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“I’m here, baby.” I keep up with the medical team as we rush to the ER. I angle my shoulder, so the doctor notices me. “She’s pregnant, Doc.”
Her hand falls limp.
“Isabelle?”
The doctor stops me from following her further.
I watch as staff positions themselves around her, obscuring her features. All I can do is gaze at her dangling hand and the jade bracelet around her wrist. We’ve come so far since that Kenya night. We can’t falter now!
36
CLAYTON
I pace the length of the waiting room.
I’m rewinding the event over and over, from the second I saw Fletcher hurling her over the cliff to the moment she was leaning on me, next to me inside the chopper. What have I failed to do that now nobody—nobody—is able to tell me how she is?
A nurse finally approaches me. Her expression doesn’t give anything away, but what’s in her hands makes my stomach clench.
“Mr. Hartley,” the nurse calls.
“How’s she?”
“The doctor will see you soon. In the meantime, you may want to hang on to these.” She hands over Isabelle’s bracelet and wallet.
I hold them in my hand while giving her a blank look. Why is she giving me Isabelle’s belongings?
“How is she?”
The nurse takes a breath, then says, “She’s having delayed shock symptoms.”
Delayed shock symptoms?
Pilots can suffer mid-air shock, for whatever reason, from environmental factors to extreme distress. But they’re machines. They’re supposed to withstand such a thing. To a mother with child? What will shock do to them?
And the fact that it’s delayed? That’s even worse! That means her injuries had done damage long before she felt the effects.
“Wait!” I catch the nurse, who is now leaving the waiting room. “What… what does that mean?”
“The doctor will explain, sir.”
I return to the room where a few people blatantly scrutinize me. I throw myself into a corner couch, sinking as the cushion fails to support me.
“Clay!”
The voice I’ve been waiting for, the person I desperately need.
I hug my big brother.
“How is she, Clay?”
“I don’t know. All they gave was these…” I show Rob what’s in my hand and an object slips out of her wallet.
The HartTracker. It’s still in the ‘on’ position. It was supposed to be merely a toy, but it did bring me back to her.
“So that thing worked,” Rob nods at it.
“The battery would’ve probably run out.” I clench a fist around it, sighing, “Why the hell am I holding her things, Rob? I don’t do hospitals, so I don’t know their procedures. Does it mean that she’s dying?”
