Family to the Rescue. Lissa Manley

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СКАЧАТЬ man in a baseball cap who seemed to be part of the church group stayed by Seth’s side while they carried Seth away to the ambulance waiting in the parking lot, its lights flashing.

      Two paramedics stayed behind. One started cleaning up and the other approached her.

      “How are you doing?” he asked Kim. “Are you feeling light-headed at all?”

      Kim shook her head. “I’m okay.”

      “Why don’t I take your blood pressure and pulse again just to be sure.”

      As he worked, Kim watched the paramedics load Seth into the ambulance. Lily stayed by her side, a silent support Kim appreciated.

      The ambulance pulled away, and Kim watched it go with a heavy heart.

      “Everything checks out normal,” the paramedic said, rising. “You can go. But if you have anything come up, anything strange at all, be sure and go straight to the E.R.”

      Kim nodded her agreement, too numb to speak.

      “Why don’t you let me take you home,” Lily said. “You have to be dead on your feet.”

      “No, I can’t go home until I’m sure Seth is okay.”

      “I can call you when there’s news—”

      “No. I have to go to the hospital.” Her jaw set, her mind made up, Kim stood and started walking toward where she’d left her tote bag near the bonfire spot, her tired legs having a tough time negotiating the soft sand.

      Lily trotted along beside her. “Are you sure you should be driving?”

      “I can handle it,” Kim replied, remarkably clearheaded now that she wasn’t standing around, purposeless. She might have almost drowned because of her rash decision, but she wasn’t heartless.

      Lily put a firm hand on Kim’s arm. “I’ll drive you in my car.”

      Kim was too tired to argue. She nodded as she reached her canvas bag with her stuff in it, pulled out her fleece pullover and dropped the blanket from around her shoulders. Shivering, she pulled on her sweatshirt, wondering if she’d ever be warm again. She wished she’d brought some sweatpants, too. Oh, well. Her wet board shorts would have to do. She’d put her tennis shoes on when she got to her car.

      “Let’s go,” she said to Lily.

      As they walked to the parking lot, guilt poked her.

      She prayed Seth’s injuries weren’t too serious.

      Chapter Two

      Seth closed his eyes against the rhythmic pounding in his head.

      Bam. Bam. Bam.

      He held back a groan of pain. His head felt like he’d been hit by a Babe Ruth line drive. Five or six times.

      “Would you like some pain medication?” Dr. Anderson, the older E.R. physician who’d been taking care of Seth, asked from where he stood at the end of Seth’s narrow hospital bed.

      “Don’t need it,” Seth replied. He’d been a professional athlete; he could handle pain. And after he’d watched his older brother, Curt, almost ruin his life with a prescription drug addiction, Seth hated taking any kind of medication, even aspirin.

      His bushy gray eyebrows raised, Dr. Anderson looked up from Seth’s chart. “Well, it’s your choice, of course, but you did suffer a grade two concussion—and your laceration required ten stitches, so you’re going to have some fairly significant pain.”

      “No drugs. No way.”

      “Okay. But if you change your mind…”

      “I won’t.”

      Drew poked his head around the E.R. cubicle curtain. “You ready to spring him, Doc?”

      “I think so, the doctor said, looking at the clock. “I’ve held him for three hours, he was only unconscious briefly, he seems to have no retrograde amnesia and everything else checks out all right.”

      “Great,” Seth said. He was anxious to leave the hospital and get home. It had been a long, hard day.

      The doctor looked at Seth. “The nurse will be in with your discharge instructions.”

      He left and Drew entered the room. He had his baseball cap on backward, and his dark blond hair stuck out from underneath it. His brown eyes were shadowed with concern.

      “How’d you get in?” Seth asked. “I thought they only allowed immediate family back here.”

      “Phoebe is tight with Nurse Fiona at the E.R. admission desk, so Fiona was willing to do her best friend’s brother a favor,” he said, clearly feeling smug.

      “Ah. Always pulling strings, aren’t you?”

      “In important situations, yes. And this certainly qualifies.” He moved farther into the curtained room and pointed to Seth’s head, which was covered in a large bandage. “You’re lucky you came away with only a gash on the head and a concussion.” He frowned. “You could have been killed, bro.”

      “Nah,” Seth said, waving a hand in the air, careful not to shake his aching head. “Everything would have been good if I hadn’t tripped over that stupid rock.”

      Drew inclined his head, looking skeptical. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m just thankful you’re okay.” He pressed his mouth together. “I was pretty worried.”

      “Thanks,” Seth said, deeply appreciating Drew’s concern. He genuinely valued the care and compassion that came from his very limited circle of friends. “But I’m all right.”

      The nurse, an old battle-ax of a woman with short white hair and glasses, shoved the curtain aside and blustered in. “Mr. Graham?” she barked.

      Seth winced. She was a health care professional. Couldn’t she speak softly? “Yo.”

      She raised an eyebrow and gave him a dispassionate look. “Listen up,” she said, shoving a clipboard in the air. “I have your discharge instructions.”

      Like a general marching into war, she reiterated what Dr. Anderson had said—that they hadn’t done a CT scan because he had only been unconscious briefly, he had no retrograde amnesia in three hours of observation, and that he was to engage in no sports for a week. She added, quite succinctly, that if he had any lingering or severe symptoms, such as vomiting or onset of amnesia, he was to come back at once for a scan.

      “Last but not least, Mr. Graham, you are not to be left alone for twenty-four hours,” she said pointedly, glaring at him. “No exceptions.”

      “Excuse me?” he said.

      “Standard procedure.” She shrugged. “Those are the rules.”

      Sensing it was useless to argue, Seth took the paperwork she handed to him and signed it. He’d figure out what to do about the twenty-four-hour thing later.

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