Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were out in force, and I watched as London slapped at her arm. Her bike wobbled slightly as she temporarily released her grip on the handlebars, but she didn’t seem to be in danger of falling. My little girl had come a long way since that first bike ride, and I sped up, pulling beside her.

“You’re such a good rider now!” I called out.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Maybe we could bring Bodhi for a bike ride sometime.”

“He doesn’t know how yet. He’s still using the training wheels.”

As soon as she said it, I remembered Emily telling me the same thing.

“Do you think you’re ready to try some hills?”

“I don’t know,” she said, giving me a sidelong look. “They’re kind of scary.”

“They’re not too bad,” I said. “And it’s kind of fun to go even faster.”

Letting go of the handlebar again, she reached over and scratched at her opposite arm. Again the bike wobbled.

“I think I got stung by a mosquito.”

“Probably,” I said. “But mosquitoes bite, they don’t sting.”

“It’s itchy.”

“I know. When we get back home, I’ll put some hydrocortisone cream on your arm, okay?”

We eventually made our way to the hillier section of the neighborhood, pedaling up a gradual incline. The opposite side was shorter and slightly steeper, and when we reached the top, London slowed her bike to a stop and put her feet down.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“It’s kind of big,” she said, an anxious tremor in her voice.

“I think you can do it,” I said encouragingly. “How about we give it a try?”

As a kid, I barely would have considered the slope a hill. Of course, I was remembering something from a quarter century earlier, and in my mind, I had always known how to ride a bike. Perhaps I’d forgotten the uncertainties of being a beginner.

I say this now because of what happened next; I’ll also say that had there not been a specific chain of unpredictable events-one leading to the next in a domino effect-then most likely, everything would have been fine. But it wasn’t.

As soon as London got the bike moving again, she wobbled and swerved from the middle of the road to the left-hand side. It was a bigger wobble and more of a swerve than I’d seen in a while and she probably would have righted herself, were it not for the car that began to back out of the driveway twenty yards up. I doubted the driver had seen us; hedges surrounded the yard and London was small. Furthermore, the driver seemed to be in a hurry, based on his speed, even in reverse. London locked on to the sight of the car and swerved farther left; simultaneously, she slapped at another mosquito bite. Directly ahead of her loomed a mailbox mounted on a sturdy base.

Her front tire hit the shoulder where the asphalt met the dirt.

“Watch out!” I screamed, as the bike wobbled hard. London tried to get her other hand back on the handlebars but it slipped off the grip. By then, I knew what would happen, and I watched in horror as the front wheel suddenly jerked. London catapulted over the handlebars, her head and upper body smashing into the mailbox with a sickening thud.

I was off my bike and racing toward her, screaming her name even as her front tire continued to spin. I vaguely noticed the look of surprise on the driver’s face before I crouched beside London’s limp form.

She was facedown, unmoving, utterly silent. Panic flooded every nerve as I gently turned her over.

So much blood.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God…

I don’t know whether I was saying the words or hearing them in my mind as my insides turned to jelly. Her eyes were closed; her arm had simply flopped to the ground when I’d rolled her, like she was sleeping.

But she wasn’t sleeping.

And her wrist looked as though someone had stuffed half a lemon under the skin.

In that instant, my fear was as all consuming as anything I’d ever experienced. I prayed for a sign that she was still alive, but for what seemed an eternity, there was nothing. Finally, her eyelids fluttered and I heard a sharp intake of breath. The scream that followed was ear shattering.

By then, the driver was gone, and I doubted whether he’d even seen what happened. I didn’t have my phone so I couldn’t call 911. I thought about rushing to a house-any house-to use their phone to call an ambulance, but I didn’t want to leave my daughter. Those thoughts raced through my head in the blink of an eye and she had to get to the hospital.

The hospital…

I scooped her into my arms and began to run, cradling my injured daughter in my arms.

I tore through the neighborhood, feeling neither my legs nor my arms, hurtling forward with single-minded purpose.

As soon as I reached our house, I opened the car door and laid London on the backseat. The blood continued to flow from a gaping wound on her head, soaking her top as if it had been dipped in red paint.

I raced into the house to grab my keys and wallet and rushed back to the car, slamming the front door of the house so loudly that the windows rattled. Jumping behind the wheel of the car, I turned the key, my tires squealing.

On the seat behind me, London was no longer moving and her eyes were closed again.

My senses sharpened with adrenaline, I had never been more aware of my surroundings as I edged the accelerator higher. I flew past houses and rolled through a stop sign before gunning the engine again.

Hitting the main road, I passed cars on the left and right. At a red light, I came to a stop, then rolled through, ignoring the sounds of honking horns.

London lay silent and terrifyingly inert.

I made the fifteen-minute drive in less than seven minutes and slammed to a halt directly in front of the emergency room. Again, I cradled my daughter in my arms and carried her into the half-full waiting area.

The intake nurse knew an emergency when she saw one and was already rising as she called out, “This way!” directing me through the double doors.

Rushing her into an examination room, I laid my daughter on the table as a nurse hustled in, followed a moment later by a doctor.

I struggled to explain what had happened while the doctor lifted her eyelids and shone a light at her pupils. His movements were efficient as he barked commands to the nurses.

“I think she was unconscious,” I said, feeling helpless, to which the doctor responded tersely with some medical jargon that I couldn’t hope to comprehend. The blood was wiped from London’s face and her wrist briefly examined.

“Is she going to be okay?” I finally asked.

“She needs a CAT scan,” he replied, “but I’ve got to staunch the bleeding first.” Time seemed to slow down as I watched the nurse clean London’s face more thoroughly with an antiseptic pad, revealing a half-inch gash directly above her eyebrow. “We can stitch this, but I’d recommend that we get a plastic surgeon in here to do it so we can minimize the scarring. I’ll see who’s available unless you prefer to call a surgeon you know.”

My new client.

I mentioned the doctor’s name and the ER doctor nodded. “He’s very good,” he said before turning to one of the nurses. “See if he can make it here. If not, find out who’s on call.”

As two more nurses entered with a gurney, London stirred and began to whimper. In an instant, I was at her side, murmuring to her, but her gaze seemed unfocused and she didn’t seem to know where she was. Everything was happening so fast…

As the doctor started to question her gently, all I could think was that I’d convinced her to ride down the hill.

What kind of father was I?

What kind of father would urge his child into such a risky situation?