First Responder On Call. Melinda Di LorenzoЧитать онлайн книгу.
In. Out.
“You’re safe and sound now,” the voice added.
In. Out.
Celia at last blinked away the last of the fog and cast a careful look around, trying to get a handle on her surroundings. The nearly drawn blinds drew her attention first. They revealed that night reigned, and that a rainstorm raged.
Still raged, she thought, as she remembered it hitting the windshield of her car before she was blindsided.
But that wasn’t what she wanted to be thinking about now.
She swiveled her head, noting that the room was pale blue and lit with soft light. Her gaze finally landed on a plump, olive-skinned, sixtyish woman—the source of the voice, obviously—who was smiling at her from a safe couple feet away. She was dressed in scrubs, wore a stethoscope around her neck, and had on a name tag that read Jane. As Celia took in the woman’s appearance, she connected the dots. The soothing ambience, the tube hanging from her hand, and the nurse added up to one thing.
I’m in a hospital.
That realization provided her with some relief. But where was Xavier? In the hospital somewhere, too? Could the nurse be trusted?
And why do I have to wonder if a nurse can be trusted?
Her head ached, and Celia briefly closed her eyes to minimize the pain. From behind her dropped lids, a vision of her son filled her mind. In it, he was tucked under the blue-eyed man’s arm during the ambulance ride. Remo. She knew it was his name, even if she didn’t recall why. Was Xavier still with him? For no tangible reason, she kind of hoped so. Deciding she had no choice but to ask—trust or no trust—she opened her eyes and her mouth at the same time. But the nurse—Jane—spoke first.
“Hello, Mrs. Poller,” the other woman said, stepping closer. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“It’s Miss,” Celia croaked automatically.
“I’m sorry?”
“Miss. I’m not married.”
“Well. That’s one more thing we know about you, isn’t it? Your name and your marital status. It’s a start.”
Celia eyed her and tried to keep her heart from fluttering. Something in the back of her mind told her she didn’t want to be known. And not knowing why it was true was frustrating. Especially since she wasn’t sure how it affected her son. Regardless, she needed to know he was okay. She started to clear her throat, and the action brought a cough-inducing dryness to the surface. Jane moved nearer again, grabbed a cup and a straw from the bedside table, then held them up to Celia’s lips.
“Don’t drink too much, too fast,” she cautioned. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”
Celia nodded and took a miniscule sip. The icy water slid down her throat and cooled the burning sensation.
“Better?” asked Jane.
“Much,” Celia replied. “Thank you.” She took one more taste, then met the nurse’s eyes and chose the direct route. “Was my son brought in, too?”
“Your son?” The blankness in the woman’s tone spiked Celia’s pulse again.
She forced herself to answer as calmly as possible. “He’s five, but on the small side for his age. Brown hair, gray eyes, and freckles. He was wearing a red T-shirt with a fire truck on it.”
Jane set down the cup, then moved to the foot of the bed and pulled a chart from a clip fastened there. She flipped through a couple pages and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, Miss Poller,” she said. “I don’t see any notes on here about your son. I can call down to Pediatrics and—”
“No.”
“What?”
Celia exhaled. Whatever it was she feared, the thought of further exposing her son made it that much worse. She had to keep the attention off him. It was a compulsion.
“What about Remo?” she asked.
“Remo DeLuca? The paramedic with the dreamy eyes?” Jane smiled.
Even though she wasn’t sure of the last name, Celia nodded. The description fit. And besides that...how many Remos could there be hanging around the hospital?
“He’s the one who brought me in,” she added.
Jane took another look at the chart, and her brow furrowed. “He’s not listed here.”
Doubt crept in. Was there a reason he’d left his own name off her admission documents? Was it significant? And did she even have time to think about it when her instincts told her she needed to get to Xavier as quickly as possible? Then, from somewhere in Celia’s mind, a full-body image of the man popped up, and in it, Remo wasn’t wearing a uniform.
He was off-duty.
Celia exhaled and made herself smile. “That’s because Remo wasn’t acting in an official capacity. He’s...a friend. Which is why I think my son might be with him.”
Jane thoughtfully tapped the chart for a second, then sighed. “Okay. Let me do a quick check of your vitals, and then I can send out a general page through the hospital. If Mr. Blue Eyes is here, I’m sure he’ll come running.”
Celia nodded, sat back, and pressed her lips together to keep from impatiently demanding that the nurse do her job as fast as humanly possible.
Remo smiled as Xavier put the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle in place, then let loose with a triumphant fist pump.
“Did you see that, Remo?” the kid asked excitedly. “There were fifty pieces, and I got them all.”
“I did see it,” he agreed. “And I’m pretty impressed. Should we put this one away and start another? Or do you want to go back to coloring?”
“Another puzzle.” But the kid no sooner started to pull apart the pieces than he stopped again and lifted a hesitant look in Remo’s direction. “Do we have time?”
“You mean how long until we see your mom?”
The kid didn’t answer immediately. He just flicked his thumb over the bumps of the completed puzzle. Remo waited. For the last thirty or so minutes, the little boy had been painstakingly pressing the bits together. Though he had to be tired and scared, he’d managed to elevate keeping a stiff upper lip to a whole new level. He’d chatted about cartoons and YouTube and his friend Kevin from school. The one thing he hadn’t brought up was his mom, and Remo was sure it was on purpose.
Even though the door to the subject had been opened now, Xavier’s next sentence came out in a small voice. “She says patience is a virtual reality.”
Remo fought a chuckle. “A virtue?”
Xavier nodded without looking up. “Yeah.”
“And she’s right, buddy,” Remo told him. “But I know you’re worried, and it’s okay to talk about it.”
The little guy sighed a deep, far too adult sigh before lifting his face and asking, “They’re going to fix her, right?”
“That’s their job.”
“Does that mean yes?”
For the first time in his life, Remo wished he was better at making grand promises he couldn’t personally guarantee. Reassurance was one thing, but sugar-coating wasn’t his forte. Even when it came to children, he believed it was better to be honest. Kind but forthcoming. Something he’d always appreciated