Junk Mail(23)

“I’m calling an ambulance.” I reach for my back pocket to grab my phone, but even in her fragile state, Gram musters a bark of resistance.

“No way, José. Do you know how much a ride in one of those things costs? I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine, Gram. And I can’t take care of you all on my own. You need to see a doctor.”

“But we can’t afford it!” she whines. “Just get me an ice pack.”

Only Gram would give me lip when she can’t even stand upright.

“The only thing I’m getting you is medical attention,” I tell her sternly. “And that’s the last I want to hear on the subject.”

I thumb in my phone password, considering my options. I could just call 911, despite Gram’s wishes. Or Libby or Sabrina. They went straight home after Speakeasy, and I know either of them would be here in an instant to help out however they could. But for reasons beyond my understanding, my fingers fly across my phone, frantically searching for Josh’s contact and pressing CALL.

“Hello, this is Josh.” He sounds wide awake and alert, and I’m immediately certain that I made the right call.

“I need your help. It’s Gram. She fell.” I speak in short, panicky sentences.

“Text me your address. I’m leaving now.” There’s a muffled rustling sound, probably him putting on his coat, then a few seconds later, the squeak of a door swinging open into the rain, which is falling steadily now. I guess he’s really coming. “Does she need an ambulance?”

I gnaw on my lower lip, giving Gram a sideways glance. She looks so defeated, trembling on the bed. “She doesn’t want me to call one. She says it’s too expensive.”

Josh doesn’t miss a beat. “Tell her my company insurance will cover it. I’ll call it for you. I’m gonna hang up so you can send me your address, okay?”

“Okay,” I squeak back. “Hanging up now. See you soon.” I end the call and share my location with Josh. That’ll be faster than having him type the address into his GPS.

“You’re not calling a damn ambulance, are you?” Gram mumbles through a groan of pain.

“No, I am not. Josh is. He said the company insurance will cover it.”

I may only have a view of half of Gram’s face, but I can tell the smile stretching across her face must be ear to ear. Only she would get excited about Josh stuff at a time like this. I could feign annoyance about it, but I don’t have the energy to. Instead, I approach the bed, taking Gram’s soft hand and running my thumb across the bluish veins on the back of it. I’m so thankful for her. So thankful she’s alive.

“That Josh is a good guy,” she whispers, giving my hand the tiniest, gentlest squeeze. “A really, really good guy.”

I don’t even have a response to that, because in my heart, I think I already know how good he really is.

When the sirens approach, I run downstairs to welcome two ambulances’ worth of EMTs, soaking wet with rain. I gesture toward the staircase, and without further instruction, they rush past me with swift precision, their black boots leaving wet prints on the carpet runner.

No niceties, no nothing. For them, this is routine, but for me, my own house suddenly seems foreign, like the set of a medical drama. Everything is blurry and unrecognizable.

I try to follow them up the stairs, but a paramedic keeps me downstairs, offering me a forced smile as she reminds me they’ll need to keep the path clear to carry Gram down on the gurney. I want to shriek, to tell her that Gram would want me to be up there, but instead, I swallow my panic and nod. She’s in good hands, I remind myself, but that doesn’t stop my heart rate from climbing faster than those EMTs took the stairs.

Moments later, Josh arrives, both his leather jacket and the fitted gray tee underneath it soaked through with rain. Although he’s never been in my house before, something about having him here is comforting, familiar, like slipping into an old, worn-in sweater.

He looks at me, saying nothing, because his eyes tell me everything I need to know. When he opens his arms, I give in, falling into his embrace as the tension in my shoulders releases for the first time since I came home. A sob escapes me, and the tears I’ve been holding back spill onto his shoulder.

“Shh, you’re okay,” he whispers, smoothing my hair with his hand as I bury my face in his chest.

The thought occurs to me that this isn’t the type of thing someone does for a potential business partner, but I dismiss it, focusing instead on the smell of the storm on his skin. It’s cool and relaxing, and I’m able to breathe a bit more steadily when the EMTs reappear on the stairs, carrying Gram down on the stretcher.

“This is ridiculous,” she yells over the chaos. “Do I hear you crying, Peyton? Knock that shit off. I’m gonna be fine.”

One of the medics looks at Gram like she’s out of her mind, but I laugh, using the side of my hand to wipe away the evidence of my tears. Leave it to Gram to give me sass as she’s carried out the door by the paramedics.

The flashing red lights are blurred by the rain, but the sirens are just as loud as ever. Off she goes. As I watch the lights disappear into the storm, I feel a hand on my shoulder—it’s the same paramedic with the forced smile from earlier.

“From what we can tell, your grandmother is going to be just fine,” she says gently, reassuring me. “The doctor will want to examine her just to make sure there’s no head injury or broken bones. It’s nothing we’d keep her overnight for. Maybe your boyfriend can drive you to the hospital so you’ll all have a ride home tonight.”