Maybe Someday(80)

ing my way to Warren’s bedroom. I swing open

his door. “Warren!” I run to his bed and shake

him while I hold the phone in my hand. “Warren!

We need your help! It’s Maggie!”

His eyes open wide, and he throws off his cov-

ers, springing into action. I push the phone to-

ward him. “It’s 911, and I can’t understand any-

thing Ridge is trying to tell me!”

He grabs the phone and puts it to his ear. “She

has CFRD,” he yells hastily into the phone.

“Stage two CF.”

CFRD?

I follow him to the bathroom and watch as he

signs to Ridge while holding the phone in the

palm of his hand, away from his ear. Ridge signs

something back, and Warren runs into the

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kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, reaches to-

ward the back of the second shelf, and pulls out a

bag. He runs with it to the bathroom and drops to

his knees next to Ridge. He lets the phone fall to

the floor and shoves it aside with his knee.

“Warren, she has questions!” I yell, confused

about why he tossed the phone aside.

“We know what to do until they get here,

Syd,” he says. He pulls a syringe from the bag

and hands it to Ridge. Ridge pulls the lid off of it

and injects Maggie in the stomach.

“Is she diabetic?” I ask, watching helplessly as

Warren and Ridge silently converse. I’m ignored,

but I don’t expect anything different. They’re in

what looks like familiar territory for both of

them, and I’m too confused to keep watching. I

turn around and lean against the wall, then

squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to calm my-

self. A few silent moments pass, and then there’s

banging at the door.

Warren is running toward the door before I can

even react. He lets the paramedics inside, and I

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step out of the way, watching as everyone in the

room around me seems to know what the hell is

going on.

I continue to back out of everyone’s way until

my calves meet the couch, and I fall down onto

it.

They lift Maggie onto the gurney and begin

pushing her toward the front door. Ridge walks

swiftly behind them. Warren comes from Ridge’s

bedroom and tosses him a pair of shoes. Ridge

puts them on, then signs something else to War-

ren and slips out the door behind the gurney.

I watch as Warren rushes to his room. He ree-

merges with a shirt and shoes on and his baseball

cap in hand. He grabs his keys off the bar and

heads back into Ridge’s bedroom. He comes

back out with a bag of Ridge’s things and heads

for the front door.

“Wait!” I yell. Warren turns to look at me.

“His phone. He’ll need his phone.” I rush to the

bathroom, grab Ridge’s phone from the floor,

and take it back to Warren.

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“I’m coming with you,” I say, slipping my foot

into a shoe by the front door.

“No, you’re not.”

I look up at him, somewhat in shock at the

harshness of his voice as I slip my other shoe on.

He begins to pull the door shut on me, and I slap

a palm against it.

“I’m coming with you!” I say again, more de-

termined this time.

He turns and looks at me with hardened eyes.

“He doesn’t need you there, Sydney.”

I have no idea what he means by that, but his

tone pisses me off. I push against his chest and

step outside with him. “I’m coming,” I say with finality.

I walk down the stairs just as the ambulance

begins to pull away. Ridge is standing with his

hands clasped behind his head, watching as it

leaves. Warren makes it to the bottom of the

stairs, and as soon as Ridge sees him, they both

rush toward Ridge’s car. I follow them.

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Warren climbs into the driver’s seat, Ridge in-

to the passenger seat. I open the door to the back-

seat and pull it shut behind me.

Warren pulls out of the parking lot and speeds

until we’re caught up to the ambulance.

Ridge is terrified. I can see it in the way his

arms are wrapped around himself and he’s shak-

ing his knee, fidgeting with the sleeve of his

shirt, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.

I still have no idea what’s wrong with Maggie,

and I’m scared that she might not be okay. It still

doesn’t feel like my business, and I’m definitely

not about to ask Warren what’s going on.

The nervousness seeping from Ridge is mak-

ing my heart ache for him. I move to the edge of

the backseat and reach forward, placing a com-

forting hand on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to

mine and grabs it, then squeezes it tightly.

I want to help him, but I can’t. I don’t know