Must Be a Mistake

by Fiona West

  Fawzia tipped her head. “Many people go to other countries, where it’s safer. That’s what Samia was trying to do when she died. Al-Shabaab, they threatened her, and she drowned trying to get to Italy.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ainsley murmured, and she truly was. Oppression was everywhere. What the Sadiqs had experienced in Somalia was far beyond her high school experience. It was almost too big and too sad to think about. Fawzia must have seen her countenance fall, because she went back to a happier subject.

  “Allyson beat Usain Bolt’s record for most gold medals, too.”

  Ainsley felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. “She did? That’s awesome.”

  “Yes, and she’d just had a baby less than a year before.”

  “Holy hobbits,” Ainsley said, taking a harder look at the woman in the poster. “That’s really something, Fawzia.”

  “Yeah, I know. She’s my hero.”

  “Well, you have good taste.”

  “Thank you.” The girl smiled, but it quickly fell when her gaze dropped to her book bag, and she sighed. “Why didn’t they invite me?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I bet that feels pretty bad.” She pulled the girl to her side, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “Maybe we could go shopping for some stuff for your new room that weekend? My treat.”

  “Really?”

  Ainsley nodded, and Fawzia flung her arms around her. Ainsley loved being the recipient of such ardent affection, even if it was motivated by the idea of getting free stuff. Kid love was like that sometimes. “If nothing else, you need a new quilt, girl. This one’s not our style at all, is it?”

  Fawzia shook her head violently, and they both laughed.

  FRIDAY NIGHT, AINSLEY went to the town meeting. She needed to talk to Councilman Rogers about the fall festival again; it was coming up fast, and lots of people still hadn’t paid for their booths. If he made an announcement about it, surely a few would cough up the money, and then she wouldn’t have as many phone calls to make tomorrow. She put her coat across two seats at the front on the left. She knew Daniel was busy with Winnie tonight, signing the offer on the house they were interested in. It was a gorgeous Craftsman with a big yard backing up to the river. The house itself wasn’t in great shape, but it had good bones. Winnie was nervous about the inspection, she knew, but Daniel had his heart set on it, so they’d probably buy it regardless. Mrs. Foster’s kids didn’t have the money to make repairs, and they both had homes elsewhere in the area, so they didn’t want the property. Chances were good that they could get a deal on it.

  Ainsley managed to track down two people she needed to talk to, Mr. Braverman and Mr. Jacobs, about the route for the fun run for the fall festival; several people had complained last year that the route blocked the road to the falls, and some out-of-towners hadn’t been able to get to the state park. By the time they wrapped up their conversation, the meeting had started, and Ainsley slid into her seat quietly. No Kyle? Maybe he hadn’t been able to make it after all; she knew it was tight for him to come and still make it to work on time.

  She turned her attention to Councilman Park, who was plugging her mother’s giving tree project again. She’d meant to sign up for a family, but she’d forgotten again. Lately, it felt like she was being pulled in so many directions, her attention was even more scattered than usual. Also, she should really ask her mother for a family whose kids had never been in her class, lest she appear to be showing favoritism.

  “Dr. Durand, did you have an announcement?”

  Her head whipped to the right, in direction of his gaze. Kyle stood up.

  “Yes, I’m looking for someone to help me in the medical tent for the fall festival. No medical background is necessary.”

  “Okay, yes. Good. If someone could please step up and fill that need, we’d all appreciate it. Always good to have another set of hands in case we have another hypothermia incident like in ’98.” Mr. Park’s gaze fell on her, and she felt her face heat as his eyes narrowed in confusion. “Wasn’t Ainsley going to help?”

  “After further discussion, that’s not going to work out.” Kyle sat down, never looking in her direction, never giving any indication that he even knew she was there.

