A portly sheriff’s deputy hurried from his car and over to Morton and the first responders. “Ambulance is on its way,” he told them.
“Be careful.” What did Morton mean?
The few other cars on Tunitas Road were slowing down, the drivers rubbernecking. A second sheriff’s department vehicle arrived. The deputy hopped out and waved drivers on.
Mom was sniffing. “I feel so sorry for him.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Me too.”
“We’ll help him, won’t we.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course we will.”
“He said Raleigh. North Carolina?”
“I guess. Maybe he’s from there.”
“What’s in Raleigh?”
He had tried to say it. A word starting with a K. Maybe a hard C. “I have no idea.”
“Someone important, he said. I think it’s his daughter.”
“His daughter?” The responders were taking vital signs. One reported findings into a radio. The sheriff’s deputy stood over them, watching. He gave me a quick nod, and I nodded back.
“Yes,” Mom said. “She’s a lost soul. He hasn’t seen her for the longest time. He wants to tell her he loves her.”
“I see.”
“So sad.”
“Yes.”
“We’ll have to go to Raleigh and find her. Bring her back to him.”
My throat tightened—for more than one reason. I gave Mom a shaky smile.
“We’ll do that, Hannah, won’t we? He wants us to.”
“Okay, Mom.”
She held onto me, her body small and vulnerable. I hugged her back, resting my chin on the top of her purple hat. The breeze blew harder, and Mom shivered more. I rubbed her arms. “You’re cold. Want to get back in the car?”
“No. Morton might need me.” She stuck her hands in her pockets.
She would be upset all evening. Perhaps pace the house, restless. In the morning she may have forgotten these events. Or not. If the latter, she’d latch on to every detail she could remember. Again and again she’d insist on going to Raleigh—all the way across the country—to find Morton’s daughter. No amount of talking would persuade her that the daughter’s existence had sprung from her own mind. That the woman may well not even exist.
Dorothy, Mom’s caretaker, would have to deal with it while I was at work. I’d face it when I got home.
I hugged Mom harder, wanting to cry for her. For me. For the man we could do so little to help. How horrible this was, to see someone struggle to survive. How fragile, our lives.
“Be careful.”
Another siren approached. Soon an ambulance pulled up, a man and woman jumping out. Now four voices mingled over their patient, exchanging information. Equipment clinked. What was it like to be Morton, flat on his back on the ground, looking up at unknown faces, his life in their hands?
Another vehicle engine sounded behind me. I turned to see a Channel 7 news van pull off the road.
“Oh, no.” I gaped at the van. “How’d they get here so fast?” They must have been in the area already.
The sheriff’s deputy gazed at a man jumping out of the van, camera up and ready. A woman followed. Looked like a reporter. The deputy mumbled something under his breath and strode past us in their direction. He threw words at me as he walked by: “Can you stick around until they’re done here?”
“Yes.” I knew he’d want my contact information. But I did not want to end up on the evening news.
The deputy hurried on. “You can only film from where you are,” he called to the reporter and cameraman. “I’ll need you to stay back.”
I glanced at Mom. She hadn’t even turned around, her gaze fixed on Morton. The first responders had moved aside, the paramedics fitting a collar around his neck.
“What are they doing?” Mom sounded protective, as if she couldn’t trust them to help her new friend.
“They can’t move him around very much in case he’s got a spinal cord injury. The collar is to protect his neck.”
“He’s going to live, isn’t he?”
My throat tightened. Morton could be someone’s husband, father, grandfather. “I sure hope so.”
One of the paramedics ran to the ambulance and readied a gurney. Next he carried over a backboard and laid it on the ground. With care they moved Morton onto it. They and the firemen lifted Morton up and began carrying him toward the gurney.
I flicked a look over my shoulder. The Channel 7 camera was filming.
“I want to say good-bye.” Mom pulled away from me before I could stop her. She trundled after the paramedics. “Wait! I want to see him.”
They didn’t stop. I went after her.