Nora Roberts - Tribute

“Tell them to hurry. Don’t move him.” Cilla leaped up and ran for the house.

HE COULD USUALLY sleep through anything. But the shouting scraped along Ford’s consciousness, then the sirens drove straight in. Too bleary to put them together, he rolled out of bed, stumbled out onto the veranda. Yawning, he scanned across the road, wished he could conjure a cup of coffee with the power of his mind. The sight of the ambulance outside Cilla’s barn had him snapping awake. When he didn’t see her in his quick, panicked search, he rushed back inside to drag on clothes.

He streaked across the road, up Cilla’s drive, keeping his mind blank. If one image, even one image, formed, a dozen horrible others would follow. He pushed through the crowd of workers, said her name once, like a personal prayer.

When he saw her standing behind the portable gurney, his heart started beating again. Then it slammed into his belly when he realized Steve lay on the gurney.

“I’m going with him. I’m going.” Her voice teetered on the thin edge between control and hysteria. “He’s not going alone.” She gripped the edge of the gurney, stuck like glue as they transported it to the ambulance.

The fear in her eyes chilled Ford to the bone. “Cilla. I’m going to follow you in. I’m going to be there.”

“He won’t wake up. They can’t wake him up.” Before anyone could deny her, Cilla climbed into the back of the ambulance.

He took her purse because Shanna had retrieved it and pushed it into his hands. Shanna, Ford thought, who’d had tears streaking down her face.

“He was in the barn,” Shanna choked out, and slid into Ford’s arms for comfort. “Lying on the floor, under the bike. The blood.”

"Okay, Shan. Okay, honey. I’m going to go. I’m going to find out how he is.”

“Call me, please. Call me.”

“First thing.”

After a wild drive to the hospital, Ford carried Cilla’s purse into the ER, too worried to feel even marginally foolish.

He found her standing outside a pair of double doors, looking helpless.

“I gave them his medical history, the stuff I could remember. Who remembers all of that kind of thing?” She pawed at the neck of her shirt, as if looking for something, anything, to hold on to. “But I gave them his blood type. I remembered his blood type. A-negative. I remembered.”

“Okay. Let’s go sit down.”

“They won’t let me in. They won’t let me stay with him. He won’t wake up.”

Ford put an arm around her shoulders and firmly steered her away from the doors and to a chair. Instead of sitting, he crouched in front of her so her eyes were on his face. “They’re going to fix him now. That’s what they’re doing. Okay?”

“He was bleeding. His head. His face. Lying there bleeding. I don’t know how long.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know! ” She pressed both hands to her mouth, and began to rock. “I don’t know. He wasn’t in his room, and I figured, I thought, well, I figured, he shoots, he scores. That’s all. I almost left. God, God, I almost left without even looking, even checking. It would’ve been hours more.”

“Breathe.” He spoke sharply, took her hands and squeezed. “Look at me and breathe.”

“Okay.” She breathed, and she trembled, but Ford saw a hint of color come back into her face. “I thought he’d stayed at Shanna’s, so I was going to go buy materials, but he didn’t. I mean, she got there and said he didn’t. I worried that he might’ve gotten lost or something. I don’t even know. But I went to see if his bike was there. And we found him.”

“In the barn.”

“He was lying under his bike. I don’t know what could’ve happened. His head, his face.” Now she rubbed a hand between her breasts. Ford could almost hear the slam of her heart against the pressure. “I heard them say he’s probably got a couple of broken ribs, from the bike falling on him. But how did the bike fall on him? And… and the head injuries. His pupils. They said something about a blown pupil. I know that’s not good. I had a guest spot on ER once.”

She hitched in three raw breaths, then let them out in a gush. And the tears came with it. “Who the hell has a motorcycle accident in a barn? It’s so goddamn stupid.”

Taking the tears, and the hint of anger, as good signs, Ford sat beside her and held her hand.

When the door flew open, they lurched to their feet together. “What is it? Where are you taking him? Steve.”

“Miss.” One of the ER nurses put herself in Cilla’s path. “They’re taking your friend up to surgery.”

“Surgery for what? For what?”

“He has bleeding in his brain from the head injury. They need to operate. I’m going to take you up to the surgical waiting area. One of the doctors can explain the procedure to you.”

“How bad? You can tell me that. How bad?”

“We’re doing everything we can. We have a good surgical team prepping for the procedure.” She gestured them to an elevator. “Do you know if Mr. Chensky was in some sort of fight?”

“No. Why?”

“The injury to the back of his head. It looks as though he’s been struck. It’s just not consistent with a fall. Of course, if he was driving without his helmet…”

“It didn’t happen when he was driving. It didn’t happen on the road.”

“So you said.”

“Cilla.” Ford laid a hand on hers before she could get into the elevator. “We need to call the cops.”

HOW WAS SHE supposed to think? How could she sit in this room while somewhere else strangers operated on Steve? An operating room. Operating theater. They called it a theater sometimes, didn’t they? Would the patient and doctor be costars? Who got top billing?

“Miss McGowan?”

“What?” She stared into the blank eyes of the cop. What was his name? She’d already forgotten it. “I’m sorry.” She groped through the chaos of her mind for the question he’d asked. “I’m not sure what time he got back. I went to bed about midnight, and he wasn’t back. Shanna said he left her before two. Just before two, she said.”

“Do you have Shanna’s full name?”

“Shanna Stiles,” Ford supplied. “She works for Brian Morrow. Morrow Landscape and Design.”

“You found Mr. Chensky at approximately seven-thirty this morning?”

“I said that. Didn’t I say that?” Cilla pushed at her hair. “He wasn’t in the house, so I checked the barn for his bike. And I found him.”

“You and Mr. Chensky live together?”

“He’s visiting. He’s helping me out for a few weeks.”

“Visiting from?”

“Los Angeles. New York. I mean, he was in New York, and he’s going back to L.A.” Whatever churned in her belly wanted to rise up to her throat. “What difference does it make?”

“Officer Taney.” Ford put a hand over Cilla’s, squeezed. “Here’s the thing. A few nights ago, I saw someone walking around, going into Cilla’s barn. It was late. I was working late, and I looked out the window on the way to bed and saw someone, saw a flashlight. I thought it was Steve, and didn’t think anything of it.”

“But it wasn’t.” Remembering, Cilla shut her eyes. “I was supposed to buy a padlock, but I didn’t. I forgot about it, didn’t think about it, and now-”

“What do you keep in the barn?” Taney asked her.

“I cleaned out the attic and stored things there. A lot of things I have to sort through. And there’s other stuff. Old tack, tools, equipment.”

“Valuables?”

“For some, anything connected to my grandmother is valuable. Stupid, stupid to think I could turn it all around, make it new.” Make it mine, she thought. Stupid.