Shadows on the Sand (28 page)

I crooked a finger at Greg, and he bent to me. “Are they all Twittering about me back there?”

“Probably. Does it bother you?”

I shrugged. “Twice in one week. I’ll be famous. Though come to think of it, they don’t know it’s me. Ouch!”

I glared at Maureen, who had tried to free my foot.

“How did it get wedged?” she asked, as if people caught in a jetty were all in a day’s work—which they undoubtedly were.

“I slipped and fell, and it was stuck.”

“I think she’s broken her wrist,” Greg said. “And she has a cut on the back of her head, but I don’t think it’s serious. More an abrasion than a laceration.”

Maureen moved behind me and shined her flashlight on my head. Greg removed the compress he’d been holding in place.

“I don’t think it’s even bleeding anymore,” Maureen said.

One of the EMTs dropped to his knees beside me. “Hi, Carrie. I’m
Ryan and that’s my partner, Amy.” He pointed behind me, and I craned my neck to see who he was pointing to. Amy and I smiled at each other, well-mannered even in catastrophe. “Can you tell me if you hit your head hard?”

“I didn’t. I don’t remember hitting it at all. It’s my wrist.” I held out my arm and winced at the sight. Instead of being indented at the base of my hand, my wrist was the size of an Easter ham and just as pink in the flashlight beams.

“Let’s make sure the rest of you is okay,” Ryan said. “Then we’ll get you to the ambulance.”

“The rest of me’s great. Except for my foot.”

He put his hand on my knee and followed my leg to the foot. He felt around down there, his hands submerged, while I made little yips as he tried to turn it.

He frowned. “You are caught, aren’t you?” He looked at the wave that rolled over us, soaking me to the waist and him partway up his thighs. He looked up at Maureen. “We need heavy rescue and fast.”

“What?” I turned to Greg, on his knees across from the EMT, also soaked well up his thighs.

“Just a precaution,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

I might have felt better if he didn’t look so distressed.

Maureen, in water above her ankles, stepped away and spoke into her shoulder mike. I couldn’t hear her, but I knew what she was saying.

More rumbles, more lights, more crackling radios, and the heavy-rescue truck pulled up beside the ambulance, followed by a fire truck.

“Why a fire truck?” I asked Greg as I tried not to shiver.

“Part of the first responders. It’s better to send them home unneeded than to get them to an emergency too late.”

A fleece blanket fell around my shoulders. Ryan’s partner smiled down at me. “Let’s keep you as warm as we can.”

Greg tucked it close, and I smiled my appreciation.

Suddenly the jetty was bathed in bright light as the rescue team kicked into action. The light revealed the wave that was barreling toward me. It hit and I was lifted from my rock by the force of the water, floating for a few seconds. Greg and Ryan were both shifted by the surge and scrambled for balance. I put my hands out to keep from falling backward into the water and yelped as my bad wrist took some weight.

It always amazed me the small amount of water that was needed to create a dangerous situation, especially moving water. It was people who didn’t comprehend this fact who stayed to ride out hurricanes and who often died. Right now I was at the waves’ mercy. First came the slap and the push, then the suck and the pull.

As the wave receded, I settled back on the boulder, my free foot pressing against the same rock that held me captive, trying to keep me steady. It took me a moment to realize that my left leg wasn’t bent at that unwieldy angle anymore. I reached forward. I still couldn’t feel the laces on my shoe, but I could feel its side.

“My foot’s shifted! Cut it off!”

The last was lost in the gurgle as I turned my head to escape a wave full in the face. I floated again, then settled, spitting out salt water. I held my breath as I reached down into the swirling foam. What if my foot had been turned back with only the heavy sole showing again?

“Cut it off! Cut it off! Quick!”

G
reg forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply. He could do this. He could. The trick was to breathe without hyperventilating. Water swirled around him, but that was nothing compared to the emotions swirling inside. In a strange way, he felt proud he’d managed to hold it together this long.

Then Carrie yelled, “Cut it off!” and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He thought he’d be sick.

All around him lights strobed, radios crackled, and people moved with purpose. Memories surged, threatening to drown him more thoroughly than any of the waves rolling in. Waves he could fight. Waves he could run from. But this vivid recall? Memories lived inside, inescapable and terrible.

“Why don’t you move back, Greg?” Maureen said. “Let the rescue guys in.”

“Right,” he mumbled. He should have gotten out of the way as soon as they showed, but he’d been paralyzed. He’d been fine when Carrie fell, when she realized her head was bleeding.

Then
they
came, and with them the noise, the lights, the panic.

He rose and made his way off the jetty onto the dry sand. He stood there, useless and jumpy. He wanted to go home, to safety and quiet. For the first time in a very long time, he thought about how comforting a few stiff drinks would be.

While he stood there, mute and useless, others came and helped. And then Carrie was free.

The rescue squad guy whose name escaped Greg held up a white athletic
shoe with one side sliced from edge to sole. He held it toward Carrie. Greg saw her shake her head as she was helped to her feet and assisted off the jetty. She looked fine, upbeat and in control. He, on the other hand …

She was bundled into the ambulance. Just before they closed the door, she called, “Greg, would you call Lindsay for me?”

Somehow he managed a nod.

The bright lights illuminating the jetty blacked out, and the darkness of a fall night was extra black in contrast. The fire truck rumbled off the boardwalk, following the ambulance. The rescue truck left as soon as the lights were stowed. In what seemed the blink of an eye, he was alone except for Maureen Trevelyan and Rog Eastman.

“You okay, Greg?” Maureen asked.

“Sure,” he lied. But he knew she knew it was a lie. Maureen had been one of those who responded when Ginny and the kids were killed. She was a tough cop, but she had a tender and insightful heart, and she made Greg very nervous.

