"I don't need an ambulance."
"You need an ambulance," three voices call from around us.
"You absolutely need an ambulance," I add through the tears.
"Five against one. You lose," Poppy tells him.
Beth comes back with a blanket, drapes it over him carefully, tucking it around his shoulders. Gran is still on the phone, now providing detailed instructions on how to find the compound that the dispatcher almost certainly doesn't need. Vera stands over us, arms crossed, watching Will's face.
"Stop clenching your jaw, Will. It doesn't help."
"Respectfully, Vera, I'll clench whatever I want."
"There he is," Gran calls from the doorway, hand over the phone. "Still rude and polite when he's hurt. He'll be fine."
The cold seeps through my jeans from the gravel. My fingers go numb around his. He tells me to go inside where it's warm. I shake my head. He tells me again. I shake my head again.
"Tell me about the chair," I manage. I need to keep him talking. "Tell me about the wood."
He blinks a few times, then his face softens like I'd found exactly the right door.
"Red oak. From a mill upstate. I drove two hours to pick it because the grain was right." He winces, but keeps going. "You can't rush grain. You have to find the one that wants to become the thing you're making."
"How do you know which one wants to?"
"You just do. You look at it and something says yes." He pauses, breathes through another wave. "Anna used to come with me. To the mill. She'd touch every piece and tell me which ones felt warm. I thought she was crazy." Another pause, longer. "She was always right."
The ambulance comes and I don't let go of his hand. I hold on while they stabilize his leg, while they load him onto the stretcher. He doesn't ask me to let go, he just keeps talking about the chair.
"Lily." His voice catches me as they lift the stretcher. "She's a beauty, that chair." He smiles, proud of it even now.
"She's beautiful," I say.
"You should sit on her when she's on the porch. The curve is for leaning back. You'll see."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He nods, satisfied, like a girl promising to sit in his rocking chair is the only thing he needed to hear.
"I'm riding with him," I tell the paramedic.
"Are you family?"
"Yes," I say, without looking at anyone else on that driveway. Without asking for permission or forgiveness.
Poppy's eyes widen slightly. Gran, from the doorway, presses her lips together and nods once.
I climb into the ambulance and sit beside Will, hold his hand, and I don't let go. Through the small window, I see Poppy on the driveway, phone already pressed to her ear, free hand against her forehead. I know who she's calling.
6
CAL
Poppy doesn't even say hello.
