neck down her body. “And my leg on the other side.”

  We go to work examining her. With no x-rays, it’s hard to be absolutely certain, but it looks as though she dislocated her finger on her right hand, possibly fractured her hip, and her left tibia is definitely broken. In other words, she’s a mess, and we’re going to need to be careful moving her.

  “Should we call for an ambulance?” Chris asks, taking me aside, or as aside as we can get in the confined space.

  I’m beyond shocked that he’s deferring to me. I really thought he’d take charge immediately, and I was actually okay with that because I believed it might make Hurricane Victoria more cooperative. But she seems to be calming down now, even with me calling the shots.

  “I’m going to stay with Mrs. Wilson. Go ahead and call 9-1-1. Then, if you and Jack and the other guys can go get whatever supplies you can find, just
in case it takes the ambulance a while to get here. I can splint her finger and leg. And if you can find something resembling a stretcher, we can at least move her out of the bathroom. The nearest hospital is either Lewes or Atlantic General. I’d rather it be Lewes, of course, since I can go and keep an eye on her.”

  “I’ll tell the dispatcher that. I think Atlantic is closer, but they’re probably about the same.”

  “Oh, the keys to the storage building, the smaller building behind the cabin, are on the kitchen counter in the cabin, which is unlocked.”

  “Got it!” he shouts as he throws the door open and disappears into the howling night.

  I crouch back down to Mrs. Wilson’s side and do my best to assure her everything is going to be just fine.

  The onlookers on the porch outside the restrooms naturally want the full scoop. I feel like I’m in a sea of reporters at a crime scene. I don’t think I’ve ever been in that situation at work, but I imagine it would feel like this, with everyone clamoring for information. “She’s going to be fine,” is all I tell them. “I’ve gotta make some calls.” I turn to Jack and add, “Grab Luke, Sam, and Meric and meet me at the cabin.”

  I whip my phone out of my back pocket and swipe it to life. The first thing I see when I peer down at the screen is the universal sign for no. As in no service. My lungs deflate as all the adrenaline-fueled air I’m holding in is sucked out. I run around to the front of the shelter where the signal may be better and try again.

  Sometimes you can dial 9-1-1 even when service is spotty. So I try. Nada. I head toward the bridge, closer to where I believe a cell phone tower may be located. I start to jog, dodging puddles. Glancing down at my phone, I see it’s nearly 8 PM. They are supposed to be cutting the cake. We’re supposed to be serving everyone cake then getting the hell out of here.

  It’s about a quarter mile from the shelter to the bridge, but I can’t see it in the dark. Not only is it cloudy, but it seems like a thick, hazy fog is wrapping itself around the peninsula too, hugging the land in its vapory grip. Then I see a row of lights—the light poles with the metal lanterns that mark the bridge. Below them I faintly see the water line glimmering where the waves are sloshing against the poles. I take two more steps and feel myself sink into water.

  Oh no.

  I move two more feet and begin to sink further until the water is up to my knees. I check my phone again. Still no signal.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  Because the bridge is underwater.

  I tried a few more spots I thought I might be able to get cell reception before running back to the restrooms where Brynne is waiting with Sonnet’s grandmother. I’ve done some deep breathing, attempting to prevent my heart from racing, but I know I have to tell everyone that we’re going to be stuck here until the tide goes back out again. That’s going to be around five in the morning, if I’m not mistaken. Not that I can look it up because no cell service equals no internet.

  Ugh. Technology is nice when it works, huh?

  The crowd that was gathered around the restrooms must have returned to the main building, because only the guys are left, including Drew. Oh, no, he shouldn’t be out here. He should be inside with his bride.

  “What are you doing out here?” is the first thing I ask as I jog up onto the porch in my now-soggy dress shoes. “Did you guys cut the cake?”

  “No, we’re waiting to see how Sonnet’s grandma is. She’s worried sick,” comes the response. “And feels responsible—but that could be because that crazy old bitch keeps saying it’s all Sonnet’s fault that she fell.”

  I slap my face against my palm. “She’s cantankerous, isn’t she?”

  “Cantankerous?” Drew repeats, staring at me like I just said something in a foreign tongue. “What the hell, dude?”

  I shake my head. Oops. I don’t usually use words like that around the guys or work buddies. “Just go back inside, okay? Keep everyone calm. I’m going to come make an announcement in a few minutes.”

  “What kind of announcement?” Drew’s brows furrow as his eyes dart across my face, searching for clues as to what I’m talking about. He looks even more worried than when I used a 50-cent word a few seconds ago.

  “Just stay calm, and go enjoy your reception, okay?” I don’t have the heart to tell him. Not yet. I want him to enjoy every moment of his wedding before all hell breaks loose.

  The other men are organizing the supplies they’ve hauled from the shed. They’re all huffing in air as they bend over piles of buckets and ropes and tools. I see a navy blue plastic box with the words First Aid printed on it. “Go take that to Brynne and find out what else she needs,” I direct Jack.