  “I see. Well, see Dr. Kyle Durand if you want to volunteer. I know Ainsley is also still waiting on some booth payments, so please see her tonight if you’ve got the cash in hand. It’s for a good cause, people. Let’s not forget that.” Ainsley couldn’t even be happy that Councilman Park had remembered her announcement. Had Kyle not seen her coat there, saving him a seat? She sat in the same place every week, it wasn’t like it was hard to find her. And his announcement, however well intentioned, had come off like he was trying to get rid of her. She struggled to focus on the rest of the meeting, and when they broke for refreshments, she tried to make her way over to Kyle as quickly as possible without looking like that was what she was doing. But she was too late; cookie in his mouth, he was already pulling on his jacket, heading out the door.

  Ainsley: Where are you off to?

  Kyle: Work.

  Ainsley: Didn’t you see me? I saved you a seat.

  Kyle: I saw you.

  Ainsley: And?

  The recipient of your message is currently driving and cannot send or receive messages at this time. Your message will be delivered upon their arrival.

  Not good. She blew her bangs out of her face and helped herself to three peanut butter cookies, her insecurities raging in the back of her mind. Not good. Not good at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “ALL RIGHT, LET’S SEE if we can get this sod done real quick,” said Ainsley, clapping her hands. “Grab a rake and we’ll get to work.” Things between them had been tense; their text messages were short, in all senses of the word. Being face-to-face didn’t seem to be helping matters, either.

  “Don’t we need a soil test first?” he asked.

  “Nope. This is the soil, that’s the sod. It’s a match made in heaven.”

  Kyle scrolled through his phone, frowning. “Look, this article says we should pull all the weeds first, too, and it strongly recommends the soil test.”

  “And yet,” she said, leaning on her rake, “I’ve been doing this a while, and I happen to know that it’ll be fine.”

  “But the directions . . .”

  Fed up, she threw down the rake and turned her back on Kyle. “Dad?” Ainsley called. “You ready to go? I’m starved. We should’ve left an hour ago.”

  He called back something that Ainsley couldn’t really make out over the circular saw’s whine, and she spun around to face Kyle. “Do it however you want. I’m out. I can always fix it next week if you screw it up.”

  His spine went straight like she’d electrocuted him. “Wow. That’s harsh.”

  “I’m just saying, Kyle, you’re new at this.”

  “Which is why, Ainsley, I want to follow the directions to the—” He stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze cutting across the yard. “What’s your dad doing?”

  She turned to look. He was taking fawn-like steps across the dirt, rubbing at his mouth, mopping at his sweaty brow with his arm.

  “How should I know from all the way over—”

  Kyle pushed past Ainsley, and she lost her balance and fell, sitting down hard on her backside in the soft dirt.

  “What the . . . ?” She turned to watch Kyle sprint across the yard and driveway to reach her father just before he started seizing. He caught Gary under the armpits and gently lowered him to the dirt.

  “Dad!” Ainsley scrambled to her feet and ran over to them. “Dad, are you okay?” She couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice.

  “Ainsley, go get some juice,” Kyle commanded. “Mr. Buchanan, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, sir.” He had her father’s head cradled in his lap, keeping it from banging against the ground. She stood there, tears in her eyes, watching his arms jerk and convulse.

  “Shouldn’t we call 911?” someone asked.

/>   “Ainsley,” Kyle snapped. “Juice. Now.”

  Through the haze of her fear, she stumbled toward the street. There would be juice in his truck somewhere; her mother would’ve made sure of that. Should I call her? Ainsley threw open the driver’s side door and looked under the seat. Sure enough, a six-pack of orange juice boxes was stuffed under there, dusty and probably expired, but it would work. She slammed the door and hurried back across the yard, pushing through the crowd that had formed around him, hands shaking as she tried to poke the plastic straw into the pre-perforated hole.

  Kyle took the juice box without a word, ripped out the straw and began to squirt it directly into his mouth. Her dad had stopped shaking, but his skin looked terrible, and when she knelt next to him and grabbed his hand, it was clammy and cold.

  “Dad?” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. It’ll be okay, Kyle’s taking good care of you.”

