Chapter 13
An ambulance siren startled Linda. She bolted upright, lost for a moment. The sight of Joseph sleeping in her arms grounded her.
She looked out the window to see who squawked their siren. It came from an older ambulance that looked like a hearse. The driver was bald with a big meat-slab face. He got out, slammed the door and walked around to the back of the ambulance. His eyes were locked straight ahead the whole time. A no-nonsense, get-it-done guy if there ever was one. He opened the back door and pulled a gurney out. The gurney cleared the bumper, its legs unfolding and snapping into place. Another man jumped out of the back of the ambulance, holding an intravenous fluid bag. A clear tube ran from the bottom of the I.V. bag under a white sheet covering a large woman on the gurney. The man holding the IV bag closed the ambulance hatch and helped his beefy partner roll the patient into the hospital.
Linda picked up her purse. She dug around for a moment before pulling out a baby bottle filled with apple juice. A little bit of the juice dribbled out when she touched the nipple to Joseph’s mouth. But he didn’t open his mouth. Didn’t blink. Didn’t move at all.
“C’mon Joseph,” she said, brushing the nipple over his lips. “You have to drink.”
Joseph remained still. She adjusted his head into the crook of her elbow and put the bottle of juice down.
“You want a drink, don’t you honey?” she asked, stroking his head. Beneath his eyelids she saw his pupils slide back and forth and then stop. She opened his left eye with her thumb. Her lips parted and she looked up toward the receptionist’s window, forgetting that she still held Joseph’s eye wide open, showing nothing but the white of his eye.
She cradled Joseph, got to her feet and walked toward the receptionist, her legs scissoring faster and faster. As dead tired as she’d been a moment before, there was no trace of it now. Every part of her felt electric.
The receptionist rose to her feet, her face tight with irritation, pointing and shouting something about taking a seat. Linda heard none of it. Only one thing mattered.
Her words flooded out, overpowering the receptionist and driving her back a step even though a thick glass window separated them. “Something’s wrong with my baby,” she said, breathless. “Please stop talking and get someone over to help him. What’s wrong with you? Stop talking and get somebody to help him. Did you hear me! Get a doctor! Now!”