“We could have lost you.” She can’t decide what to do with her hands. They’re on my cheeks, my head, my shoulders. “When they told us what happened . . . and I wasn’t there to protect you.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes.
I laugh through my tears. “But you were there. The whole time, bossing me around, just like always.” She pulls back to check me again, a confused expression playing on her face. “I couldn’t have done it without you, manman.”
She strokes my hair over and over, and my dad, who has stood by, shuffling from foot to foot, finally throws his arms around us both.
“We need to get these kids to the hospital,” the officer says. “EMTs think overnight observation is best.”
“Of course,” my mother says. “Winsome did EMT training last fall. She did wonderfully. She’s going to med school.”
“Mom, I passed out at the first sight of blood.”
She sputters. Finally, my mother is struck speechless. When she regains her composure she adds, “And she’s an incredible artist.”
“Oscar couldn’t have survived without you tonight. You saved him,” Scott reminds me.
“Yeah, I guess I did.” The paramedics tended to him first, and he and Sylvie are probably already at the hospital by now.
“Damn right she did.” My dad wraps me in a hug.
“Scott,” the officer says. “Your mom was going to come here, but we told her to go straight to the ER.”
“What about the people who did this?” my dad asks.
“We’ll place an armed guard on each of their rooms, of course, but we’ve got a good idea who to look for.”
“Oh God. The Chef and Aaron. I totally forgot they’re still out there.” I grope for Scott’s hand.
“Don’t worry,” the officer says. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you two safe, Mr. and Mrs. Flores, too.” The officer pivots to return to the café but turns back a second later. “Oh, and Mr. Bradley, thanks for handing your phone over. I understand it was the one used to call 911.”
Scott nods.
“We’ll need to keep it for now, as evidence, you understand, to corroborate everyone’s testimony. When we get it charged, that is. You don’t happen to have a cord handy, do you?”
“Check under the register,” Scott says, laughing.
“Please, kids,” the officer says. “If you’ll return to your ambulances now. Parents, you can follow along.”
“I’m going with her,” my mom says but pauses and turns to me. “That is, if you want me to.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “That would be good.”
“Can we have one second?” Scott asks, holding up a finger. “Just one?”
“Fine,” the officer says, “but we want to clear the street.”
Scott reaches out his hand to me, and I take it as we round the side of the ambulance for a little privacy.
“What is it, Scott?”
He kisses me before I can draw breath. Blue and red lights bathe us in their glow, but not in warmth. That comes from Scott. From his hands, from his lips. From his heart.
When the ambulance driver calls for us to get a move on, we break apart.
“I’ll see you there,” he whispers as though he needs to catch his breath, and maybe he does. I know I do.
“You think they’ll give us rooms on the same floor as Sylvie and Oscar?” he asks.
“Sure. We can have a Café Flores post-shooting party. We’ll play charades.”
He laughs and holds up two fingers then tugs on an earlobe. “Two words. Sounds like charmed bun-pen.”
“The most messed up game of charades ever.”
He holds me in his gaze, and I shiver. As I watch him make his way to his medical transport, the EMT comes to help me into my ambulance.
“Crazy night you guys have been through.” She holds the door so my mom can climb in.
“Yeah.”
“So,” the EMT says as we pull away. “You’re joining our ranks?”
I consider for a moment, very aware of my mom’s eyes on me, though I don’t look at her. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“Premed, huh?” she asks as she checks my pulse. Again.
“No.”
She starts, but raises an eyebrow and smiles. “No?”
“Nope. I’m going to art school. I sent in my acceptance letter today.” Now I do look at my mom, who is working very hard not to say anything. Maybe it’s low, telling her about art school at this very moment, but she had to find out sometime, and I can’t imagine a scenario less likely to get me grounded. Again.
Mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head at me.
“This EMT thing is just a hobby,” I tell the paramedic. “Plus, it’s nice to have some handy skills. You know, in a pinch. A foreseen disaster does not kill the fool.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Yeah. Mine, too,” I say and smile at her as tears well up in my eyes. What does my portrait look like now? No longer that blurry smear or a replica of my parents. Not empty, either. There is still so much to figure out, but it doesn’t scare me anymore.
The night spins past us as we race toward the hospital, toward the future. This time, I’ll be ready for it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
One day I started writing, just for fun, and now my life has changed forever. I can’t believe I get to do this, that I have the privilege of writing these words right now, and I wouldn’t be able to if not for the support of many people.
I want to start by thanking my endlessly patient and relentlessly passionate agent, Dr. Uwe Stender of Triada US Literary Agency. Uwe, I can’t imagine a better partner or advocate on this journey. Your belief in this book, my writing, and my future career has meant everything. And I’m just so proud to be a member of Team Triada. Also, a big thanks to Brent Taylor for lending your expertise back in the pre-submission days.
To my editor, Alison Weiss, thank you for helping to make this book the best it can be. I never thought I’d meet someone who loved it as much as Uwe, but apparently, I was wrong. You got it, on every level, and I knew right away that my book was in the best possible hands.
To editor Nicole Frail, thank you for all you’ve done for Ten After, particularly for your endless patience as we navigated the details during pre-launch and production and for always being available to answer my questions—my many, many questions.
I’d like to thank the rest of the Sky Pony Press team, people who gave Ten After its face, style, and helped shepherd it out into the world including, Joshua Barnaby, Kate Gartner, Johanna Dickson, and Jill Lichtenstadter. I also want to thank the artist, Kevin Tong, for his beautiful and creepy cover art.
Next, I must thank a group of very special ladies. To the novelists, Cristina Dos Santos, Juliana Haygert, Ginger Merante, and Ghenet Myrthil. Without you, I literally wouldn’t be here. You all came into my life at the perfect time, and your friendship was exactly what I needed. We’re a writing group, but we’re so much more. I’ve never shared so many rental houses, hotel rooms, Facebook posts, cups of coffee, or pumpkin cookies with anyone in my life. I’m so glad we’re in this together.
To my critique partners, the talented Emily Colin and Dana Mele, I’m so lucky to have found two fabulous CPs who are willing to take time out of their busy schedules to help me and who write books I can’t wait to get my hands on to critique in return. And to Jean Chery and Steve Myrthil, thank you for reading and sharing your feedback on my early draft.
To the Electric Eighteens, I’m honored to be among so many fabulous middle grade and young adult authors. Sharing this experience with all of you this year has been so much fun and so rewarding. And it doesn’t end in 2019. Here’s to the next phase of all your careers!
To all the readers and bloggers out there who have supported me this far in my writing career, thank you, thank you, thank you. No writer can do it without readers, and there is nothing as satisfying as when someone enjoys the work we do.
I must also thank my family
and friends. I was sure that everyone would think I was out of my mind to start this writing thing after spending a decade becoming a psychologist, but not once did anyone respond the way I feared. You’ve all be so supportive, even more excited than me at times, and that has meant the world to me.
To Dad, thank you for your unceasing confidence in my success no matter how arduous the process might be.
To Mim, there’s nothing like getting a call from you while you’re reading one of my books or after you finish one and are still thinking about it. I’m so lucky to have a mom who believes that everything I do is amazing (even when it isn’t).
Lastly, I want to thank my husband, Eric. You’re always there for me in every way. Your plotting help, your emotional support, your belief that I can do this. You always know what I need to keep going. Thank you for your patience, too. You roll with it all—those long days I spend on the computer, the garden that hasn’t been weeded in longer than I can recall, and all the other ways that writing has impacted our lives. Thank you for your excitement, which is often the thing that takes me out of fear mode and lets me live this experience with my whole heart.
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