“I imagine you’re going to the hospital to check on Carrie after you call Lindsay.”

“Right.” He’d already forgotten about his promise to call Lindsay.

“Where’s your car?” Maureen asked.

He pointed vaguely in its direction.

“Come on. I’ll walk you.”

Because he couldn’t figure out how to lose her, he went with her as she walked up the stairs to the boardwalk and down the Twentieth Street ramp. Rog followed, driving their squad car down the ramp behind them. When Greg found himself hoping the cruiser’s brakes held, he was somewhat cheered. That was a normal thought, right?

When they reached Greg’s pickup, Rog put the poles, fishing gear, and the two stripers in the cooler in the back of the truck.

“Thanks,” Greg managed. He’d forgotten all about that stuff.

Maureen looked at him with concern. “She didn’t die, Greg. She’s going to be fine.”

But she could have!
Somehow he managed a nod as he got behind the wheel.
And it would be my fault!

“Don’t forget Lindsay,” Maureen said as he closed the door.

He nodded again and pulled out his phone. He had to dial 411 to get the apartment number, and he was glad for the automatic connection. He didn’t think he could push the right sequence of numbers because his hands were shaking too much.

It was because he cared. He hadn’t had any negative reaction to the sirens and static, the calling voices and organized chaos when he found Jase’s body. Of course he’d been sad about Jase, but if he’d been upset about anything, it was that he wasn’t part of the action.

He’d felt almost jealous of the team dealing with the crime. He frowned. Maybe jealous wasn’t the right word, but he’d felt something strong. Displacement? Here was his world, but he was no longer part of it.

But that day there hadn’t been even a touch of the fear that struck with such ferocity tonight. What if he’d lost Carrie as he’d lost Ginny and the kids?

He couldn’t let himself love again. He couldn’t. It was too frightening, too risky. When you thought about it, you lost everyone you loved, guaranteed, and he couldn’t take any more loss. If that made him weak, then he was weak.

He was forcing himself to breathe deeply when Lindsay picked up.

“She’s all right,” he said several times. “She’s all right.”

But saying it didn’t ease the constriction in his chest or relieve the paralysis in his limbs. Maureen and Rog were long gone before he managed to put the truck in drive and head for the hospital.

He had just entered the emergency room when Lindsay burst through the door, eyes wide. She saw him and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. He automatically returned the embrace, patting her on the back.

“I’m so glad you were with her.” She gave him an extra squeeze. “No one could have been as helpful and as comforting for her as you.”

The cramp in his gut intensified.

Mary P rushed in. Lindsay must have called her. “How is she?”

“She’ll be fine,” Greg assured her. “She’s wet and cold and I think she has a broken wrist, but she’s fine.”

Would saying it enough still the churning?

Lindsay and Mary P went to the desk to ask if they could see Carrie. Pastor Paul arrived, and Greg felt bad that he hadn’t thought to call him and glad that either Lindsay or Mary P had. Of course Carrie’d like to see him, have him pray for her. With her.

But Paul made no effort to go see Carrie. “Come sit,” he said to Greg.

Great. Sympathy. Understanding. Concern. Just what he needed. Not. The man was too perceptive by half.

Greg followed him because there was no alternative short of running screaming into the night. He sank into an uncomfortable plastic chair. Recognizing the chair as uncomfortable was another good sign, wasn’t it? Another normal thought.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and studied the floor, anything to keep from letting Paul see his eyes. They were the windows to the soul or something like that, and he didn’t want anyone to know what a quivering failure he was.

It took a few minutes before he realized that Paul was resting a hand on his back, comforting him as if he were the one who was injured. He hated being so transparent.

Lindsay and Mary P came out of the patient area and joined them.

Paul stood. “Let me go see her for a minute. Then she’s all yours, Greg.” He disappeared down the hall.

“They took an x-ray,” Lindsay reported. “The break’s clean, but it’ll still require surgery for pins and a plate. They’re going to keep her overnight and operate tomorrow morning. Then they’ll put a split cast on, whatever that is.”

Lindsay looked weary but relieved that things weren’t any more serious. He felt relief too, and now seemed a good time to leave while he was still holding himself together.

“She’d like to see you, Greg,” Mary P said.

He must have made some sound of distress because both women turned and looked at him.

“Are you up to it?” Mary P asked.

How could he explain that it was no longer the emergency itself but the fact he’d responded so emotionally that ripped through him? He’d thought all that posttrauma stuff was behind him. He’d dared to think he was well.

How wrong that was. He was still a mess. He had been all but useless in a simple crisis, the kind of thing he had handled every day back when he was a cop. He might as well have a big
L
for
loser
plastered across his forehead.

Lindsay frowned. “He’d better be up to seeing her.”

Greg held up a hand to ward off any more comments and walked back to the patient area, passing Paul on his way out. He felt like he was slogging through quicksand, and his next step might be the one that pulled him under.

Failure. Loser
.

He found Carrie’s curtained-off cubicle. She lay on a gurney, her head
slightly raised. She was wearing a hospital gown, and her wrist was wrapped in an elastic bandage and held snug to her body by a sling. A lightweight blanket covered her. She looked tired but in good spirits.

She smiled at him. “Hey.”

The wave of relief that rolled through him shook him. She really was all right.

The problem was, he wasn’t.

She patted the side of her bed, and he sat near her knees.

He took her good hand in his. “So you’re staying the night.”

She nodded. “Surgery tomorrow morning to set this thing.” She didn’t seem at all apprehensive about it. “I think I’ll be allowed to go home tomorrow afternoon. Pick me up?” It was clear she assumed he’d be happy to do that little favor for her.

“Sure.” Who could he get to come in his place? Failures didn’t deserve the prize or even the honor of being in the prize’s presence.