In an Instant(23)
After that, things move quickly. Within minutes a sheriff’s car finds them and details of the accident are being broadcast to various agencies. The deputy wants to take my mom and Kyle to the hospital, but my mom insists he drive them to the rescue site. Kyle agrees, claiming he’s fine.
The staging area, a parking lot beside a sled park, is dramatic. Already a dozen ambulances, sheriff’s cars, and forest ranger jeeps are gathered, along with at least fifty people in different uniforms. My mom and Kyle are ushered into a waiting ambulance, where they are wrapped with heated blankets and given bottles of water. A paramedic follows them in to assess their condition.
I watch as the man examines my mom first. She has mild frostbite on her fingers, several of her toes, and patches of her calves where snow and ice have lodged in her boots and frozen the skin. Warm compresses are wrapped around the damaged areas, and her feet are submerged in a tub of warm water. The paramedic also suspects my mom has several broken ribs, and he advises she go to the hospital for X-rays. She shakes her head and asks again if he will call the captain on his radio for an update on the search.
He makes the call, hangs up, shakes his head, then turns to Kyle, who patiently drinks his water and eats a McDonald’s cheeseburger that was bought for him. My mom has a bag of food as well, but she hasn’t touched a bite.
Kyle sets his food aside and removes his jacket and shirt.
I gasp, and so does my mom, her eyes bulging. The entire left side of Kyle’s body, from his shoulder to his hip, is one giant swollen bruise, the skin a mottled, sickly purple blue.
“Ouch,” he says with an ironic smile when the paramedic lifts Kyle’s arm.
I’m overwhelmed with his heroics. His body was battered to a pulp, and he never said a word.
My mom swallows. She had no idea. She never asked. A boy the same age as her daughter in a horrible accident, and she never even asked him if he was okay. I didn’t think of it either. Only in retrospect does it seem so incomprehensible. I want to tell her it’s okay, remind her of how much she was already dealing with. But I know that even if she could hear me, it wouldn’t matter. Regret is a tough emotion to live with, impossible to move on from, because what’s done is done. Only delusion can protect you from it, somehow altering history into something easier to accept, and my mom is not capable of delusion.
“You okay?” the paramedic asks, noticing her pallor.
She nods and turns away, locking out the future that will be haunted by this moment to focus on the horrible present as she prays for no more regret.
“You need to go to the hospital,” the paramedic says to Kyle. “Those bruises need to be looked at, and I think you dislocated your shoulder. It popped back in, but you probably need a sling.”
Kyle nods and shrugs like what the guy is telling him is a bummer but no big deal; then in a tone that’s weirdly everyday, he says, “Do you think someone can give me a lift?”
“There’s a second ambulance outside,” the paramedic says.
Kyle cringes. “Kind of a pricey ride.”
The paramedic opens the door and hollers out the back, “Hey, Mary Beth, you think you can give the kid a ride to the hospital on the house?”
A woman’s voice says, “Sure, there’s a special hero rate running today—no charge for trips to the ER.”
Kyle blushes as he pulls on his jacket and stands. “Thanks,” he says to the paramedic. Halfway through the door, he hesitates and turns back to my mom. His words thick, he says, “I hope they’re okay.”
His kindness nearly destroys her, and I watch as her expression tightens, the muscles straining against her emotions. She manages a nod as her right hand opens and closes on her leg, and then she opens her mouth to say something, but it’s too late. Kyle is already gone, and I think it almost would have been more merciful had he not turned back. A sob escapes, and my mom bites her knuckle to stop it, pushing it deep inside to keep the dam from exploding.
I watch as Kyle disappears into the other ambulance and wonder if I will ever see him again. I doubt it. Like soldiers who fought beside each other, once the war is over, they return to their separate lives, their only bond a tragic shared memory all would rather forget.
20
Mo hears it first. Her head lifts, and she looks at the ceiling and tilts her head. Thump, thump, thump, too consistent to be the wind. Her posture straightens as the thrumming grows closer, and I watch as she listens harder. She leaps to her feet but then falls back to the ground, her feet too frozen to hold her. On hands and knees, she crawls onto the side of the seat below the door.
“Help,” she cries meekly, her voice cracking.
Her croak causes Uncle Bob and Aunt Karen and Natalie to become aware. Their tucked heads lift, and then their ears, too, catch the sound of the helicopter. Uncle Bob scrambles from his seat, hobbles up beside Mo, and manages to push open the door.
Through the opening, a man who is being lowered from a helicopter signals for them to stay put. Mo crawls back to my dad.
“Help is here,” she cries. “You’re going to be okay. Help is here.”
My dad doesn’t answer, and I pray she’s right, that they arrived in time and that he’s going to make it.
The man is in the doorway. Perhaps thirty, he looks like a marine, his body squat, tight, and muscular, his hair buzzed short and stick straight. He scans the interior, then lowers himself inside, and Uncle Bob shakes the man’s hand as the man surveys the scene.