“The last time I talked to her, she told me what bus she was planning to take.” Brock draped his arm on the back of the chair next to him. “Look, are you going to allow me to see Penny or not? I came here to help, but I can just as easily leave you guys to work things out on your own.”
Lance wasn’t impressed. The kid dodged back and forth between nervousness and defensive leveraging in the space of a few minutes and over a few simple questions. Something was up, and he didn’t like the feeling in his gut when it came to this guy. Still, he didn’t want to run him off either. Not if there might be a way to get more information. At the very least, he hoped to get Officer Clemens’ assessment of the guy. “Okay, let’s go see Penny.”
“Both of us?”
“Yeah, I’ll let you spend some time with her, but I’m going to be with you both the whole time.”
“Sure, fine.” Brock shrugged and got up from the chair. “Right now?”
“Right now.”
They went down the hall to Penny’s room. Some of the monitors had been removed overnight, and since the ventilator disconnection, it had been pushed back against the wall. While he’d been out shaving, the trach tube had also been removed. A strip of gauze was now taped across Penny’s neck.
Brock paused at the door before approaching her bed, probably taken aback by the extent of her injuries. Lance leaned against the door frame and felt a fresh pang of regret at seeing her desperate condition. Was it true she had returned to Colorado in hopes of patching things up with him? At the very least, her bruises and subsequent swelling were the result of trying to get home. If only he’d known how to be the kind of father she needed, perhaps this whole scenario could have been avoided.
Brock stepped up to the bed and took hold of Penny’s hand. Leaning over her, he whispered while his thumb caressed the top of her fingers.
Lance’s phone chirped, indicating a new text from Officer Clemens. Are you at Sierra Memorial? I have new info.
He keyed a quick reply. Yes. Come any time. Now would be ideal.
He hit “send” and looked up. Brock had straightened his back, but he still stood beside Penny’s bed holding her hand. Lance noticed her fingers flexed rigid. Then they gripped Brock’s.
“What’s happening?” Lance said, rushing forward.
Brock dropped her hand and backed away. “I don’t know. Is she waking up?”
Lance reached for Penny as her head tilted back and her back arched. Her mouth gaped and her body tensed. The ICP monitor began to beep, and was faintly echoed by a companion alarm at the nurse’s station down the hall.
Lance turned to the monitor. “Her pressure just spiked. What happened, Brock?”
“I swear, man. I don’t know.”
“Move back.”
He complied as Lance shifted his attention to Penny and lifted her eyelids. Unequal dilation. Other monitor alarms kicked in, as she began to tremble. The symptoms indicated neurological trauma—the implications critical. He had no stethoscope, so he leaned over her, pressing his ear to her chest, as medical personnel rushed in.
“Possible cerebral hemorrhage,” Lance called as they surrounded the bed.
One young man grasped his arm. “If you’ll step aside, please.” Others called out instructions as they opened supply packs and keyed orders into their equipment.
Lance tugged his arm free. “She’s my daughter.”
“I understand, sir—”
His voice raised a pitch. “I’m a doctor.”
“So am I, sir. I’ll take good care of her. Right now, you be her dad.” He shifted his attention to the other techs. “Get her to CT. I’ll call it in.”
Lance stepped back and willed the tension in his arms to ease. The young doctor was right. In this all-too-familiar situation, the team needed to work without distraction. Had their roles been reversed, he would have given the very same orders.
“Let’s move it,” a technician called to the response team.
Already in high gear, the group accelerated to meet the challenge.
A sound behind Lance caught his attention. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Pastor Mark standing just outside the doorway, wide-eyed. “I just got here. What’s happening?” His eyes scanned the bustle of activity.
Lance glanced back to the frenzy of technicians surrounding Penny’s bed and shook his head. “I think she’s having a stroke, Mark. We have to pray.”
I dreamt I was back at the New Year’s Eve party.
