Robyn Carr - The Promise

“Can’t hurt. They’re calling F.D. from Douglas County and Coast Guard is en route.”

“Any details on injuries or fatalities?”

“A lot of kids have evacuated the bus already, some helped out by motorists. Watch the road and park behind emergency vehicles.”

Scott approached cautiously and pulled off the road behind the tow truck. As he was jogging with medical bag in hand, he passed Eric Gentry, who waited just outside his tow truck. Right beyond Eric and the wrecker was a paramedic rescue unit and behind that, an ambulance. Fortunately, he knew the fire captain. No pleasantries were exchanged. “I want you on that medic unit over there and treat who you can. We’ll transport the ones who can’t be treated here,” the captain said.

“Gotcha,” Scott replied.

It was sheer pandemonium, but Scott could see a gathering of young children standing around the medical unit, some of them holding compresses to their heads or limbs. Mac was setting out flares along the road ahead, closing it off. It was an ominous sight, a blue church bus on its side, glass all over the road.

“What have we got?” Scott asked the medic.

“So far it looks like a lot of minor injuries in need of follow-up like X-rays, head CTs, stitches. A couple of fractures we’ll have Coast Guard transport via airlift, and the ambulance can transport our worst casualties, the worst lacerations or contusions. Most of these kids exited the bus on their own, but there are a couple coming out on backboards.”

“The driver?” Scott asked.

“Deceased. The coroner is on his way.”

“Let’s get patching and transporting,” Scott said.

A second and third fire department showed up, and working together, they began lowering the population of injured at the scene of the accident. The accident was upgraded to a fatal, given the driver, and the state police fatal team was soon collecting data, measuring, taking pictures. There was only one adult supervisor for this large group, a youth pastor, but she was only slightly banged up and held the master list of all the children’s names and contact information. She worked with emergency personnel to keep track of the kids being transported and their destinations. Luckily, there were enough teenage camp counselors present to accompany groups of younger children to various area hospitals. It took close to two hours to send ambulances with four, five or even six kids to local hospitals. Scott followed the third group to the Bandon ER It was going to take hours for parents and guardians to fetch them since they were all from out of town. It looked as if only a few had to be hospitalized overnight for fractures, and they were taken to Eugene’s county hospital.

The ER was so chaotic, Scott didn’t have time to call Peyton, but he took a moment to text her that he was tied up and asked if she was doing all right. She texted back immediately. At your house, pizza for dinner, all is well. He spoke to a number of parents, frantically en route to Coos County, and tried to allay their fears as well as he could.

“That could’ve been horrible,” he said to one of the RNs he knew well. “There could’ve been dozens of little bodies all over the road and down the hill.”

She shuddered. “I know. Even though it was mostly cuts and bruises, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight,” she said.

“Me, either,” he agreed.

* * *

Throughout the evening, between pizza, games of Candy Land, baths and getting ready for bed, Peyton flipped on the news from time to time just to catch any updates on the accident. They were still showing the original footage, and the reports remained the same. The authorities hadn’t confirmed it, but it seemed that the bus driver, a fifty-seven-year-old woman, had suffered a stroke or heart attack, causing her to lose control of the bus. And the children, some thirty-seven of them, all survived.

But what a terrible, tragic mess.

Here at Scott’s home, doing the one thing she swore she would not be coerced into doing ever again, Peyton was babysitting for the boss. She wasn’t going to tell him she didn’t really mind. In fact, had Ted’s kids been even half as polite and well behaved as these two little ones, she might still be in Portland. There were so many simple chores that went so smoothly with Jenny and Will. Like brushing out Jenny’s long hair. “Use that,” Jenny said, pointing to the anti-tangle spray in Scott’s bathroom. And then she sat still and quiet, even sighing from time to time. This had never happened with Ted’s kids; his girls wouldn’t let her help them with anything. She had so wanted to brush their hair, take them shopping, cook with them, help decorate their bedrooms, watch girl movies with them, but they’d held her at arm’s length. She’d soon learned never to compliment their clothing or hairstyles or she’d never see them look that nice again.

Scott’s kids ate their pizza slices at the table and carried their dishes to the sink. Really? At four and five? Peyton wasn’t sure what came next. “Should I get your bath ready?” she asked.

Jenny nodded, but Will said, “I take a shower in Dad’s shower.” Ah, so manly.

“Try not to make a big mess, please,” Peyton asked nicely. And he didn’t. He even hung up his towel and put his dirty clothes in the hamper.

Oh, I was so arrogant, she thought. She had known Ted’s trio of kids were tough, but she thought she could manage them, whip them into shape. It was not as though she was without experience, both personally and professionally. And she had failed completely. Not only couldn’t she keep her relationship with Ted alive, but to her horror, the kids had seemed to deteriorate, growing ever worse in their behavior. Their scrapes with their teachers increased, their sass to her became worse than ever, even their grades dropped as if she’d done more harm than good. They weren’t going to turn out well. In fact, she feared what kind of people they might become.

“One last game of Candy Land?” she asked the squeaky clean kids.

“Yay! One more!”

And then it was quiet time. They wanted to “camp” with their Kindles and crawled under the table. “Peyton, you can come in, too, if you want.”

“Think I can fit?”

“You have to make yourself small. And be careful about your head,” Jenny said.

“What the heck,” she said. Down on all fours, she crawled into the tent, ducking her head for the wooden braces where the leaf fit. “Just for a little while. I should put the tent away before your daddy gets home.”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t make Daddy mad,” Will said.

“He’s a very good daddy,” Peyton said, once inside. Will and Jenny slid apart, putting her in the middle. “Very nice,” she said. “You can live in here.”

“We have a real tent,” Will informed her.

“For camping?” she asked.

“Uh-huh. We camp in the backyard, but pretty soon we’re going to camp on the beach before it gets too cold. You can come, too, if you want to.”

“That is so sweet,” she said, carefully lying down on her back between the two of them, her feet sticking out of the tent. “Sadly, I will be busy that day. So, now what do we do?”

“We watch,” Jenny said.

She held up her small screen to share with Peyton while Will was not so charitable. He rolled on to his side, his back curled against Peyton, watching his screen privately. She snuck a peak to make sure it wasn’t inappropriate; he was into dragons, it appeared. “Well, I guess I’ll watch with you. What’s this?”

“Up,” Jenny said. “It’s about balloons.”

Indeed. A balloon salesman who had a very satisfactory life selling them, married to a happy wife, growing older gracefully if not completely fulfilled since he missed out on some adventures. But he was mostly content. And then his wife died!