Maybe Someday(79)

going battle with my heart. I can’t take this any-

more. I don’t deserve this kind of self-torture.

In fact, I think I need to move out.

I do.

Moving out is the only thing that can start the

healing, because I can’t be around Ridge any-

more. Not with what his presence does to me.

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You hear that, heart? We’re even now.

I smile at the realization that I’m finally about

to experience life on my own. I’m consumed

with a sense of accomplishment. I open the bath-

room door and flip on the light . . . then immedi-

ately fall to my knees.

Oh, God.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no!

I grab her by the shoulders and turn her over,

but her whole body is limp. Her eyes are rolled

back in her head, and her face is pale.

Oh, my God! “Ridge!” I crawl over her and

reach for the door to his bedroom. I’m screaming

his name so loudly my throat feels as if it’s rip-

ping apart. I attempt to turn the door-knob sever-

al times, but my hand keeps slipping.

She begins to convulse, so I lunge over her and

lift her head, then drop my ear to her mouth to

make sure she’s breathing. I’m sobbing, scream-

ing his name over and over. I know he can’t hear

me, but I’m scared to let go of her head.

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“Maggie!” I cry.

What am I doing? I don’t know what to do.

Do something, Sydney.

I lower her head carefully back to the floor and

spin around. I grip the doorknob more firmly and

pull myself to my feet. I swing his bedroom door

open and rush toward the bed, then jump on it

and climb over to where he’s lying.

“Ridge!” I scream, shaking his shoulder. He

lifts an elbow in defense as he rolls over, then

lowers it when he sees me hovering over him.

“Maggie!” I yell hysterically, pointing to the

bathroom. His eyes flash to the empty spot on his

bed, and his focus shoots up to the open bath-

room door. He’s off the bed and on the bathroom

floor on his knees in seconds. Before I even make

it back to the bathroom, he’s got her head cradled

in his arms, and he’s pulling her onto his lap.

He turns his head to look at me and signs

something. I shake my head as the tears continue

to flow down my cheeks. I have no idea what

he’s trying to say to me. He signs again and

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points toward his bed. I look at the bed, then look

back at him helplessly. His expression is growing

more frustrated by the second.

“Ridge, I don’t know what you’re asking me!”

He slams his fist against the bathroom cabinet

out of frustration, then holds his hand up to his

ear as if he’s holding a phone.

He needs his phone.

I rush to the bed and search for it, my hands

flying frantically over the bed, the covers, the

nightstand. I finally find it under his pillow and

run it back to him. He enters his password to un-

lock it, then hands it back to me. I dial 911, put

the phone to my ear, and wait for it to ring while

I drop to my knees next to them.

His eyes are full of fear as he continues to hold

her head against his chest. He’s watching me,

nervously waiting for the call to connect. He in-

termittently presses his lips into her hair as he

continues to try to get her to open her eyes.

As soon as the operator answers, I’m bom-

barded with a list of questions that I don’t know

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the answers to. I give her the address, because

it’s the only thing I know, and she begins firing

more questions I don’t know how to communic-

ate to him.

“Is she allergic to anything?” I say to Ridge,

repeating what the operator is asking.

He shrugs and shakes his head, not understand-

ing me.

“Does she have any preexisting conditions?”

He shakes his head again to tell me he has no

idea what I’m asking him.

“Is she diabetic?”

I ask Ridge the questions over and over, but he

can’t understand me. The operator is firing ques-

tions at me, and I’m firing them at Ridge, and

we’re both too frantic for him even to read my

lips. I’m crying. We’re both terrified. We’re both

frustrated

with

the

fact

that

we

can’t

communicate.

“Is she wearing a medical bracelet?” the oper-

ator asks.

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I lift both of her wrists. “No, she doesn’t have

anything on her.”

I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes,

knowing that I’m not helping a damn bit.

“Warren!” I yell.

I’m off my feet and out of the bathroom, mak-