Tyler clapped and whistled with glee while his girlfriend swayed in the middle of the living room to sultry jazz music. Abbi’s flapper-style dress glittered in the room’s low light; the fringe on its hem slapping her thighs in rhythm with the drum beat. I glanced toward Brock who sat beside me, also focused on the spectacle. His arm draped the back of the sofa behind me, his hand caressing my shoulder, but his mind was clearly a million miles away.
I scanned the room looking for a diversion. Another couple sat in chairs opposite us. The guy nodded appreciatively toward Tyler, as if in gratitude for the evening’s entertainment, while his date, a girl whose name I had already forgotten, wiggled and giggled in her seat, waving her arms like a hula girl. Definitely too much to drink.
A fourth couple stood in the doorway to the kitchen, engrossed in private conversation, though his eyes occasionally strayed to Abbi’s performance. He was a cowboy with a strong Texas drawl, and she was someone I’d met at a lecture on Synthetics a couple of months earlier. We had spent time renewing our acquaintance over hors d’oeuvres, and laughing over remembrances from the lecture.
She wasn’t laughing now. Their whispered confidences seemed very serious.
The song ended and Abbi caught our attention with a dramatic swooping bow while simultaneously scooping my drink up from the coffee table. “Delicious,” she declared, holding the glass toward Tyler. Was she referring to him or the drink? I raised my hand, but she downed it before I could tell her it was mine.
Brock leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll get you another.”
He stood and moved toward the kitchen, interrupting the serious couple’s conversation.
The guy tapped Brock’s shoulder as they parted to let him by. “I think we’re going to head out a little early, if y’all don’t mind.”
“Oh?” Abbi spun their way with a pout and nearly lost her balance. “Don’t go.” Her head bobbled. She was very drunk.
My lecture-mate ignored Abbi, but gave Tyler a nod. “Thanks for inviting us.” She set her glass on the coffee table. “I hope you and Brock both do well in the draft.”
I scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Let me get your coats.” When I got up, however, the room tilted and bile rose in my throat. I inhaled sharply as the carpet seemed to be pulled from under my feet.
A sudden jolt woke me with a gasp. I was on the bus to Clearmont, passengers shrieking in the dark as it fishtailed on the snowy road. The driver yelled, “Hold on!” An overhead bin sprung open and something hit the floor with a heavy thump. A child screamed, and I grabbed the seat ahead of me, clenching my teeth anticipating impact. Instead, we slid to a stop, the abrupt silence broken by a baby’s cry.
The driver turned, grabbing the support pole behind him. He pulled to his feet. “Everybody okay?”
Through several murmurs of assent, more children began to sob.
A man in front of me stretched his neck to look above the seat ahead of him. “What happened?”
The driver glanced toward the windshield. “Sorry about the sudden stop, folks. Someone who passed us a mile or so back, has stopped in the middle of the road. If you’ll all stay calm, I’m going to go see what’s up.”
Blowing snow swirled inside as the driver left the bus, and someone nearby closed the door behind him. Others stood in the aisle trying to see out the windshield. Mothers comforted children, and many turned on their small cabin lights while we waited for the driver’s return.
I put my head down and pressed fi
ngers to my forehead, wincing from a sudden headache.
A minute passed while people gathered scattered belongings and settled down to wait. Then harsh pounding on the bus door startled everyone anew. The door opened, and I lifted my head.
Climbing the steps ahead of the driver, Brock appeared, scanning the cabin. I slid down in my seat, but not before his eyes locked on mine.
Without missing a beat, Brock’s countenance shifted to beaming adoration. “Darling!” he exclaimed. What was he up to? It reminded me of one evening at Christmas when he picked me up for a fancy dinner date. I had considered his manner a bit exaggerated, but sweet back then. Now it frightened me.
He came down the aisle, his head tilted in a show of loving concern. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been, but don’t fret about it, honey. Everything’s fine now.” He reached down and took hold of my elbow.
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I kept my voice low while resisting the tug on my arm. “I already told you it’s over between us. I want to go on by myself.”
