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I pass her the box from my nightstand. “If I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
“No, you didn’t. Well, no more than usual. How long until we’re at the airport?”
“Not long at all.”
“Okay.” She goes to the bathroom, clothes in hand.
So I gather some protein bars and bottles of water in a go-bag I keep for emergencies. When she meets me in the kitchen, she looks so despondent and my heart hurts for her. “Ready?”
She only nods.
I take her hand and lead her to the backyard. I’m startled when she laughs. “What?”
“Of course, you have a hangar in your backyard. I don’t know why I expected anything less.”
We load up into my Cessna Mustang, and I take us up. She tries to sleep during the flight, but I see her fidget a lot. By the time we land, she’s haggard, and I don’t blame her one bit. A quick taxi ride takes us to a shack they call Sewmond General Hospital.
We race in, and her mother is right there near the entrance waiting area. At four in the morning, we’re the only people there, besides the staff. Her mother is the spitting image of Elsie in a quarter century. Her blond hair has faded to ash, and her blue eyes are tired. But she smiles the instant she sees her daughter, and that smile breaks down into blubbering just as fast. Elsie rushes to her mother and tries to glean information from her.
“…he fell. He just fell.”
“You said he had a heart attack.”
“That’s what the doctor’s said. They don’t know if he fell off the roof before the heart attack or because of it. They’re saying we should beprepared. That I need to get my affairs in order.” Her voice breaks when she says, “Elsie, I’m not ready for this.”
I can’t take not knowing genuine answers. There has to be something that can be done. “Where is the doctor?”
“He’s in his office again, just around the corner. But I don’t think—"
“Excuse me.” I run to his office and knock. An older man comes to the door. “Hello, you’re the doctor attending Mr. Braudel?”
He frowns up at me. “Who are you?”
“Is he going to be alright?”
“I’m not at liberty to—"
“Yes, you are,” Elsie says, catching up to me. Her mother catches up a few steps later. “Dr. Warren, I need to know about my father.”
“Thought we might see you here,” he says with affection. “Peter isn’t doing well. To be honest, we don’t have the resources for a case like his. And I am not qualified to handle it, either. None of us here are. The blunt cardiac injury from the fall has bruised his heart muscles. It’s like I told Beth. I don’t hold out much hope, Elsie. I’m sorry.”
“Any hospital around here with those capabilities?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. There’s a Level I trauma center, but it’s in Charleston about two hours away. I don’t think he’ll make the trip.”
I nod once and walk away while Elsie and her mother question the doctor some more. After a few phone calls, I ask Dr. Warren to release the medical records to a friend in Manhattan.
“Why would I do that?” he asks.
“He’s one of the best trauma surgeons in the world. If anyone can save Peter, it’ll be him.”
“Alright then.”
After my friend John looks at everything, we video conference and he looks like shit. “Sorry for waking you with all this, but—"
“Not at all. It’s an excellent case for my team. We can take care of him. You said you have transport already figured out?”
I nod. “A medevac is on the way now.”
