Page 2 of Save Me (The Midnight Cove #2)

AMY

“ D o you have your insurance card available, ma’am?”

I’m almost sure this is the fourth time the registration clerk at the emergency room has asked me this question.

Each time I’ve meant to take action, to do what he’s asked of me, but I’m in a fog I can’t seem to break.

“I’m so sorry, I’m not ignoring you on purpose, I’m just worried about what’s going on back there.

” I point to the double doors that separate the waiting area from the treatment area.

The last time I sent someone I love behind treatment doors, they didn’t come back.

I’d been kept in the waiting area for hours, until a doctor came out with blood on their scrubs, and as I sat there holding my crying daughter, I was told a piece of my heart was gone.

The day my life changed, and it hasn’t been the same since.

He offers a smile. I wonder if he doesn’t care about anyone he registers. Is this just a job for him? Does he have compassion for the people who sit here freaking out as the worst runs through their minds? “Completely understandable. As soon as I get Rosa registered, you can go right back to her.”

That promise prompts me to dig around in my bag for the information he’s requested.

My hands shake as I pull the smaller card holder out, flipping through this and that to get to Rosa’s insurance card.

It takes three attempts for me to grab it.

When I finally wrap my trembling fingers around it, I tell myself to calm the fuck down and act like an adult.

I’m her mother, and I need to get it together.

Handing it over, I give a tight smile, hoping it will speed up the process.

My knee jumps up and down as I can literally hear the clock on the wall in this tiny office tick off the seconds I’ve been stuck here—instead of with my daughter.

Answering all the usual questions, there’s one now that always trips me up, even though I’ve been answering it this way for the last three years.

“Rosa’s father’s name?” His eyes shift up to mine, then back down to his poised fingers on the keyboard. He’s tapping, obviously waiting for me to get this part over with.

Swallowing is hard. The lump in my throat grows bigger, even as I do my best to push it down. It threatens to strangle me, the feelings this question brings up in my chest. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the fact that he’s dead. Rosa barely remembers him, and I can’t seem to forget him.

I whisper, “He’s deceased—I’m a widow.”

Just like it always happens, the registration clerk gives me an embarrassed stare.

Then he looks everywhere but at my face.

Most of them take a glance at my age, then that’s when they start to pity me.

Twenty-six with a seven-year-old and already a widow.

The whispers and gossip were why I left the home I’d known with my husband and moved here, to where my sister has made her own place in the world.

Here I’m not alone; I’ve got at least one person to be my support system.

I turn around, avoiding his gaze, while watching the entrance, praying to God my twin sister, Eve, will walk in.

I need her strength right now, even though she’s a force of nature.

Usually her overzealousness grates on my nerves; today I want it around me, cushioning the blow of real life.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his voice is pitched lower, almost so low I can’t hear it.

It’s awkward every time I tell people I’m a widow.

Some of them immediately have questions.

How did it happen? How long were we married?

How old am I? Does our daughter remember her father?

It’s hard—hard to know what’s being rude and what’s the proper way for me to answer their questions.

In my opinion, it’s rude of them to ask, so I tend to keep my answers short and to the point.

“Thank you.” It’s an automatic response—one I’ve cultivated over the years. It comes without thought and without emotion behind it.

“Amy!”

It’s the voice of my twin. Immediately, my eyes sting, as does my nose.

I fight valiantly to hold the emotions back, to be the strong woman I’ve convinced myself I’ve become over the last few years.

Sometimes she rocks her independence; other times she fails horribly.

Today, how I’m going to handle this is still undecided.

Standing up, I turn around and flag her down. “In here.”

She hugs me tightly, then pulls away. “Where’s Rosa?”

“Back there.” I point to those doors that I still haven’t been able to breach yet. “I’m still getting registered.”

“If you could sign here.” He hands me a piece of paper. “This is a consent to treat her and a financial responsibility form.”

Money. It’s always about money. Quickly, I sign the paperwork, pushing it toward him.

“I’m going to buzz the two of you back. I hope everything goes well.”

I do too, but I know better than anyone else that hopes are just like dreams. Sometimes they fade and turn into nightmares.

“Don’t drop her,” I whisper-shout to Eve as we slowly get Rosa into the house we’re renting.

“I won’t, but you’ve got to get a step on unlocking the damn door,” she whisper-shouts back to me.

Juggling my purse, the prescriptions that we were sent home with, along with an appointment card for an orthopedist. Next week. It’ll be next week before the swelling goes down and we figure out if her wrist is broken or not. Pushing the door open, I sigh as Eve carries Rosa into her room.

Walking into the kitchen, I place everything down on the counter and take a deep breath. What I’ve seen today, I won’t forget for a very long time.

“I want my mom!”

I can hear Rosa screaming as we burst through the doors to the treatment area. They haven’t told me which room she’s in, but a mother’s intuition is never wrong. Following the sounds of her scared wails, I find her three doors down.

“I’m here.” I smile, holding my arms out to her. “I’m here. Sorry it took so long, but I’m here now.”

Her blue eyes are almost swollen shut with how much she’s cried. She and I have never been separated like that before. When she’s yelled for me, I’ve always been right where she needed me to be. Seeing the fear on her face, in her eyes, breaks my heart.

“Aunt Eve,” she sniffs, now wanting to touch my sister. Eve reaches over us, pushing her plastered hair back from her forehead, giving her a smile.

“I’m here too, Rosie. You don’t have to worry. Neither one of us would let anything bad happen to you.”

Right then she’d given up the fight and had decided to cooperate with the emergency room doctors.

The rest of the visit lasted less than an hour, but she’d fallen asleep on our way home.

Sleep is where I want to be right now too, but I have a couple of commissioned pieces I need to finish.

They’ll go a long way toward paying the medical bill I know we’ll have from this.

When do I not have to worry anymore? When do things get easier? All questions I ask myself every single day.

“She’s comfortable,” Eve sighs as she comes into the kitchen. She has a seat at the bar, leaning in on her elbows. “I need a drink, I don’t know about you.” She reaches under the bar, bringing with her a bottle of Jack.

“Isn’t it too early to be drinking that heavily? I mean, it’s still light outside.” I gesture to the big window above the sink.

“Girl, we’ve been through it today. My heart stopped when you called me; I can only imagine how you felt. The whole time I was on the way to the hospital, I tried to keep the worst-case scenario from running through my head.”

Heart-stopping is a very good description. Since the issue with her dad, I don’t handle medical emergencies well. To be blunt, I go right to worst-case scenario every single time. It’s no wonder I’m on anxiety medication.

“You know, it would have been a lot worse if it hadn’t been for the firefighter we met on the beach,” I say, taking a drink from the lowball glass Eve’s poured me.

“Did you get his name?”

Thinking back, I can’t remember. Even if we did, I can’t recall what his name would be.

“No, but he was local. I remember that much. Maybe Rosa and I can make some brownies and cookies, take them over to the fire station as a thank you? Maybe he’ll be there, but if not, they went out of their way to help. I’m thankful for that, no matter what.”

“I bet they would love it, and I know I will,” she grins.

Anytime I make sweets, I always make a batch for us at home. A carryover from being married. He had such a sweet tooth, and I liked to indulge him. “That’s what we’ll do.”

My mind made up, I decide we’re going to take care of that as quickly as possible. If it hadn’t been for the man who helped us, I don’t know what I would do, and if memory serves me right, he hadn’t been too hard on the eyes.