“But darling, there’s no need to worry.” His voice was acid-laced honey with determined eyes registering behind his beaming countenance.
His grip tightened and he pulled me to stand. His eyes remained constant, his voice resonating with devoted care. “I’m going to take care of everything—you and the baby. I need you to come home, honey.”
He had drawn me close, so I held my voice to a whisper. “What’s wrong with you?”
Brock ignored me. “C’mon, babe. Let me take you home. I know we can patch things up.”
Someone nearby got caught up in Brock’s emotional appeal. “Give him a chance.”
I glanced around me. A tide of sympathy had swelled toward Brock, the poor scorned sweetheart. Or husband. Or whatever he was trying to be. His grip on my elbow was firm as he maneuvered me toward the front of the bus.
The time for subtlety had passed. “Stop.” I protested loudly through gritted teeth.
He wrapped his free arm around my shoulder and pressed me forward. We reached the driver, who stood beside his seat, his sympathetic eyes focused on Brock.
I leaned into the driver’s line of vision. “It’s not true, you know. I’m not even pregnant. This is just a costume.”
He didn’t answer me, but looked to Brock, his brow pinched with concern. “I’m glad you were able to track her down. Do you think she’ll be all right?”
“The doctors said she might have times of confusion. I’ll make sure she gets the right help.”
The driver opened the door and, a moment later, I was out in the blowing snow. “I don’t even have my coat, Brock. Do you want me to freeze?”
He pulled me a few feet from the door and let go of my elbow with a shove. “It wasn’t your coat any more than the rest of this get-up. Just get in the car. The heater’s on.”
I glanced at the car, sitting sideways on the road in the halo of bus headlights and took a slow backward step. “Why are you doing this? Why can’t you leave me alone?”
His brows slanted. “Don’t make a scene, Penny. They already think you’re acting crazy.”
“I’m acting crazy?” A tear dropped to my cheek, stinging in the icy wind. “Look at us. We’re standing out in a blizzard because you can’t bear to let me go.”
“You have to come with me, Penny.”
“No I don’t.” I took a couple more steps back.
“I’m not asking. I’m telling you.” He pulled his hand up slowly from his coat pocket, revealing a small handgun. He kept it close to his waist, but it was pointed right at me.
“What?” My breath expelled with that one word, and my vision narrowed to a tunnel.
Would I ever breathe again?
Lance stared at the waiting room clock, forearms braced against jittery knees. The tick of the second hand had become the meter of his thoughts mentally reciting the litany of steps required to complete Penny’s craniotomy.
Pastor Mark sitting in an adjacent seat, read his Bible. They had prayed and paced the floor for hours. Friends and church family had been contacted, many of whom shared encouragements based on their own experiences with difficult circumstances. He knew the chain of prayer would extend quickly through social media, texts, and calls, raising a chorus of continuing intercession as the clock hands crept toward midday.
Waiting outside the surgical bay hadn’t been Lance’s idea, but Dr. Matheson had insisted upon it in gentle but unyielding tones. Instead, Lance focused on turning over his stresses to the Lord in order to endure this unfamiliar territory of waiting and uncertainty. Dr. Matheson’s assuring words had reminded him of his wife’s when she decided to end further cancer treatments. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing,” Marla had said, her eyes reflecting like deep watery pools. “This is not the end. It will be okay.”
He blinked at the memory and pulled back his frayed emotions to focus on visualizing Penny’s procedure. She had to survive this. He couldn’t face the idea of losing her too.
The clock’s tempo resumed as he mentally reviewed each step required for the surgery and imagined each tool slapped into the surgeon’s hand. If only her life weren’t dependent on the precision of others.
Thoughts of Brock also intruded his thoughts. Penny’s boyfriend had disappeared with the arrival of the crash cart team, yet he remained a concern. It was highly unlikely the young man’s presence had triggered the seizure, but the episode seemed to have spooked him off, and as far as Lance was concerned, that was for the best.
