"Ms. McKenna, can you tell me one more time what your little girl was wearing?" Clyde Harris, a deputy sheriff, was a kindly, portly man with a professional manner and a worried frown.
Sage clung tight to Adam's hand. "A pair of blue denim overalls and a lighter blue T-shirt," she whispered.
"What was that again?" Deputy Harris asked, cocking an ear in her direction.
"Blue-denim overalls and a lighter blue T-shirt," repeated Adam in a louder voice. "Haven't you already answered these questions, Sage?"
Sage nodded numbly.
"Please understand, officer," Adam said. "Sage is deeply upset. She needs to rest now."
"We're setting up a wide-ranging search effort," protested the deputy. "A lot of people will be dispatched over a large area. Dogs, volunteers, the works. And the weather's turning. We want to proceed as quickly as possible."
"Then please do," said Adam. "Sage will help in any way she can, but please don't ask her unnecessary questions."
"I'll do my best," conceded Deputy Harris.
While Adam was skillfully handling the deputy, all Sage could think about was Joy. Where was Joy now, this very minute? Was she hungry, cold, out in the rain? Was she frightened? Were there animals in the woods that would harm her? These frantic questions and more raced through her mind.
Slowly, as near exhaustion as she'd ever felt in her life, worn down by the emotional trauma, Sage sought relief from the hubbub by wandering into the small bedroom where Joy had slept. There were no toys out of place, no clothes to put away, and no sleeping child to wake, rosy from sleep, and hold her arms up so that she might be hugged and kissed.
Sage gazed bleakly out the window at the rain for a minute or two before turning toward the empty bed. Joy's unicorn, Pink, lay against the pillow, a sparkle in his blue glass eye, and he was covered by a blanket as Joy herself had left him before leaving on their ill-fated picnic. Sage wished with all her heart that she had let Joy take Pink with them today. Joy was somewhere, she knew not where, without her Watson or her Pink, without her family or anything familiar to comfort her.
And it was raining and due to turn colder tonight.
It was then that she broke down and wept, sitting on Joy's narrow bed, clutching Pink and feeling more achingly alone than she'd ever felt in her whole life.
* * *
The hours ticked by. The wives of the local volunteer rescue squad prepared a meal, which neither Sage nor Adam could eat. Sage sat straight in a chair by the window, staring at the rain and resisting any of Adam's suggestions that she try to sleep.
"Would you like me to call your family?" Adam suggested finally, around ten in the evening.
"No," she whispered. "Because it would only worry them."
"Irma and Ralph and Poppy will want to know," he said gently.
"Yes," Sage agreed sadly. "But if you called them now they wouldn't sleep all night. Let them get their sleep. We can call them in the morning if—" and she almost couldn't go on. She swallowed. "If it's necessary."
Volunteers continued to come and go, resting in the cabin before donning dry clothes and joining the web of searchers who covered the countryside.
"The thermometer's falling steadily, and the rain makes this the worst night I've seen around here in years," one of them muttered under his breath, and unfortunately Sage heard him. She saw how the men and women searchers were so chilled, and they, at least, were prepared for the weather with raincoats and warm clothing. Joy wore only her thin play clothes, and she was barely over her cold. What chance did Joy have to survive a night like this?
Somehow Sage finally dozed in the wee hours of the morning, sitting upright in her chair.
The next morning the rain stopped, but there was still no news. They called Sage's family when reporters appeared on the scene and Sage became concerned that they'd find out about Joy's disappearance through the newspapers and television.
Irma was the one who answered the phone, and she gasped when Sage blurted out the awful news.
"Sage, do you want me to come to you? Ralph and I will drive down there right now, if you want us. The kids will be all right with Poppy for a day or two."
"No, Irma," said Sage gently. "Tell the rest of the family for me. They'll need you to hold them together. And—and pray for Joy, will you, please?"
As the day wore on, Sage began to look increasingly worn and gaunt amid the onslaught of well-wishing volunteers. Adam was the one who skillfully maneuvered too talkative guests toward the door, all the while expressing his sincere appreciation for their concern. Adam was the one who insisted that Sage lie down and try to rest, even though she refused the offer of tranquilizers from a well-meaning doctor who was on the scene.
"It's as though the earth opened and swallowed that little girl," said Deputy Harris, who, despite his control of the search situation, was more worried than he let on.
With this expression of frustration on the part of the deputy, Adam admitted the worst to himself. Joy could be dead, he well knew that. He didn't, however, mention this possibility to Sage. He was afraid to say anything about it because he didn't want her to give up hope. Hope, he knew, was the only thing holding her together.
Sage remained quiet with unvoiced thoughts about Joy's possible fate. Late that afternoon Adam found her on the dock, the only place where she could be really alone, staring down into the dark water with tears coursing down her face, her slim shoulders shaking soundlessly beneath the pea coat. He recalled the time when he'd thought about Joy's being Sage's bottom line, the one thing Sage could not lose. Well, now she'd lost even Joy.
What could he say to her in the face of her terrible loss? Now he wished desperately that he had told Sage that he loved her when he first realized it so that his love could comfort her now. Why had he been so afraid to do that? He faced the stark reality that he had been afraid to love and lose. He'd fooled himself into thinking that he'd had a higher motive for not wanting Sage to love him, but it simply wasn't true. Through it all, he had mostly been looking out for himself.
Adam knew he couldn't tell Sage he loved her now when she'd think the words arose out of pity. And there was still the problem of Jim between them, which wouldn't go away until they caught the real vandals who had damaged Kalmia Hill. No, he'd wait and tell her later. There would be time, lots of it, maybe too much.
On the third day, when it seemed to Sage that she couldn't go on any longer without breaking, when she had begun to think that food would never taste good again and that sleep would elude her for the rest of her life, Deputy Harris knocked on the bedroom door and entered. Adam, solemn-faced, loomed behind him.
"Adam," she said. He'd scarcely left her side through this whole ordeal, and she knew from the serious look on Deputy Harris's face and from the expression in Adam's eyes that there was news.
"I'm here, Sage," Adam said, sitting on the chair beside the bed and taking her hand.
"Is it—?" asked Sage fearfully.
"Ms. McKenna, we've found her." For a moment Sage's heart stopped, and the world spun off its axis. She waited for him to tell her, and so great was her fear that Joy wasn't alive that she closed her eyes to wait for the blow.
Deputy Harris didn't speak, and when she opened her eyes, she saw that he was assessing her strength. She steeled herself for the bad news, clutching Adam's hand so tightly that he couldn't feel his fingers.
"Where is she?" Her eyes searched the deputy's face apprehensively.
"Joy is on the way to the hospital. In an ambulance, Ms. McKenna."
The hospital! But at least she was alive! Sage had feared for Joy's life, but she was alive!
Sage summoned every bit of courage she possessed. "And?" she asked fearfully.
"And I'll take you to her in my patrol car if you like. They're transporting her to Jacksonville."
Sage allowed herself to be propelled out of the cabin. Someone draped a coat around her shoulders. She moved as though through water, her arms and legs leaden, her e
motions in such a turmoil that she didn't know whether to be happy or sad. Of course she was happy, but the deputy's grave demeanor told her that all was not well. Oh, Joy, she thought, please be all right. Please.
"Pink," she remembered urgently. "I have to take Joy's unicorn."
Someone handed her the stuffed animal. She tucked it under her arm and renewed her grip on Adam's hand.
When the two of them were installed in the back seat of the patrol car, Deputy Harris driving as the vehicle bumped and lurched over the ragged road, Adam spoke softly. "Joy is very sick, Sage. One of the men who found her said she began having convulsions as she was being loaded into the ambulance."
"Convulsions!"
"I'm afraid so. Sage, they found her at an abandoned fisherman's shack deep in the undergrowth down the river. She must have gone inside when it started raining, and it was such a tumbledown shack, so covered with vines, that the searchers overlooked it. It was damp inside and it was cold, but not as cold as it would have been outside. She wrapped up in some old rags, and evidently she had eaten something because they found crusts of bread scattered around the shack."
Crusts of bread! Sage recalled the peanut-butter sandwich Joy hadn't eaten before she fell asleep at the picnic.
"She must have carried the sandwich with her. Yes, that's what she did! She woke up and was eating the sandwich when for some reason she wandered away."
"Anyway, she wasn't out in the rain the whole time, and she had something to eat."
"But she's sick. Oh, Adam, I wonder how sick she is!" Sage was perilously near tears.
For Sage, the ride to the hospital seemed to last forever, even though Deputy Harris forged a path through traffic in his patrol car, siren screaming and blue light flashing. Sage could think of nothing but Joy.
Would Joy know her? Or would she be too sick to recognize her? Had she been cold in that old shack? Had she cried for her mother? The thought of tears puddling in Joy's eyes made tears spring to her own. They splashed down on the unicorn, leaving slick wet spots on his plush fur.
And then they were there, Deputy Harris rushing them toward the respiratory isolation ward where Sage was met by a doctor, a Dr. Morrison. His manner was kind and caring, however, when he escorted her into a small office and explained about Joy.
"Your daughter is very, very sick, Ms. McKenna," he said soberly. "She has staph pneumonia. That means she must be kept in isolation. Her temperature was one-hundred-and-four degrees when she was brought in, and because of her high fever she's been convulsing from time to time."
"Joy almost died of pneumonia last year. Is she going to be all right?"
"We hope so," he said. "We've started giving intravenous fluids and medications. She's under a mist tent, which will loosen the secretions in her lungs."
"I want to see her," said Sage firmly.
"That's fine," he said. "But only you. She's considered highly contagious."
Adam kissed Sage good-bye before she went to garb herself in the proper wear for visiting a contagious patient. "I'll call your family," he whispered, and she nodded gratefully, so glad that he was with her.
A short, stout nurse named Lavonne Mills helped Sage to put on the isolation gown and to fasten the ties on the face mask she must wear. Sage had to put on disposable gloves, too. She would not be allowed to touch Joy, only to look. But at this point, looking would be enough.
She tiptoed into the room, her heart overflowing.
Joy lay on her back in a hospital crib and under the clear tent. Her tiny face was so pale that blue veins showed beneath the skin, and her cheeks were unnaturally flushed from the fever. Her lips were cracked and chapped. Because Joy had an IV for fluids and medication, her hands were wrapped in gauze which was pinned to the sheet, and more gauze bound her left forearm so that Joy's movements wouldn't pull out the IV needle inserted in her vein. But frail and fragile as Joy looked, her chest rose and fell steadily beneath the sheet, and she was alive.
Mrs. Mills provided a chair for Sage, and she sank into it, her eyes riveted on Joy. Sage ached to touch her daughter and caress the soft hair away from her hot forehead. She wanted nothing more than to soothe and care for her.
"There's an adult-sized bed in here, too," Mrs. Mills told her. "It's for you, when you want to sleep."
Sage nodded, unable to pull her eyes away from Joy's face. She hungrily inspected every inch of her that showed outside the sheet. The child was sick, very sick, but Sage saw with relief that there didn't seem to be a mark on her. Thank goodness the rescue workers had found her when they had.
Joy's eyelids fluttered open and her eyes rested on Sage. For a moment her eyes were blank, but then recognition flickered, and Joy's cracked lips twitched slightly as though she were trying to smile. Then the little eyelids drifted closed again so that the pale lashes cast shadows on her round cheeks, and then, and only then, did Sage lower her face to the plush white fur of Joy's unicorn and sob with relief.
* * *
"Mommy?"
Sage's eyes flew open. She had dozed in her chair—she didn't know how long. Joy was fully awake for the first time.
"Oh, Joy, sweetheart," said Sage, dropping to her knees beside the bed and yearning to hold her daughter in her arms.
"I was only looking for the squirdel," said Joy, barely moving her lips.
"It's all right, sweetheart. You're okay now."
"Is Pink okay, too?" asked Joy, her words no more than a whisper.
"Yes, Joy, he's right here," she said, holding the unicorn up so Joy could see it.
"She can have a toy in her bed with her," said Mrs. Mills, slipping the unicorn under the tent to nestle next to Joy's face. Joy's hands were still restrained because of the IV, but she settled her cheek against Pink's plush surface and sighed before dropping off to sleep.
* * *
Long afterward, Sage's arms and legs ached with fatigue as she wearily removed the mask, gown and gloves. Adam was waiting for her on a bench outside the hospital room. Sage hadn't seen him for almost forty-eight hours; that's how long she had kept her vigil beside Joy's crib. Adam stood and searched her face anxiously.
"Joy's temperature is falling," Sage told Adam. "She's stopped convulsing. Oh, Adam, she's going to be all right."
"And how about you?" He wrapped his arms around her, despite the curious gazes of people hurrying to and fro in the hospital corridor.
"I'm okay, too," she said, her face buried in his shoulder as she drank in his warmth and absorbed his energy. "Very much so."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a movement, and, pulling away from Adam, she saw Gary speaking to a nurse in the hallway. She couldn't believe it, but it really was Gary, her ex-husband.
"Gary came by your house in Willoree yesterday," Adam said. "Ralph called me and asked what he should do because Gary was on the porch and kept knocking on the door."
"You didn't tell me," Sage said, bewildered.
"You were busy with Joy, and she was so sick. I didn't want to bother you. I talked to Gary on the phone, and well, after I spoke with him, I made the snap decision to tell him what was going on. I hope it wasn't the wrong thing to do." His eyes searched her face.
"You know I don't want Gary or Karen anywhere near Joy," she said, her voice rising. "You know why."
Adam silenced her with a kiss. "Maybe Gary should tell you what he has to say himself," he said.
Her former husband approached them hesitantly. He stood shifting uncertainly from foot to foot, watching Sage with Adam. His hair was mussed and his clothes were rumpled, and he looked as sleep deprived as Sage. He stopped in front of her and seemed reluctant to meet her gaze.
"Sage, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "For everything."
She summoned the strength to speak to him in a normal tone. "Joy is much better," she said.
"I'm glad. Really."
She felt tired; she felt sad. She'd thought she'd never be able to forgive Gary for the way he'd treated both her and Joy, but his anger and a
buse in their shared past paled in importance after the last several days.
The silence grew taut between them before Gary spoke again. "I wish I'd gotten help for my issues when we were together," he said somberly. "If I had, maybe neither of us would be where we are today."
"Maybe not," Sage said sadly. But even as she replied she asked herself if that would be a good thing. If Gary hadn't walked out on her and she hadn't divorced him, she most likely wouldn't have known Adam, and that would have been the true tragedy of her life.
Sage's heart swelled with newfound peace. In that moment, with Gary standing before her, she looked within herself and found forgiveness for the man who had wronged both her and Joy. Gary was the loser in this situation, and judging from his expression, he knew it.
"Thank you, Gary," Sage said quietly. "Thank you for being here." All the bitterness that she'd been holding inside seemed to evaporate in that moment, and she felt fresh and new again.
"Is Karen with you?" she asked after a moment.
"No," Gary said, his face filled with sorrow. "Karen has been seeing a doctor. A psychiatrist, for her depression. I'm sorry if she caused you needless worry, Sage. Donald Tate called me and told me she's been hanging around your place. Now that she's in residential care, she's unlikely to be bothering you."
Gary stood staring at Sage for an endless moment, his face woebegone, and then he shook his head as though all that had happened was outside his understanding. Then, without another word, he whirled and walked swiftly away. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his back.
Adam slid his arm around Sage's shoulders. "All the lonely people," he said softly, so softly that Sage almost didn't hear the words. But she did hear, and as she lifted her lips for his kiss, she was glad that she and Adam were no longer among them.
A week later, Joy was allowed to go home, and together they drove back to Willoree. Joy's homecoming was emotional and happy for all of them, and everyone was waiting on the front porch when they drove into the driveway.
Hayley decorated the front porch with streamers in Joy's favorite colors, and Gregory, Macon, and Zoey dragged out old paper hats and party horns for a front porch welcome that could be heard all over Willoree. Lyndell Sheedy had sent over a plate of cookies. Sage looked around for Jim, wondering if he had come. But he hadn't. Sage didn't know how she would have felt if he had.
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