South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [97]
“The child is fine. He’s in the ambulance. Now go.”
Madeline ran back across the road. “I don’t know for sure if it’s Randi,” she told Paul, grabbing one of his hands with both of her own. “I think so. But there was a boy who’s okay. He’s in the ambulance. The officer wouldn’t tell me anything else.”
Paul closed his eyes. When he opened them again he looked marginally less ill. “Thank you.”
More emergency vehicles arrived—another ambulance, a fire truck—and the crew cut the car’s dash away, then positioned a board Under the woman in the car and slowly drew her out. Randi’s braids dangled toward the ground, and even from across the highway Madeline thought she heard the faint clack of beads and jangle of tiny bells. She made an involuntary sound, a whimper, and Paul tightened his grip on her hand. When the second ambulance had roared away with Randi in it, John Fitzgerald headed across the highway.
“Not supposed to do this,” he said, looking at Paul. “But I’m going to. She’s alive, but she’s all broken Up. I think she’ll survive. I hope to God so, but it’s going to be a long haul.”
Oh, Randi, Madeline thought. Little fool. Please don’t die. Please don’t.
“Greyson?” Paul asked.
“He’s all right, basically, but Raylene’s got her hands full with him. They don’t want to give him anything, but they’re afraid he’s going to hyperventilate. Poor kid.”
“Can I see him?” Paul asked.
Madeline felt shakier than ever—relief that Greyson was all right, and that Paul had stepped in so surely. She had to see Grey with her own eyes.
John considered. “Maybe. I’ll talk to Raylene.” He strode off.
Madeline kept her eyes on the broken car. She thought of Randi’s husky voice that always drew her in against her will, her curvy, perfect body in snug jeans, that river of beaded braids flowing down her back, her bare feet Up on the dash of the Buick, toes wiggling. There was something so human and innocent and alive in that. She thought of Gladys and Arbutus’s fondness for her, the granddaughter of their old friend. They would be devastated by this. Live, Madeline willed.
A few minutes later a woman she’d never met strode toward her carrying Greyson, who was swaddled in a blanket. “We left it Up to him,” she said gruffly.
“Paul,” Greyson said in a reedy voice, his fair skin paler than ever, and held his arms out. Paul scooped him Up and hugged him. But then John came back with a question about Randi’s insurance—or lack of—and Paul gently transferred Grey to Madeline. His legs clamped around her waist and he buried his face in her neck. She felt him trembling.
“Hush now, sweetheart,” she said into his hair, which was damp with sweat, though his skin felt cold. “Everything will be all right. Don’t worry.” Her heart was pounding and her hands were still trembling ; she had no way of knowing if things would be all right, but she had to say it. She walked a small distance off and then back again, rubbing Greyson’s back. Some of the tension left his body as she paced, and the trembling had mostly stopped by the time Paul finished talking to John.
Paul reached out to touch Greyson’s head as if to reassure himself that he really was all right, and Madeline felt Greyson relax a little more in her arms. “Hey, kiddo,” Paul said softly, his voice cracking a little. “How are you holding Up there?”
“Okay,” Greyson whispered, but his chin began to tremble and his eyes filled with tears. He stretched his arms out and Paul gathered him close again. Madeline touched Raylene’s arm and drew her aside.
“I’m wondering what will happen with Greyson.”
Raylene made a face. “Not sure.”
“Would it help if I took him home with me?” She assumed Paul would be following the ambulance wherever it took Randi, and then he’d have his job at the prison and Garceau’s to deal with, whereas she had nothing but time to spare. “I take care of him sometimes, I’m Madeline Stone, I came Up here to—”
“I know who you are.” Raylene studied Madeline, and then she said, “Maybe so. Maybe that’d be the best thing. Hate to disrupt him any more than he already has