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Without thinking, Jonah ran across the deck, down the stairs and started his four-wheeler.
“You’ll get there faster on this thing!” he said. “Just leave it down there with the keys in the ignition. I’ll fetch it later.”
“Thanks, Jonah.” I was grateful to him.
I raced down the drive, passing the cattle barn and carriage house, rounding the horse barn, then winding down the trailer’s drive. It was still pitch black, but the four-wheeler had headlights. It would have only been a seven- or eight-minute walk, but I was so anxious, walking that would have felt like a lifetime. I turned off the engine but left the keys in the ignition as Jonah had asked then propelled myself into my truck, started the engine and threw the gear in reverse before I realized I’d probably need some cash. Then I thought it would probably be a good idea to take all of it. I placed it in park and went inside, stuffing the wads of bills in a small pack.
I drove like a banshee, but it felt like it took forever to get to the main house. I sat idle for a moment, the exhaust from the truck billowing out around me when they finally emerged. I jumped from the truck and ran up to them, helping Bridge get in, then tiny Cricket right after her. Bridge insisted on sitting in the back so she could lie down if she wanted to. We were bumbling down the road in less than a minute.
“Thank God the roads are clear today and there’s no snow,” Cricket said, buckling herself in.
“Is your heater working?” I asked Cricket, placing my hand over Bridge’s vent in the back to make sure hers was also heating up.
She looked at me strangely. “Uh, yeah, it’s fine.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
She peered behind her. Bridge was resting her head in her hand, her elbow sat on the armrest.
“You okay?” Cricket asked.
“I-I don’t know. We’ll see, I guess.”
Bridge tried to sound cool but terror laced her voice.
“Do you mind me asking? Was there a lot of blood?” Cricket asked.
“Uh, no-yes...I don’t know.”
“Okay, that’s okay. We’ll see what Dr. Harmon says.”
Bridge nodded.
Cricket turned toward me and I looked at her. We didn’t speak. I hated to have to turn back toward the road. I wanted so desperately to know what she was thinking. I wanted to blurt out all my questions, but I also didn’t want to alarm Bridge. So we drove the half-hour drive southeast into Kalispell in almost complete silence. Bridge would chime in occasionally to see how much longer or to ask if we thought everything was going to be all right. “Not long,” we’d tell her. “You’ll be fine,” we’d offer with no real idea if that was the truth.
Finally, we entered downtown Kalispell. It was incredibly charming. Brick buildings built in the early nineteen hundreds, original cobblestone streets and the sidewalks filled with shopping people. The streetlights were still strung with garland and ribbon. It was beyond picturesque and looked like one of the last places on Earth you could photograph in black and white and people wouldn’t be able to discern whether it was turn of the century.
“Here it is,” Cricket said, as I turned onto Main. “This is Dr. Harmon’s.”
Bridget peeked out her window. “This looks like a drug store straight out of a Victorian-era film.”
“Probably just a little after,” I corrected.
Bridge speared me with a look, silently beckoning me to shut my trap.
I got out and ran to the other side and let Bridge and Cricket out. There were two entrances, one for the drug store on the first floor and another with a narrow staircase leading to the second floor doctor’s office. We all climbed the stairs, our boots echoing in loud booms in the small enclosed space. The top of the stairs had a small landing and a frosted glass door. It read Marshall Harmon, M.D. and centered underneath his name it continued, Obstetrician-Gynecologist. Everything in me as a dude screamed to run.
We walked in and approached a little metal desk. It looked like something you’d find in a teacher’s classroom in the fifties.
“Cricket!” the little receptionist with the beehive chirped. Her eyes slid to Bridge and she stood. “You must be Miss Blackwell. Come on back. Dr. Harmon’s been expecting you.”
Bridge followed her, the wood creaking beneath their feet.
“You’re going to be all right?” Cricket asked her.
“I’ll be fine,” Bridge offered with a small smile. She stopped. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be. You guys should run those errands, Spencer.”
“Oh. Okay,” I said.
I watched her walk to the room by herself, and I felt so heartbroken for her going in there alone. My mom should have been here. I hated my dad for that. I hated the boy who did it to Bridge, even if he wasn’t all to blame.
