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The EMT handed me one from the med kit and I flashed it back and forth in front of his face. “What’s your name, sir?”
He pulled the oxygen mask back to answer. “Donald Naimar.”
“Did you hit your head on the steering wheel or windshield?” I asked, feeling his skull as I took in that his car had no airbag.
“No.”
“Doc, I’ll take over here.” I turned and there was one of the paramedics from the Saturday training. “One patient’s about to be pulled from the car and you’ll be needed.”
“Donald, you’re in good hands with these guys.”
I gave him a quick but reassuring smile before I ran for the car, stripping my gloves as I went. I pulled new ones from my pocket–Mac was fucking smart–and saw that it was the passenger who was being placed on a backboard.
“Careful! Grab my purse. I need my cigarettes if you’re taking me in an ambulance.” That was not Mallory.
“Ma’am, please remain as still as possible. You’ve been in a car accident, and we don’t know the extent of your injuries.”
“I don’t hurt. Nothing hurts,” she replied as I made it around the car and squatted down beside her laying on the backboard. I gave her a quick assessment. C-collar on. Conscious, therefore her heart was beating, and she was breathing. Her airway was very clear, and she smelled like a liquor cabinet.
“What’s your name, ma’am?”
“Cheryl.”
“Cheryl, who’s driving the car?”
I peeked in the open doorway, tilting my body to see in. Cheryl said, “My daughter. Mallory,” at the same time I saw her.
Mallory was unconscious, caught in her seatbelt and dangling upside down. Blood dripped from a cut on her temple onto the deflated airbag.
I was pushed out of the way so another rescuer could get into the passenger spot.
I looked to the two EMTs adjusting the straps on the board and placing an oxygen mask over her face.
“She and the man in the truck are both Level 4. Get them both to the ER pronto.”
“On it, Doc.”
I stood, backed up to let the crew work. Cheryl, Mallory’s miserable–and clearly intoxicated–mother was carted off. Not once did she ask after her daughter.
“Breathing!” the woman half in-half out of the upside-down car called.
I sighed, closed my eyes.
I thought of the boy who’d died on my operating table. The one who’d been in a car accident like this one. Who’d been ejected and died.
I didn’t even remember his name.
He was the reason I’d moved to Hunter Valley. Because I’d been numb. Uncaring.
I’d thought quitting and relocating would have changed me.
It didn’t.
Mallory did.
She’d made me see the fun side of things. She was the one who struggled. Suffered. Hurt. Ached. Bled. And I’d never understood. I’d disregarded her feelings, her words. I’d diminished her.
I made her… oh fuck.Nothing.
