The Sky Beneath My Feet - By Lisa Samson Page 0,88

her.”

“What?”

“He saved her. Margaret. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have made it. That’s what Deedee said. We were at the church when it happened. Just pulled up and saw the flashing lights.”

Holly’s beside me, her arm around my shoulder is all that’s keeping me up. Relief floods in, sucking the life out of my fear. He’s okay. The boys are okay. And then I remember Margaret. Rick saved her life? What happened? I need to get to the hospital, whichever one they’re at.

Ahead of me, Holly asks, “Where did they take her?”

Roy looks at her, then back at me. “Tell you what. Let’s all go.”

And just like that, the three of us go marching off into the night.

“They just left,” Deedee says. “I sent them home. There was no point in them staying all night. He’s done enough already.”

She stands in the hallway outside her mother’s ICU room, speaking in a soft undertone. The nurse who went in to fetch her still hovers off to the side, ready if needed. In the car on our way to St. Joseph’s in Towson, exhaustion overtook me—the storm, the long drive home, talking in circles, the sudden panic of the last hour. Now I feel revived.

“You probably passed each other on the road,” she says.

I reach out and give her a hug. “How is your mother doing?”

“Under the circumstances, very good. It was her heart, Elizabeth. You know she’s had problems. She had an attack, a stroke, and she fell. It was Rick who found her and called for help. I was . . . I was working.” She holds her paint-flecked hands out. “I wasn’t there.”

“Rick found her?”

Deedee’s eyes light up as she tells the story. “He said he heard something. A voice. He followed the sound and found her in the house, at the foot of the stairs. Elizabeth, if he hadn’t been there, she would have lain on the ground for hours. She would have died, I’m sure. She couldn’t get up, she’d hurt her leg.”

“She was calling for help and he heard her? All the way in the shed?”

“Isn’t it miraculous?”

“It’s pretty . . . amazing.”

“And he came up here to check on her, brought the boys. You’re right, he was absolutely amazing. I’ll never be able to thank him.”

At this moment, I have an overwhelming urge to see this amazing husband of mine.

I suppress it, though. We’ve only just arrived, and Deedee could use some comforting.

The four of us head down the hallway to a lounge, where she and Roy fill in some of the details between them. They’d been at the church, where Deedee was nearing the final stage of her mural. (“It’s wonderful, really wonderful,” Roy insists.) When they arrived and saw the ambulance, Deedee flew into a panic. Rick calmed her, explaining that Margaret had fallen—he didn’t know about the stroke yet—but seemed to be all right, though very shaken. Then the paramedics had taken her out on a gurney, which was almost more than Deedee could bear.

“She was able to grip my hand,” she says, her voice husky with emotion. “And she whispered to me not to worry. But really, how could I not worry? I should have been there.”

“You can’t blame yourself,” Roy says.

“He’s right, Deedee. And anyway, Rick was there.”

The words sound strange in my ear.

By the time we’ve reassured her, it’s well past one. Roy tries unsuccessfully to coax her to come home, but Deedee is determined to spend the night in her mother’s hospital room. In the end, we leave her with promises to check back in the morning. We drive back to my house, where Holly unloads my suitcase and takes her leave.

Roy says good night, crossing the street toward home.

“By the way,” he calls out. “I never thanked you. I made a visit to Rooney & Gill, and everything’s taken care of.”

“That’s good to know.”

I slip inside, locking the door behind me. Once again all the lights are off.

That rankles. They should have realized when they got home and found all the lights on that I’d been here. They ought to have waited up, or even called. I check my phone, just in case, but there are no missed calls. I’m miffed.

On the drive back, I imagined myself heading out to the shed, asking Rick about what had happened. Just talking to him again.

But finding the lights off hardens me to the idea.

I leave the heavy suitcase at the foot of the stairs, not wanting