  Kyle looked at the ingredients on the side of the juice box, then his watch. “All right, Mr. Buchanan. I’m going to ask you some simple questions, and I’d like you to try to answer them by nodding or shaking your head, okay?”

  Gary nodded.

  “Before you fell, did you feel confused, dizzy, or nauseous?”

  He nodded again, and Ainsley covered the hand she was already holding with her other hand.

  “Are you feeling shaky, anxious, or irritable?”

  He nodded again.

  “We usually eat at 12:15,” she put in. “He said he just wanted to finish up with the . . .” A sob came out of nowhere, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.

  Kyle’s hold on her arm was gentle but firm. “Ainsley, I think he’s going to be okay, but he’s probably hypoglycemic. I need you to stay calm so you can help me. Can you do that for me?”

  She nodded frantically, wiping at her leaking eyes, and he gave her a warm smile. “I know you can. Deep, slow breaths, okay? I don’t need two people passing out.”

  It was sort of a joke, but she didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. Not while her dad was still lying on the ground, looking like death warmed over.

  “Mr. Buchanan, in about ten minutes, we’re going to test your blood sugar, and if it’s too low, you and me are going to take a little ride up to Santiam, all right?” Kyle put two fingers to her father’s neck, still looking at his watch. “Your heart rate is starting to come down. That’s good.”

  Gary nodded, and he seemed to be getting some color back. Ainsley rubbed his hand, the hairy, age-spotted skin feeling more dear to her than ever before. The minutes ticked by so slowly, Ainsley felt an hour had passed before Kyle turned to her. “Ainsley, could you please go get his testing supplies?”

  “Glove box,” said Gary, trying to sit up. Kyle helped him, supporting him from behind in case he went down again.

  “I’ll get it,” Ralph said, hurrying toward the truck. These old guys can move when it suits them, she thought, grateful that she didn’t have to leave her father’s side.

  Someone had brought Kyle the first aid kit, and he expertly wiped Gary’s fingertip with an alcohol wipe before waving it dry. Ralph came back with the glucometer, and Ainsley held her breath as the machine calculated his blood sugar.

  “That’s acceptable,” said Kyle, and he patted Gary on the shoulder. “Tell your body it’s doing good work, Mr. Buchanan.”

  “Good work,” he murmured, but Ainsley didn’t think he was talking to his body.

  “The next order of business is a meal. I’d rather you didn’t drive far . . .”

  “Will you come with us?” Ainsley blurted out, and she felt her cheeks burn as everyone looked at her.

  Kyle gave her a crooked smile. “If you want me to,” he said softly, “but really, he’s going to be fine . . .”

  “I want you to. Please.”

  “Okay.” He touched her hand. “I’m sorry I knocked you down, I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”

  She wiggled in place. “My tail bone’s a little sore, but I’ll be fine.” She felt a deep sigh welling up in her, and she let it out, her lips purring like a motorboat. Her dad imitated her, then gave her a small grin.

  “You,” she said, pointing at him, “are in big trouble, old man.”

  “What happens at the site stays at the site,” he replied, shrugging.

  “Nice try. Let’s go get lunch, and you can keep trying to fruitlessly bribe me and Kyle not to tell Mom.”

  “There’s no reason your mother needs to hear about this, is there?”

  They stood up, and she immediately put a protective arm around his back, stabilizing him. Kyle quietly got on the other side, and they started toward the truck.

  “You know she checks your supplies, don’t you?”

  He groaned. “The juice.”

  “Yes, the juice. She’s going to know whether I tell her or not. You should just come clean.”

  “What’s your vote, Doc? Should I tell the missus or risk her wrath?”

  “Well,” Kyle said slowly, “I don’t think a husband and wife should keep secrets unless they’re poker-related.” He glanced at Ainsley, who managed to smile back at him.

  “Good answer, Doc,” said Gary, angling for the driver’s seat.

  “Uh, Pop? We can take your car, but I’m driving,” said Ainsley.

  “What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, grinning, as he dug his keys out of his front pocket and handed them over. Her own hands were shaking as she took them, and she helped her dad into the middle seat. Kyle caught her before she climbed in.

  “How about you let me drive? Give yourself a few minutes to come down off the event before we put your concentration to the test . . . It’s not far.” She looked past him toward her dad, whose eyes were closed, his shoulders sagging. Mutely, she nodded and passed him the keys. He walked around to the other side and opened her door before getting behind the wheel.

  “Seat belts,” said Kyle in his doctor voice. “Where to? My treat.”

  “Steak sounds good to me,” Gary said, stretching an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and giving her a kiss on the temple.

  “You’re a riot, Pop. He just saved your life and now you’re going to stick him for a steak lunch while he’s still paying off medical school?”

  Gary pulled his lips to the side, considering this. “Muchas Gracias would be fine.”

  “I don’t think I saved his life, Ains.”

  “Shut up, Kyle.”

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AINSLEY’S INSIDES JUST wouldn’t settle down all through lunch. The men chatted about sports and politics and strange news articles, having one of those circular “Did you hear about that weird thing up in Portland?” conversations where each person keeps trying to one-up the other good-naturedly. She picked at her empanadas, but just couldn’t get much down. She made sure her dad ate, then they went back to the site and got Kyle’s car so he could drive her home after they dropped off her dad.

  “You okay, darlin’?” Gary asked as she pulled into his driveway.

  “Of course,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Are you?”

  “Yup. All this has happened before.”

  “Well, it better not happen again,” she said, twisting the Battlestar Galactica quote as she reached over to give him a hug. “Say hi to Mom for me.”

  “You’re not coming in?”

  “No, I’m tired. I think I’m just going to let Kyle take me home.”

  “Okay, darlin’. Well, thank the doc for me again. Even if he did break my mailbox.”

  “Pop,” she sighed. “I told you, it wasn’t him.”

  Taking her head in his hands, he kissed her forehead. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” They got out and slammed their doors.

  “Don’t worry about cleanup at the site. Ralph texted me. He did it.”

  “Okay.” Ainsley hugged him one more time before she walked to where Kyle’s truck waited on the street. “Take care of yourself tonight.
”

  He held up one hand with the other over his heart, grinning at her.

  Kyle got out and opened the door for her again, and she slid inside with a murmured “Thanks.”

  She looked out the window as he got back on Highway 22, not really paying attention, watching the trees fly by and the river roar past, even in the waning afternoon sun. He pulled to a stop, and she looked around.

  “This isn’t my apartment . . .”

  “You just noticed that? Man, you’d be an easy target for a crime.”

  Ainsley crossed her arms over her stomach. “If you want to dump my body somewhere, you should drive a lot deeper into the woods. The water’s shallow here.”

  Kyle chuckled, then got out of the truck and walked around to her side. He opened her door and held out his hand expectantly. Warily, she put her hand in his and jumped down, finally looking around better.

  “We’re at Manfield Park.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly, tugging her forward toward the rust-red wooden covered bridge that spanned the fast-moving river. They walked through the aspens that edged the parking lot and down the path to the bridge, which only cyclists and pedestrians were allowed to cross now. It was a nice evening; she was surprised to see the park so empty. Kyle led her onto the bridge, then turned her toward the river and put his arms around her from behind.

  “Okay,” he said. “You can let go now.”

  “Let go of what?” she asked, afraid she knew the answer.

  “I asked you to hold it together for me during your dad’s diabetic emergency. And you did; you did a great job. But now you need to let it out.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, squirming uncomfortably. “Can you just take me home?”

  Kyle made no motion to leave, still gently pressing her against the railing of the antique bridge with his hips. “Doesn’t the river look beautiful?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’re not even looking. Just look at the water for a minute,” he said, moving his hands to her shoulders, running his strong thumbs across them with just the right amount of pressure. “Then we can go.”