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I cuddle in tighter to the blanket that surrounds me, letting my head rest on the pile of pillows that are built up on the bed. Exhaustion sets in and it becomes harder and harder to keep my eyes open.
Just as I’m about to fall asleep, I watch my world slow to a stop as Alvie accidentally steps into the puddle we left in the center of the room and falls backward, only to crash into the edge of the bench behind him.
He crashes hard to the ground, his head bouncing off the hardwood floor. In a cartoon it would be comical, but the red on the ground is a far cry from funny.
The entire world zooms into focus as I bolt up and out of the bed to crowd next to him on the floor on all fours.
“Alvie?” I say, panic rising in my voice. “Alvie!”
It takes me a moment to register the wetness under my hand is his blood, pooling around my hands and knees.
“Alvie!” I screech, reaching to cradle his face and pulling away when I smear red across his scruff. “Siri, call 911.”
Time no longer exists as I rush to grab one of the towels nearby to staunch the blood flowing from his head wound. Every moment that he’s unresponsive increases my panic more and more.
When the call connects to the dispatcher, I take in my first deep breath.
“911. Where is your emergency?” the dispatcher says.
My mind is racing, and it takes everything in me to focus on the questions coming through the phone on the nightstand.
“Off Highway 87. We’re at the main house on the Silver Rope Ranch,” I answer through my tears.
“Okay, to confirm, that was Silver Rope Ranch off Highway 87?”
“Yes. My husband fell and hit his head,” I pant out. “Fuck. There is so much blood.”
“Alright, and you said your husband fell and is bleeding? How old is he?”
“Alvie’s 45,” I say, confused by the question but only able to respond to direct instructions in the moment.
“Is he awake and able to talk to you?” they ask.
“No.” I sob. “He just . . . He’s only been like this a minute or two, but there’s so much blood. Please, help me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bex. Bex Silva.”
“Okay, Bex, you’re doing a great job. The paramedics are on the way, but until they get there, I want you to find a clean cloth or towel that you can use to apply pressure to the wound. Can you do that?”
“I grabbed a towel and have it under his head. Does that work?” I ask.
“Perfect. Just keep holding that pressure for me. I want you to tell me if his breathing changes at all before they arrive, but I’m going to stay on the line with you until they get there.”
Red-and-blue lights filter through the windows as emergency services arrive at the house, but everything that follows is a blur. People rush in and out and try to talk to me, but I’m unable to give them answers. At some point, I dressed in my leggings and T-shirt that Alvie had laid out for me on the bench, but I don’t remember it happening.
When they’ve loaded Alvie onto a spinal board and braced his neck, I’m finally able to snap out of my stupor. I follow as they walk him out of the house.
When we reach the kitchen, a sweet firefighter finds me a pair of shoes to slip into as I grab the keys to the truck off the hook by the door.
“You alright by yourself, Mrs. Silva?” they ask kindly as I’m picking up my bag.
I stare at them for a second before responding, “I have to be.”
Chapter 22
Naomi
