Just One of the Guys(100)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, I’m forced to cover a budget meeting of the city council. If there’s a cure for insomnia, I’ve found it.

In order not to fall asleep and possibly drool on my shirt, I sit in the front row on a punishing metal chair and take notes, silently cursing Suki, who usually covers these things, while making a mental note to buy some chocolate for her, since she usually has to cover these things. The endless construction project has gone over budget. Again. The school board is asking for more money. Again. The senior citizen council wants…shocker…more money. Again. Town crew…more money. I pinch myself to keep from dozing off.

After several months have passed—okay, okay, it was just several hours—I am finally released from the hell of the budget meeting and find myself blinking in the bright light of a glorious summer afternoon. The leaves of the trees that line Main Street are lush and green and just about edible. The air is sparkling clean and dry, the sky shimmers with a blue so pure it makes your heart ache with joy. Birdsong fights with the noise of rush-hour traffic as commuters try to disentangle themselves from the closed-off streets and cross the bridge over to Jurgenskill. The Hudson runs clear and deep along River Road. I can’t wait to get home and go for a row.

Suddenly, there’s a screech of brakes and horrible bang. A car has crashed into one of the Jersey barriers along the edge of the construction site. As I watch in horror, another car smashes into the first. The blare of horns pierces the air.

Racing down the street, I’m not quite aware that I’ve called 911 until I hear the dispatcher’s voice. “Two-car MVA at the corner of River and Langdon streets,” I say, leaping over a bundle of newspapers someone left on the sidewalk. “Car versus barrier, then got rear-ended. Might be injuries.”

“I’m dispatching the fire department right now,” the operator says.

I shove my phone in my pocket as I reach the intersection. Traffic is stopped now, people are getting out of their cars to look. The driver of the second car, which rear-ended the first, gets out. Already, his cell phone is pressed to his ear.

No one has gotten out of the first car.

Shattered bits of glass are everywhere. The first car looks like a soda can that’s been crushed. The driver, a woman, is unconscious. I walk up to the car door.

“Ma’am?” I say, my voice shaking. There’s blood on her face, coming from her head. “Ma’am? Can you hear me?” She lifts her head and blinks.

“Try not to move,” I say. “You’ve been in an accident. Um, um, I’m an EMT. My name’s Chastity.” The back door of the car is dented, but I give it a good tug and it opens. “I’m just going to hold your head still, okay?”

“What happened?” she asks groggily.

“You hit the barrier,” I say. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Mary,” she answers. “Mary Dillon.”

Blood, warm and sticky, is dripping onto my hands as I hold her head so that she’s facing forward. My mouth is as dry as sand and my legs are trembling. “Do you have any pain, Mary?”

“A little,” she says. “My head stings.”

“How about your stomach? Any pain or tenderness?”

“No. My shoulder kind of hurts. The left one.”

“Okay,” I say. “That’s probably from the seat belt. How about your neck?”

“Um, a little.” She tries to look around, but I keep her head still.

“Don’t move your neck, okay, Mary? Just stay looking straight ahead.” My voice sounds more normal. The blood trickle seems to have slowed, but I can’t risk taking a good look. “The ambulance is on its way, okay? Help is coming.” I think for a second. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh, Thursday. July eleventh?”

“Great. How old are you?”

“Thirty-five,” she tells me. “Am I in bad shape?” she asks, fear thick in her voice. “Is something wrong with my neck?”

“You’ve been in an accident, so we always check the neck and back. But you seem pretty good to me,” I tell her. “The fire department is on its way. They’ll take good care of you.”

A crowd has formed around us. A man, the driver of the second car, peers in the window. “Can I help?” he asks.

“Are there any doctors or paramedics around?” I ask him.

“I’ll check,” he says, backing away. I hear him asking the crowd. No one steps forward.

I try to remember what else I should do. God! There seems to be so much! “Mary, do you remember what happened? Did you black out?”

“Oh, shit,” she says. “I was reaching for my cell phone. Stupid.”

“Gotcha. Um, how about any medications?”

“Just vitamins.”

“Any medical history? High blood pressure, fainting, anything like that? Diabetes?”

“No,” she says. “Nothing.”

“Any chance you could be pregnant?”

“Not unless it’s immaculate conception,” she says. I can see a smile in the rearview mirror.

“Well, your name is Mary,” I say, smiling back.

I can see the fire truck up ahead, and the EFFD ambulance, lights flashing. Unfortunately, the traffic snarl and the construction are making it hard for them to get here. My arms are starting to shake from not moving them…and from fear, too, heck.