  “Good work,” I tell the guys, and they all lift their heads to look at me. I see concern blazing in all three pairs of eyes, and I carefully consider what I want to share with them. Part of me feels like if I’m the only one who knows about the bridge and lack of cell service, then it’s not really happening, but that’s ludicrous, of course.

  “What should we do next?” Meric asks me.

  “I’m sure Brynne will have some instructions for us soon. We’ll probably be transporting Mrs. Wilson to the cabin.”

  “Is the ambulance coming?” Luke questions.

  “Uh, no,” I answer. “Oh, hey, do any of you have service on your phones?” It’s worth a shot.

  They all reach into their pockets and pull out their cell phones, scrambling to turn them on. I’m accidentally holding my breath again, so I force myself to breathe out and in slowly as they study their screens. I see headshaking from Sam first, followed by Meric and Luke.

  “We should just drive her to the hospital then,” Meric suggests. “Right?”

  Before I can answer, Jack bursts back out of the restroom. “Brynne wants to see you, Chris. In private. I’ll wait with Mrs. Wilson, okay?”

  I nod, and he slips back into the restroom, while Brynne comes out, still teetering in her heels. “I’ve gotta change clothes before I do this. Can you follow me to the cabin so we can chat a minute?”

  Don’t think about seeing her naked. Don’t think about seeing her naked, I chide myself while we half run/half walk to the cabin, dodging mud, water, and fallen tree branches the entire way. I know we’re in the middle of a crisis, but I’m still a guy. I stamp those thoughts out—I think it was a way to distract myself. I’m dreading telling her about the bridge, and the weight of that task just sort of stops me in my tracks right as we reach the cabin.

  She pauses on the porch. “Well? Are you coming or what?” She whips around and surveys the expression on my face. “You’re not talking. What’s wrong?”

  We don’t stop for long. She doesn’t wait for me to answer before throwing the door open and disappearing inside. The cabin is dark with only one lamp on in the bedroom. I start to follow her in there, but she turns around again, glaring at me. “Talk, Everson!”

  She bends down to slip her mud-caked silver heels off her feet as I try to squash my inappropriate thoughts about her stripping out of her dress.

  I clear my throat. “I can’t get a signal. Not even an emergency signal.”

  “Fuck,” is all she says. She rushes into the room, turns around and hikes the dress up to her waist. She doesn’t seem to care if I’m watching her, but she’s not turning around either as she grabs a pair of jeans from the bed and slides them up her long legs.

  “And you tried different spots? Did you go down by the bridge?”

  “Yeah, about the bridge—"

  She whirls around, the halter-top dress still on top and her jeans sticking out the bottom. “What about the bridge?” Her eyes are huge and panicked, like she knows what I’m about to say, but she’s afraid for me to say it nevertheless.

  “The bridge is flooded.” I let the words slip out, and they hang there for a split second while she processes them.

  “Fuck,” she repeats, shaking her head. She whips back around, throws the dress over her head, then scrambles for the bra on t
he bed.

  I sigh. She wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Then I shake ahold of myself, you know, mentally. Come on, Everson. Work mode.

  She fastens the bra and pulls it around, then slides her arms through the straps. She throws on the t-shirt before I can figure out what the tattoo is on her shoulder blade, then she twirls around again. The t-shirt is black and has the Metallica logo across the front. Wow, she wasn’t kidding about being a metalhead. I don’t know why, but this makes me want her even more.

  “Okay,” she says, then takes a deep breath as she gathers her thoughts. “We’re going to have to splint Mrs. Wilson’s finger and leg and carry her in here for the night. Then we’re going to have to go tell the fifty wedding guests to make themselves comfortable because we aren’t going to be able to get out until morning when it’s low tide again.”

  I nod. “What do you need me to do?” Once again, I can’t believe I’m deferring to her, but she has this determined, take-charge look on her face, and I know she’s just as qualified to handle an emergency situation as I am.

  “I can get Jack and the guys to help with Mrs. Wilson. I want you to go make the announcement and keep everyone calm. Make sure you wait until after they cut the cake, if they haven’t already. No need to rile everyone up before we have to.”

  “Good point. Well, it’s not like we’re not both used to handling crises.” My lips curl up into a smirk, which she mirrors, then her chest heaves up and down a few times with a raspy chuckle.

  “I’m going to go see what the guys brought me from the storage building that I can use for splints. Good luck in there. I’ll be in as soon as we get Mrs. Wilson settled.” She bends down to pick up her sneakers, which were hiding under the bed.

  I give her a thumbs-up signal and head back out into the swirling storm.

  Fifteen

  “Okay, Mrs. Wilson.” I reach down deep for my work voice. It’s good I got a little bit of a break to talk to Chris because that five or ten minutes I had to wait with Mrs. Wilson by myself I got an earful. It reminded me of one of those YouTube clips that tells you everything that’s wrong with a movie in X minutes or less, only it was the Sonnet and Drew’s Wedding Edition, and I think she could have rambled on pretty much indefinitely.