Nagging holes in Brock’s story plagued his thoughts. Lance had discussed them with Mark, but neither of them knew what next step to pursue. With any luck, the guy was on his way back to Phoenix and would remain out of the picture.
Lance stood and stretched his shoulders.
Mark closed his Bible and looked up. “Do you want me to go find us a couple burgers or something?”
“Nah.” Lance rotated his neck and shook the tension from his arms. “I’m not really hungry. But you could go if you want.”
“It’s no trouble, and you might be hungry later. We could nuke it.” His brows lifted. “Or I could just pick up some pastries from the donut shop across the street.”
Lance gave him a sideways glance and smirked. “Frankly, Mark, sometimes your diet choices scare me.”
“Yeah, Jackie says the same thing.”
Lance blew out his nervousness with a chuckle. “Get whatever lunch you want for yourself. Hopefully, by the time you get back we’ll have some news on the surgery.”
“I’m okay with sticking around until then. We can eat later, after things are more settled.”
The elevator door chimed, and they both looked across the hall. It opened and Sergeant Clemens stepped out, accompanied by a young woman with spiked yellow hair. This, along with her bright geometric-print yoga pants and pensive expression made it clear she wasn’t another officer.
They approached, and Clemens acknowledged Mark with a brief nod before turning his attention to Lance. “Dr. Doyle. I’m glad I found you here. If you have some time, I have some new case developments that I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Certainly.” Lance gestured toward Mark. “You haven’t met my pastor yet. This is Mark Lindmeyer.” They shook hands. “Mark, this is Sergeant Clemens, who has been following up on leads for the missing person’s case at Penny’s college. In the process, he helped locate Penny.” Lance took a breath. “Unfortunately, my daughter suffered a stroke this morning and we’ve been waiting for her surgery results. I sure hope you have some good news.” He nodded to the girl. “I see you brought someone with you.”
Clemens cleared his throat. “Yes. This is Hope McAllister. She spent several hours with your daughter just before the bus left the station in Barrett. She wanted to add her support.”
The girl stepped forward and shook Lance’s hand. Beyond her rather extreme makeup choice Lance saw kindness in her eyes.
“Mr. Doyle,” she said with a sof
t voice. “I had no idea Penny had been injured. I heard about the bus crash, of course, but her name wasn’t on the injured list, so I assumed she was one of the lucky ones. Had I known, I would have come right away.”
Me too, Lance thought to himself. “Thank you. I’m curious though, how do you know my daughter?”
She glanced briefly at the floor. “We met on Saturday so I don’t know her well, but I tried to help when things went wrong between her and Brock.”
Lance’s interest piqued. So, their relationship had derailed. “I’d appreciate it if you could share what happened in detail.”
Hope nodded. “Sure. I already told Sergeant Clemens, but when Penny and her boyfriend came into the café where I work, she was upset. I guess she wanted to break it off with him, but didn’t know how to tell him. She wrote him a note on a napkin when he was away from the table and then asked me to help her sneak out of the café. He stayed around town all day looking for her, so later in the evening, I helped her sneak onto the bus.”
“So, you’ve met Brock?”
She twisted her mouth to one side. “Well, we weren’t introduced. I just took their lunch order and then caught an earful from him after Penny left the café. He’s a pretty intense guy.”
This put a new twist on things. Lance rubbed the back of his neck, frustration welling. He looked over to Pastor Mark, who’d been listening with wide eyes. “She broke up with him. I knew he was trying to hide something.” Turning back to Hope and Sergeant Clemens, he added, “That guy hasn’t been upfront with me since I met him. That put my radar up right away.”
Clemens interjected, “Are you talking about the guy we saw here in the waiting room yesterday?”
“Yeah. I talked to him for a while after you left. He wanted to see Penny and I put him off until this morning.”
Hope’s mouth dropped open. She touched Lance’s forearm. “He’s here? Penny was scared of him. I don’t know everything that happened between them, but I wondered if he was one of those stalker-types.”
Lance bit his lip. Maybe that’s why he had been parked at the house. “What makes you think he’s a stalker?”
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