Deconstructed(91)

I almost felt like a real designer.

Glancing at my watch, I went to the coffeepot and poured another cup, though I didn’t need another afternoon caffeine jolt. Waiting on Cricket to call was hard.

So I texted Griffin. He ignored me.

I texted Dak. He texted back. Everything cool.

Well, that told me exactly nothing.

I sat down and started removing some of the braid. In order to refashion and not steal the intellectual property of whoever had designed the jacket at Carven, I needed to take the best elements of the design so that the piece retained the essence but was used in another creative way. I pulled out my sketch pad and started doodling, getting lost in the various ways I could use the horsehair trim. Which is why I suppose I didn’t hear Jade calling me.

“Ruby!” Jade burst into the kitchen.

I jumped a foot off the chair, and my drawing pad tumbled to the linoleum floor. “Oh my God, J!”

“Sorry. Your uncle’s on the phone. He said your grandmother is being taken by ambulance to the hospital.”

My heart plunged down around where my pad had fallen. “What? What happened?”

I flipped my phone over, realizing I had gotten so wrapped up in sketching and distracting myself from Cricket’s sting operation that I hadn’t looked at it in fifteen minutes. There were ten texts and two missed calls.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say,” Jade said.

I lurched from the chair, scooping up my phone. “You good to cover the store?”

“Of course. I can stay. Go.” Jade disappeared as I went out the back door, all thoughts of Cricket, Dak, and how to dump Ty fleeing from my mind. Gran was sick. Gran could be dying.

Please don’t let her die.

I unlocked my car, climbing in and dialing Ed Earl.

“’Lo?” he said, sounding like he was driving.

“What’s wrong with Gran?” I demanded.

“Not sure. I’m on my way, following the ambulance. She just sorta collapsed and said she felt funny. She’d gone to the dentist and had a tooth pulled, so at first, I thought it was that. She said she hadn’t been eatin’ much. But then she looked weird, like part of her face was drooping.”

“That’s a stroke,” I barked, squealing tires as I left the parking lot. “Which hospital?”

“I don’t know. I think WK Bossier. That’s the closest.”

I hung up on him. Then I turned toward downtown, jetting out in front of a Land Cruiser, which honked at me. Like I cared. My grandmother, the only person who was an anchor in my life, could be dying.

“Please don’t die,” I murmured as I stepped on the gas. “I promise to do better, God. I know I’m a bad person and do bad things, but please, please don’t let this happen. I need her.”

And as I said those words to my empty car, I knew they were true. I needed her. I needed my family. I had let what Ed Earl did to me separate me from my past, from the place where I had learned to be stubborn, to be resourceful, to make do, and to make the best of my circumstances. Those were the lessons I had learned at my grandmother’s knee, and though I had unhealed wounds, staying away from the people I thought were bad for me had not allowed my sores to scab over and go away. Instead of moving forward, I’d carried my burden like a prisoner lugging around his chain, and I’d hurt no one more than myself.

“I’m so stupid. I will do better,” I said as I merged onto the interstate that spanned the Red River, uniting the two sides of the metro area. Perhaps even an analogy to my life. Bridges and all that stuff.

By the time I got to the hospital, I felt desperate with panic. I hurried toward the sliding doors and slammed into the triage desk. The nurse eeped in alarm, rolling back in her chair.

“Hey, I’m looking for Eunice Balthazar. She came by ambulance,” I barked at the poor woman.

“Ruby,” someone called behind me.

I turned to find Ed Earl and Jimbo sitting in the waiting area, muddy boots marring the carpet, jeans covered in motor oil, plaid shirtsleeves cut off at the shoulders. They looked like they always did—a bit slovenly, country as a turnip, and ready to kick ass if needed. Other people in the waiting room eyed them with trepidation, except for three or four who were on their phones and probably wouldn’t notice if Elvis himself entered the building.

“How is she?” I asked, moving toward them.

“Don’t know yet. Some sissy-looking doctor came out and said they were running tests and had given her some kind of shot that was supposed to help,” Jimbo said.

“We’re going to have to wait,” Ed Earl said, giving his brother a look that said Move down. Jimbo did, but I knew I couldn’t sit. I had too much nervous energy. I shook my head and went and slumped against the wall, pulling out my cell phone and googling “stroke.” So much information, but website after website said that time was of the essence. Thank God that Ed Earl lived with Gran. If she had been alone . . .

And really, when had I ever uttered the words Thank God in relation to Ed Earl?

Maybe never.

But in this case, I was grateful for him.

We waited thirty minutes, during which time Ed Earl stomped down the hall and bought two packages of white-powdered doughnuts and two Cokes. He brought me a bottled water without asking, like he knew a Coke would be unwelcome. Like I was the kind of girl who always drank bottled water. I used to be the girl who would have had the root beer and a Snickers.