The Promise. Робин Карр
some Goldfish crackers. “We have our own dish,” she instructed. “Then we play. Then we have dinner. Then we have a bath. Then ice cream.”
“Wow, that sounds like a very busy schedule. And sounds like you’re almost ready to take care of yourselves. Want to show me the dish you want for the fishies?”
Jenny was happy to do that. She pulled the step stool over to the counter, climbed up and opened a cupboard that revealed some bright-colored plastic plates and bowls.
“Do you have kids?” Jenny asked.
“Nope. But I come from a very big family, and I have lots of brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews. Lots,” Peyton replied.
“Like five?”
Peyton laughed. “More like twenty-five.”
Jenny looked quite impressed.
The very first thing to put Peyton a little more at ease was Scott’s house. It was quite nice but very ordinary and on the small side. She looked around a little bit. There was nothing uppity or fancy here. There was a kitchen with nook, small dining room, living room, master with bath, second bath and two more bedrooms. Right away she was pretty sure Scott would never say the words, I have an image to maintain, Peyton.
“Where does the babysitter stay?” she asked Jenny.
“Gabby has the whole downstairs!” Jenny said.
“We’re not allowed down there—it’s hers!” Will said. “She has her own TV!”
“I suppose she should,” Peyton said. “She probably has things to watch that you wouldn’t like that much.”
“And she has a boyfriend! Charles. They kiss!” Jenny said.
Peyton laughed. “You might have a boyfriend someday, you know.”
“No, I don’t like boys. Except Daddy and Will. Sometimes Will.”
“And what does Daddy say about that? As if I don’t know.”
“He says, good.”
Will lost interest in the conversation when it veered into boys and kissing. He went to his backpack for his Kindle and held it up while he snacked, watching some downloaded movie or cartoon. During this time, Jenny informed Peyton that they could have pizza for dinner because that’s what they did when there was no cooking. Gabby had to visit her mother, so Daddy was cooking, but not too much. Peyton was shown where to find the frozen pizzas and ice cream. Peyton was fully capable of that but wondered if Scott might be home before then. While Jenny was conducting her kitchen tour, Will left the room. He returned quickly, his arms laden with blankets, some dragging along the floor.
“Excuse me, sir,” Peyton said. “What’s going on there?”
“It’s for a fort.”
“Where?”
“There,” he said, indicating the dining room table.
“Where did you get the blankets?” she asked.
“From the closet floor. They’re fort blankets, not bed blankets. They’re too dirty for the bed, Gabby said.”
“I see. So I guess Daddy allows this?”
“Sometimes he gets in it with us, if he doesn’t have a book or a phone call,” Will explained.
Peyton stepped closer to the dining room to watch the construction of the fort, which was accomplished with all the precision of experienced builders. Heavy books held the blankets on top of the table, chairs were turned around to make more space underneath, one blanket on the floor, a couple of pillows inside.
“And what do you do in there?” she asked.
Will shrugged and just pressed on. “Take stuff in there.”
“Sometimes we have ice cream in there,” Jenny added. “Or movies. And games and books and stuff. But not paints or clay or Play-Doh.”
“I can see how that would be a problem,” Peyton said. “I’ll be in the living room.”
The kids disappeared inside, and she was very grateful for that. She wanted to turn on the TV, see if there was any coverage of this wreck. It wouldn’t be good to turn on the news and have the kids hear anything shocking or scary since their father was there. But she wanted to know any available details. She was not optimistic there would be much news as this was a very small town, and it was an accident off the main roads.
But, ah! In the age of smartphones there was amateur footage already sent to news stations. And it looked god-awful. A blue school bus was on its side halfway off the road, back emergency door gaping open and lots of emergency vehicles all around. There were other vehicles scattered around, but she couldn’t tell if they’d been involved. A Coast Guard helicopter was taking off, presumably airlifting a patient or patients—USCG provided emergency services to the local area. The scene looked chaotic and terrifying, but the broadcaster said that even though there were thirty-seven children on board and many injuries, there was only one fatality, the bus driver.
The group had been en route to a church camp along the river; they’d come from the north part of the state. There were young camp counselors among the group, and one young lady with a bandage on her forehead was interviewed. “We were skidding and spinning and hitting other cars, and then all of a sudden the bus just flipped over. All the kids were tossed everywhere, and we landed on top of each other in a big pile. No one knows what happened.”
The newscaster said that while it was as yet unconfirmed, it was possible the accident was caused by the driver suffering a medical episode.
Indeed, news film showed two cars and a truck that looked damaged, and it was reported that area hospitals were preparing for injured. And, typical of a small town, curious about everything, the police were now managing crowd control.
“Looks like pizza for dinner,” she muttered to herself.
* * *
Scott called Mac’s cell from the car. “I got the call. I’m going to come by the scene to help first responders with triage before continuing on to the hospital.”
“Can’t hurt. They’re calling F.D. from Douglas County and Coast Guard is en route.”
“Any details on injuries or fatalities?”
“A lot of kids have evacuated the bus already, some helped out by motorists. Watch the road and park behind emergency vehicles.”
Scott approached cautiously and pulled off the road behind the tow truck. As he was jogging with medical bag in hand, he passed Eric Gentry, who waited just outside his tow truck. Right beyond Eric and the wrecker was a paramedic rescue unit and behind that, an ambulance. Fortunately, he knew the fire captain. No pleasantries were exchanged. “I want you on that medic unit over there and treat who you can. We’ll transport the ones who can’t be treated here,” the captain said.
“Gotcha,” Scott replied.
It was sheer pandemonium, but Scott could see a gathering of young children standing around the medical unit, some of them holding compresses to their heads or limbs. Mac was setting out flares along the road ahead, closing it off. It was an ominous sight, a blue church bus on its side, glass all over the road.
“What have we got?” Scott asked the medic.
“So far it looks like a lot of minor injuries in need of follow-up like X-rays, head CTs, stitches. A couple of fractures we’ll have Coast Guard transport via airlift, and the ambulance can transport our worst casualties, the worst lacerations or contusions. Most of these kids exited the bus on their own, but there are a couple coming out on backboards.”
“The driver?” Scott asked.
“Deceased. The coroner is on his way.”
“Let’s get patching and transporting,” Scott said.
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