Pocketful of Sand(74)

She must know that I won’t be sleeping. I nod. “That would be great, thank you.”

She squirts some antibacterial foam in her hand as she approaches the door, and then turns to me again. “Is there someone I can call for you? Anyone that you’d like to be here? For you or for Emmy?”

She’s asking about her father.

But I’m thinking of Cole.

Cole.

My heart, my battered, tattered, aching heart squeezes at the mention of his name. It slips off my tongue like a plea. “Cole,” I tell her. “Cole Danzer will probably be here soon.” How long has it been since Emmy and I left the house in the ambulance? How long has it been since he said he’d be right behind us?

Another shot of panic wrecks my chest, sending bone and blood spraying. What if…? I suck in a breath and hold it to still the throbbing of my insides.

Please God, don’t let him be hurt. I couldn’t take anything more right now. Nothing more. Please.

“I’ll send word to the ER waiting room. He’ll probably show up there first.”

I try to smile. I’m not sure how effective my efforts are. “Thank you.”

She nods. “Of course. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”

As soon as the door is closed, I head for Emmy’s bed. I perch one hip on the edge of the mattress. “Emmy, it’s me,” I announce quietly.

I listen for a response. Anything. A word, a moan, a whimper. I hear nothing but the soft whir of the Bear Hugger machine that pumps warm air into the plastic blanket that rests between her skin and the cloth ones.

“Can you open your eyes and look at me, baby?” I try to keep my voice steady, even though it wants to tremble. As does my chin. But I hold back the shaking and the tremors, the tears and the sobs. I want to wake her up, not scare her.

“Emmmy. Emmmmaline Saaaage,” I say in a sing-song voice. “Wake up, sleeping beauty.”

She doesn’t stir. I reach under the covers and take her slowly-warming hand, stroking each tiny finger from base to tip, massaging them, trying to help coax blood back into them.

I start to hum her favorite song. It’s from a cartoon that she loves. She always sings along to it when it comes on, and then again when it goes off. I stop every few bars to speak her name. To tell her I love her. To ask her to open her eyes.

I smell the coffee before I hear Vera bringing it in. But when I turn to thank her, it isn’t Vera holding the steaming cup. It’s Cole.

He’s pale. His hair is mussed like his run his fingers through the longish locks a thousand times. His eyes are flat when they meet mine.

“Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks, his voice a low, soothing balm to my frazzled nerves.

I nod, unable to form the words that would tell him how very grateful I am that he came when he did tonight, that he helped me find my daughter, that he helped save her life.

“I saw the Sheriff at your house, so I stopped and got that squared away.”

Ryan. I’d forgotten about him since Emmy went missing.

Emmy.

My precious Emmy.

I nod as one sob escapes. I clamp it off before it can boom out into the room by tucking my head against my arm and smothering the sound. The coffee smell gets stronger as Cole approaches. And then all I smell is him. Cold ocean and warm skin. Salt and soap. Cole.

He wraps me in his scent even as he pulls me into his arms. I bury my face against his neck and I cry. Silently. My whole body shaking with my efforts to stay quiet. I pray and I scream, I beg and I blame. I love and I hate, all without uttering a sound other than my breath hitting Cole’s throat.

When my outburst has run its course, I pull away, sniffing as quietly as I can and then turning back to Emmy. I take her hand back into mine and, together, Cole and I guard her, we shelter her, we love her back to life.

In the stillness of the room, with the muted beeps and whirs of monitors and machines as his only backdrop, Cole tells Emmy a story.

“Once upon a time, there was a lonely man building a sandcastle on the beach. He was used to the cool sand and the cool wind, but never had he felt a warmer breeze than he felt on this one particular day. It wasn’t coming from the sea or from the southeast as it so often did. This one was coming from somewhere closer. With his hands in the sand, the man stopped and turned around. Standing right behind him was the most beautiful little girl. She looked so much like someone he loved and lost. She had shiny black hair and big green eyes. She looked just like her mother, who was standing beside her. Both of them took the man’s breath away. He started to turn away, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t turn his back on them. Instead, he gave the little girl a daisy. They were the favorite flower of the child he lost. And then, the little girl and her mother walked away. The man knew when they did, that he would never be the same again. He knew he would never forget the two beautiful girls on the beach that day. And he didn’t. He thought about them every day. He even dreamed about them sometimes, dreamed about laughing with them, playing with them. Loving them like families should love each other. He started to worry that he’d never see them again, but God had a different plan. The little girl and her beautiful mother moved into a house nearby and the man got to see them every day. Sometimes just through the window, but it was enough. He knew then that he would fall in love with the little girl and her mother. And he did. Just like he dreamed that he would.”