Before she could rip them off Braden—which I feared she might do—the EMTs clattered into the hallway, lugging a gurney and their equipment. They had Braden hooked to an IV and secured in a cervical brace faster than I would have thought possible. They had lifted him on a backboard and were wheeling the gurney out the door as Glen Spaatz and a gaggle of students appeared on the scene, stopping abruptly where the hall met the foyer. Lucy hurried off toward her office, muttering about calling the board of directors.
“Braden McCullers apparently fell down the stairs,” I told Spaatz briefly, watching as his face registered disbelief and worry.
“Oh my God! Cyril’s ghost pushed Braden!” a girl’s voice said from behind Spaatz.
A babble of voices rose up, only to be silenced as the front door thwacked open again and a man appeared on the threshold, eyes wide, gray hair mussed. I’d never seen him before.
“Where’s Mark?” he asked urgently. “Is Mark okay?”
We looked around. No Mark. No Lindsay. No Lonnie or Tyler or Coach Peet, but presumably they were waiting on the bus. I couldn’t tell if anyone else was missing.
“Who are you?” Spaatz stepped forward and challenged the stranger. They were about the same height, but the newcomer was bulkier through the neck and shoulders.
“Eric Crenshaw. Mark’s dad. I saw the ambulance while I was waiting. Is Mark—”
“Take it easy, Dad.” Mark’s voice came from the hallway leading to the ballroom. Lindsay’s nervous face peeked over his shoulder.
“Goddamnit,” Crenshaw said, taking a step toward Mark. “You were supposed to be outside at nine thirty, remember? So we could get on the road to your aunt’s? When I saw the ambu—”
“Sorry. I forgot.” Mark’s voice was sullen; he clearly didn’t like being chewed out in front of his friends.
“That’s not good enough,” Eric Crenshaw snapped, taking a step toward Mark. “You know your mother—”
Rachel’s voice in my ear, begging me to take her to the hospital, drowned out the rest of their confrontation.
“Please, Grace, I have to be there. What if he, like, dies?” She whispered the last word.
“He’s not going to die,” I said firmly. Why did we make statements like that when we had no clue? Denial, I guessed, or hope. I pulled Spaatz away from the group. “When the police show up, tell them Rachel and I have gone to the hospital.”
“The police?” He looked startled. “Oh, shit. Of course, the police.” He pushed a hand through his hair.
“I’m surprised they’re not here already.” I said. I dug in my purse for my keys before realizing I didn’t have my car. We’d all come in the bus. “Damn!”
At Spaatz’s raised brows, I explained my dilemma. “Take the bus,” he said immediately. “Tell the driver. He can come back for the rest of us after he drops you at the hospital. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere any time soon.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a tight smile, grabbed Rachel by the hand, and sprinted toward the bus.
Three hours later, coming up on one in the morning, I sat in the hospital cafeteria, clutching a lukewarm mug of tea in my hands and being grilled by my ex-husband. Braden was still in surgery, his family hovering anxiously in the waiting room, and Rachel’s dad had fetched her an hour ago, promising she could return to the hospital in the morning. My ex, Officer Hank Parker of the St. Elizabeth Police Department, had shown up just as I was debating calling my mom for a ride home or lurking in the waiting room until someone looked like they were headed back to St. Elizabeth. Hank and his new partner, Officer Ally Qualls, a short, dark-haired woman, arrived before I could make up my mind. While Officer Qualls talked to Braden’s family, Hank steered me to the elevator and down to the cafeteria, where he bought me a fresh cup of tea.
“Thanks,” I said with real gratitude, slumping into an uncomfortable plastic chair. The cafeteria smelled like burned toast and was deserted except for a man and a woman in lab coats arguing at a table by the window, and a short-order cook dressed as a mummy yawning over the grill.
“What in blazes were you doing at a high school get-together, Grace?” Hank asked. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs out toward me. He’d thickened a bit through the neck and middle since high school, and his brown hair had thinned a bit, but he still looked sharp in his uniform. He’d applied to the Atlanta Police Department more interested in cop groupies and carrying a gun than protecting the public, but it seemed to me recently that he’d gotten a bit more serious about policing. He’d told Mom he was planning to take the sergeant’s exam before long. “You don’t have the hots for that teacher, that Spaz guy, do you?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion.