Rita Herron - Forgotten Lullaby

The windshield exploded. Shards of glass gouged her arms and face. Pain tore through her head and blood, hot and salty, filled her mouth. As the world went dark, an image of Carly and Grant flashed through her mind. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She should have told them she loved them one more time.

And she should have kissed them both goodbye.

GRANT WADSWORTH stared in horror as rescue workers tried desperately to pry open the door of Emma’s small car. She lay inside, unconscious, blood dripping down the side of her face, her skin chalky white. He shuddered, feeling sick all over. A chill engulfed him, not from the cold January wind blowing outside, but from raw stark fear. Another mile and she would have been home, safe and sound with him and Carly. But now…

“Please don’t let her die.” He choked on the last word.

A police officer stood beside him, one hand on his arm as if he expected Grant to bolt for the Honda at any minute. He would, if he thought he could rescue her without harming her more. Chaos surrounded him. They’d dragged out rescue equipment he’d never seen or heard of. Emergency workers, firefighters, police officers, all racing against time to save his wife. While he simply stood by, helpless.

At last the mangled door was torn off, and two paramedics secured Emma’s head and neck, then took her vitals. Another radioed in the information. Their voices and orders faded in and out of his consciousness as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

“Pulse sixty-five, weak and thready, respiration thirty, shallow, BP eighty over fifty…start an IV drip of…let’s cut away her seat belt…on three, we’ll lift her. One, two, three.”

He stared at the dangling seatbelt, now in shreds. Thank God she’d worn it. If only she’d had an air bag. “God, if she dies, I’ll never forgive myself.” He lunged forward to reach her, but the policeman grabbed his arm.

“Let them take care of her. They need to stabilize her.”

Grant collapsed against the side of the police car.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Grant shook his head. “I will be when I know she’s okay. I’m not losing her,” he said through gritted teeth. “Not now, not ever.”

“Looks like there might have been another car involved,” the police officer said quietly. “I found two sets of skid marks. And there’s black paint chips on the Honda. I’m Detective Warner. My men are questioning the crowd for witnesses.”

Grant nodded, confused. So where was the other car? His gaze tracked the parcel of gatherers at the scene. Could someone have seen Emma’s accident?

The detective cleared his throat. “How did you make it here so fast?”

Grant’s head jerked up at the implication. Or had he imagined the suspicious tone in the detective’s voice? “I live about a mile from here. When you called I…I raced right over.”

The detective grunted in acknowledgment. “They say most accidents happen within five miles of your own house.” He chewed the inside of his cheek. “Doesn’t make it any easier, does it?”

“No,” Grant mumbled, his gaze on the mangled car. The rescue workers yelled they were ready to go, and he clenched his hands by his sides as he watched them secure Emma onto the boarded stretcher. Panic and guilt clogged his throat. Memories of another young woman floated into his consciousness—she was bleeding, still and lifeless…he should have done something… God, no, Emma couldn’t die.

He couldn’t lose Emma. He moved to her side and took her limp icy hand in his, kissing it ever so gently, careful of the scrapes on her palms. “Hang on, honey, please hang on. I love you. And I need you so much.”

“Let’s go.” The paramedics hoisted her into the ambulance.

He climbed inside and knelt beside her, massaging her hand between his, a sick feeling swirling inside him at the blood matted in her honey-colored hair. “You can’t leave us, Emma. Carly and I both need you. We love you, sweetheart.”

“We found this in the car,” an officer said, holding up Carly’s prescription.

“It’s for my baby,” Grant explained. “She’s at home with the sitter.”

“I’ll get someone to drop it by.”

Grant recited his address as he traced a finger over the delicate curve of Emma’s chin. The siren screeched and the ambulance jerked into motion. The EMT put an oxygen mask over Emma’s mouth and monitored her vital signs, communicating with the hospital staff over the radio. Her face was so pale. Beneath her eyes her skin had turned a strange bluish color.

“I love you, Emma,” he whispered again. “Don’t you dare die on me.” He kissed her hand, memorizing every detail of her face. She had to make it. She had to survive. He couldn’t live with another woman’s death on his conscience. Especially his wife’s.

THE HOURS DRAGGED into days as Grant held a vigil at Emma’s bedside, praying for a miracle. But her condition hadn’t changed. No news about the person who’d hit her, either.

The steady drip of the IV echoed in the silence of the hospital room, and Grant rubbed his hands up and down his arms, wondering if he would ever be warm again. A few days ago, he’d thought he had everything—a beautiful wife, a new baby, a budding career. If Emma didn’t make it…

Emma’s sister, Kate, crept into the room. “How is she? Any change?”

Grant shook his head, unable to speak.

Kate folded her arms and sighed. “I tried to call Mom, but she’s somewhere en route to Europe. I’ve left messages to let her know what happened.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Kate.”

“Did you reach your folks?”

“Yeah.” He stood, never taking his eyes off of Emma, and thrust a hand through his hair, not caring that the ends spiked haphazardly. “They don’t have the money to fly from Boulder. I offered to pay, even told them the airlines give emergency discount rates, but Dad’s job is in limbo already…” Grant hesitated, aware he was admitting his parents’ financial circumstances.

“I’m sure they’d come if they could.” Kate chewed her bottom lip and he realized he and Kate were actually being civil to each other. They seemed to have called a silent truce in the wake of the accident. Kate stayed with Carly at night. He’d go home long enough to shower and rock his daughter. His stomach twisted painfully as he remembered Carly’s tears the night before. She had never been away from Emma for more than a few hours. She missed her mother, and once again he’d felt helpless.

“I’ll relieve Martha,” Kate said, as if she’d read his mind. Martha Greer was Grant and Emma’s housekeeper. “She’s been great, keeping Carly all day.”

“Yeah.” He saw the sympathy in Kate’s eyes and felt a ridiculous sense of relief to have her there. “Thanks, Kate.”

She gave him a tentative smile, then squeezed his hand. “I love her, too, you know.”

Tears pricked his eyes, but he averted his gaze and swallowed the emotion. Kate brushed Emma’s hair away from her forehead and placed a soft kiss on her temple. “Get well, sis. I’ll treat Carly like she’s my own.”

Grant flinched at the lone tear that streaked down Kate’s cheek. When she closed the door behind her, he slumped in the chair again and took Emma’s hand in his, raking his gaze over her unconscious body. The soft gurgle of the humidifier grated on his frayed nerves. Even knowing the equipment attached to her body was meant to help her, he hated that she needed it. He hated the oxygen mask, the IV needle in her arm, the strong smell of antiseptic and other hospital odors that permeated the room.

He was going crazy counting every breath she took. But it was the only way he could make himself believe she was alive. One breath at a time.