Making Faces(71)

Crying again. Definitely a baby. Bailey veered off the sidewalk and bumped over the gravel toward the 4X4. He could hear his heart beating in his temples, and he felt nauseated. The crying was coming from Becker's truck.

The passenger door was slightly ajar, and as Bailey got closer he could see blonde hair streaming over the edge of the seat.

“Oh no. Oh no. Rita!” Bailey moaned as he maneuvered his chair alongside the opened door. He was afraid he would bump it closed. If he did that, he wouldn't be able to open it again. He lined his chair up so his hand, lying against his armrest was only inches from the edge of the door. He raised his hand as high as he could and wedged it into the opening. He pushed as hard as he could and the door wobbled and then swung slowly open. Bailey's hand fell back to his armrest and his heart fell to his feet. Rita lay unconscious on the seat of the truck, her blonde head hanging off the seat, her hand resting against the door. She'd clearly opened the door but hadn't made it any further. Two-year-old Tyler Garth stood in the foot well, one hand in his mouth, one hand on his mother's face.

“Rita!” Bailey cried. “Rita!” She didn't stir.

Ty whimpered and Bailey felt like whimpering too. Instead, he lowered his voice and tried again, talking to Rita, urging her to respond. There was no blood that he could see, but Bailey had no doubt that Becker Garth had done something to his wife. He couldn't help Rita, but he could take care of Ty. That's what Rita would want him to do.

“Ty Guy. Hey, buddy,” Bailey coaxed, trying not to let his terror show. “It's me, Bailey. You want a ride in my chair? You like riding in Bailey's chair, huh?”

“Mama,” the child whimpered around his fingers.

“We'll go fast. Let's show Mommy how we go fast.” Bailey couldn't lift Ty onto his lap. So he beckoned to him with curled fingers. “Hold my hand and climb into Bailey's chair. You remember how, right?”

Ty had stopped crying, and he looked at Bailey's chair with big blue eyes. Bailey wheeled into the opening, pushing the door wider with his chair. He was so close Ty could literally crawl into his lap. If he would.

“Come on, Ty. I have a treat for you. You can have some candy, and Bailey will take you for a ride in his chair. Let Mommy have a nap.” Bailey's voice broke on the words, but the mention of candy was all it took. Ty knelt down in the foot well and climbed over Bailey's armrest and into Bailey's lap. He dug his tiny hand into the little white grocery sack and pulled out the Starbursts triumphantly. Bailey backed away from the door, away from Rita. He had to get help. And he was very afraid that at any minute Becker Garth would come running out of the bar and see him. Or worse, drive away with Rita dying in the front seat of his truck.

“Hold on to Bailey, Ty.”

“Go fast?”

“Yeah. We're going to go fast.”





Ty had no concept of holding on. Bailey needed his right hand to drive the wheelchair and his left to punch in 911 on the cell phone that was strapped to his other armrest. He dialed and hit speaker and then put his left arm around Ty, trying to secure him as he crossed the gravel and eased up onto the sidewalk. The 911 operator answered and Bailey started spilling out the details, shouting at his armrest and trying to steer. Ty started to cry.

“I'm sorry sir. I can't hear you.”

“There is a woman, her name is Rita Marsden . . . Rita Garth. She's unconscious in her husband's vehicle. He's hit her before, and I think he's done something to her. The truck is parked in front of Jerry's Joint on Main. The husband's name is Becker Garth. Her two-year-old son was there with her. I heard him crying. I have the kid but I don't dare stay with Rita, because her husband could come out any second. And I don't want him to run and take the baby.”

“Does the woman have a pulse?”

“I don't know!” Bailey cried helplessly. “I couldn't reach her.” He could tell the 911 operator was confused. “Look, I'm in a wheelchair. I can't raise my arms. I'm lucky I was able to get her child out of the truck. Please send the police and an ambulance!”

“What is the license plate on the vehicle?”

“I don't know! I'm not there anymore!” Bailey slowed and turned the chair slightly, wondering if he should go back for the answers the operator was seeking. What he saw behind him made his heart seize in his chest. He was maybe two blocks away from the bar but there were lights pulling out of the lot. It looked like Becker's truck.

“He's coming!” Bailey shrieked, increasing his speed, roaring down the street as fast as he could. He needed to cross over, but that would put him in Becker's headlights. And the headlights were bearing down on him. Tyler was screaming, sensing Bailey's panic. The 911 operator was trying to get him to answer questions and “remain calm.”

“He's coming! My name is Bailey Sheen, and I am holding Tyler Garth on my lap. I'm in a wheelchair driving down Main toward Center in Hannah Lake. Becker Garth hurt his wife and he's coming toward us. I need help!”

Somehow, miraculously, Becker Garth drove right past. He obviously didn't expect the guy in the wheelchair to be any sort of threat. Of course, he'd always underestimated Bailey. Bailey's heart leaped in relief. And then Becker hit his brakes and spun his truck around.