Wildest Dreams. Robyn Carr

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      “Once it was me,” Winnie said. “Then I hired a nurse from Boston. On top of that, I might drop my cards at any moment.”

      “My adoptive mother played a lot of bridge. I learned young so I could sit in if they needed a fourth. I shouldn’t play so well—I think my job is at risk,” Lin Su said.

      “Is a competitive table,” Mikhail said. “It will anger Winnie if you win. It will anger her if you don’t play well. You are doomed.”

      The cards were dealt, but before anyone could pick them up, Lin Su’s phone chimed in her pocket. “Excuse me please, Charlie is checking in.”

      Surprise immediately came over her features and she stiffened into a posture of fear. “Your EpiPen? How could you...? Okay, don’t talk too much...The oxygen? Did you call 9-1-1?...Okay, stay on the line, I’ll get them.” She looked at Winnie for just a second. “Charlie can’t breathe. I’m going. Will you be all right?”

      “Mikhail and Troy will be here,” she said. “Just go.”

      “I’ll go with you,” Blake said.

      “I’ve got this,” Lin Su said, turning and running into the house. She pulled her purse out of the kitchen pantry and was on the move.

      Blake stayed with her. When she got to the garage and was heading down the drive to her car he caught her. “I’ll drive you,” he said. “You can deal with your phone while I drive. I’m calmer and faster.”

      She gave it about one second of thought. “Do you have your phone?”

      He pulled it out of his pocket and traded his phone for her keys and they got in. She gave him the beginning of the directions, out of Thunder Point, headed toward south Bandon and Coquille, then she told Charlie to stay calm, stay on the line; she was on her way. She placed the 9-1-1 call and said she needed medical assistance immediately. She explained her son’s condition and even recommended drugs that had been effective before—epinephrine, corticosteroids and magnesium sulfate. She said something very soft to Charlie, then went back to the 9-1-1 operator.

      “I don’t know what happened. He was fine this morning—no wheezing, no symptoms—and now he can’t explain because he can’t talk... I’m a nurse. I’m on my way, I might beat you there... Yes, he had an EpiPen and when I asked about it he just said ‘lost.’ That isn’t like Charlie... Yes, I’m coming, Charlie...”

      She had a phone to each ear, would stop briefly and say “next left” or “right at the light.”

      Blake was cautious but fast. He wouldn’t mind if he picked up a cop who pursued them. In ten minutes’ time he was in a very different part of town—it looked like an industrial area full of storage units and fenced-off areas where big road maintenance and construction equipment were parked. They passed a poor excuse for a strip mall—a convenience store, bar, motel. They drove a little farther, past some run-down apartment buildings and trashy neighborhoods. The sight of rough-looking people—teenagers and adults—just hanging out brought a flood of memories back to Blake.

      Lin Su spoke to the 9-1-1 operator in a normal voice but alternately murmured to Charlie, instructing him to remain calm, take even breaths. Her foot on the floorboard of the car tapped wildly but her hands were steady.

      “This is it,” Lin Su said. “Right turn, sixth trailer in. Oh, God, they’re there! I never heard sirens!”

      Paramedics had just arrived. Blake was pulling up as one of them used a crowbar on the trailer door. It popped open like an old tin can. He parked Lin Su’s car at the front of the trailer so the paramedics would have an unrestricted exit if they took Charlie to the hospital. Lin Su was out of the car and running to her trailer before the car was entirely stopped.

      It was then that Blake looked around. There was an old man with a rake in his hand standing between a fairly decent trailer and Lin Su’s extremely small fifth wheel. He held the rake, though there didn’t appear to be anything to rake; it could have been his idea of a weapon. Across from his trailer there were three young men—boys—standing around the back of a truck that was up on blocks. They looked scary, wearing their pants very low on their hips, sporting tattoos and chains, hair scraggly and unkempt, torn T-shirts. He didn’t see any gang colors but they weren’t Sunday school escapees. There were mobile homes and trailers of every variety, all parked within a perimeter of trees on a dirt patch, no grass. There was one small building—a brick structure that could be a public bathroom or laundry facility—and it was covered with graffiti.

      A police car entered the park slowly and stopped near the fire rig, and closely following the police car was an ambulance. Two EMTs got out and pulled out a gurney, moving to the trailer. They stayed outside as if waiting for instructions to transport, so Blake did three things. First, he gave the three thugs the stink eye. Then he went to the officer’s car and asked where he might find the hardware to close up and lock that trailer. It was that action that finally seemed to persuade the thugs to wander off. He was given directions to the nearest store. Finally he went to the doorway of the trailer and looked inside.

      Lin Su was kneeling on one side of Charlie while two paramedics administered oxygen and managed an IV bag on the other. Charlie was between his mother and the paramedics, eyes closed, fingers twitching a little bit. He looked gray.

      Blake tried to stay out of the way for the time being. It was about twenty minutes before the gurney went into the small trailer and came out again with Charlie on it. He appeared to be sleeping; perhaps he’d been sedated. Lin Su followed the gurney outside.

      “Is he going to be all right?” Blake asked.

      “I think so,” she said. “They’re going to take him to the hospital in Bandon, and if he doesn’t improve right away, they’ll move him to Pacific Hospital, closer to North Bend.”

      “Go with him,” Blake said. “I’m going to see if I can close up your trailer. I’ll bring your car and meet you there. Let me see the phones, please?” She dug around in her purse and handed them over. He quickly punched his number into hers and handed it to her. “If his condition or location changes, give me a call, will you? I’ll see you at the hospital as soon as I can get some kind of a lock on this door.”

      She looked at him in complete gratitude. Her eyes welled with tears. “Thank you,” she said so softly he barely heard her.

      “No crying now,” he said. “It’s going to be all right. Just stay with Charlie.”

       Three

      Closing up that little trailer turned out to be far less complicated than Blake had expected. The elderly man with the rake informed Blake that he had tools he could loan and together they fixed a padlock onto the mangled door. During that exercise Blake had seen a little bit of the inside of the trailer. It was cozy and compact—a bed that folded out when a table was lifted up, a galley kitchen, a bedroom with a small double bed that took up almost the whole room, a little bath with shower.

      Right in the middle of what would serve as kitchen/living room/bedroom, right where he supposed Charlie had collapsed and paramedics tended him, things were messy and awry. The table was pushed up, the bed/bench shoved back, tracks of dirt on the floor, clutter left behind from opening packages of gloves, wipes and syringes. Everything else was shining clean, tidy and spare.

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