Sparking Sara (The Men on Fire Series) Page 3

  I find it hard not to choke up thinking about my parents.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t know if you have a husband or kids, but if you do, they would want me to tell you that you need to fight to come back to them. Trust me. I know. You need to do everything you can to get better.”

  I hear a noise behind me and see a nurse lurking in the doorway. I stand up. “Uh, sorry.”

  “No, you’re fine. But the doctor is on his way to clean her up if you don’t mind waiting outside for a bit.”

  “Okay, sure.” I turn to Sara. “I’ll be back in a little while, Sara.”

  I’m not sure why I said that to her. It’s not like she knows who I am or cares that I’m leaving. I sit on a bench outside her door and watch a doctor walk in and pull a curtain around her.

  After a few minutes of fiddling around with my phone, a nurse walks up with a woman. “Your cousin is right in there. The doctor is in with her. He’ll be out in a few minutes if you can wait here.”

  “Alright. Thank you.” The woman looks at me and then the door behind me. “You must be Oliver.”

  I stand up. “No. I’m Denver. I was one of the firefighters on the scene of the accident.”

  “Oh, sorry. I just assumed.”

  “Who’s Oliver?”

  “Her boyfriend.”

  “But you’ve never met him?”

  “No.” She shifts her weight around from foot to foot. “Sorry, I’m Sara’s cousin, Joelle. I’m really her only family with the exception of my mom, but she’s in a memory care facility.” She nods to the door. “Sara and I aren’t exactly close. I know about Oliver but I’ve never met him.”

  “Nice to meet you, Joelle. Has Oliver been contacted?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t have his number. What do you know about her condition? They wouldn’t tell me much over the phone except that it was critical.”

  “Why don’t we take a seat?” I motion to the bench. “I don’t know much either. She has a head injury and they gave her medicine to keep her asleep while she heals.”

  She gasps. “As in, she’s in a coma?”

  I shrug. “You’ll have to ask the doctor. He’s in with her now. Maybe he’ll have more information when he comes out.”

  “So you were at the accident?” she asks.

  “I was with Sara. I held her hand for about thirty minutes while they extracted the driver. Did you know the girl who was driving?”

  She shakes her head. “Like I said, Sara and I aren’t very close. I don’t really know her friends. I used to babysit Sara when she was ten or eleven and I was in my early twenties. And we spent a few weeks together about four years ago, but that’s about it.”

  “I’m sorry you weren’t close,” I say, feeling bad that Sara doesn’t have any family who truly cares about her wellbeing.

  She shrugs. “Well, aside from our age difference, Sara’s not exactly the kind of girl who makes friends easily.”

  “What do you mean? What kind of girl is she?”

  “You know, the arrogant artist type.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “She’s an artist?”

  “A painter. And when her parents died four years ago, she shut everyone out and poured herself into her paintings. Then, a year later, when people started to notice her work, things got even more distant between us.”

  I register what she said and my heart sinks. “Her parents died?”

  “Yeah, they were much older than most parents of a twenty-year-old. They were more like grandparents. They adopted Sara when they were in their fifties.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how they died?”

  “My uncle, her dad, died of a heart attack, and then her mom suffered a stroke a few months later.”

  “Wow. That must have been hard on her.”

  “It was. You have no idea.”

  “Actually, I do. I lost both parents as well.”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Thanks. So, will you be able to stay with Sara in the hospital?”

  “Me?” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “No. I don’t mean to sound selfish, but I just don’t have the time. I told you my mother is in a facility, and between her and my eighteen-month-old twins, I don’t have a spare minute.” She looks at her watch. “In fact, I have to be home in an hour. I got my neighbor to watch the twins because my husband is out of town on business. I mean, I’ll try to pop in when I can, but they won’t let kids up here, so …”

  “So she’ll be alone.”

  “There’s always Oliver. I don’t know his last name, but maybe the police can track him down.”

  The doctor opens the curtain surrounding Sara’s bed and walks out of the room. “You’re Sara’s family?” he asks Joelle.

  “I’m her cousin,” she says. “Her parents are dead and she doesn’t have any siblings. Can I see her? Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Sure, come on in.” The doctor looks at me but talks to Joelle. “Do you want to discuss her case alone?”

  Joelle looks at me. “It’s okay. He’s the firefighter who saved her. He can be here.”

  “Okay, then. I’m Dr. Miller. Your cousin has been in a serious car accident. She hurt her head pretty badly. She’s got what we call a diffuse brain trauma due to cerebral edema with a coup contrecoup injury pattern.”

  Joelle looks at him with eyes glazed over. “You might as well be speaking Chinese,” she says.

  “Essentially, the brain is nothing more than a marshmallow floating in a cup that’s just a bit bigger in diameter than the brain itself. When you’re in a vehicle that suddenly crashes, the brain will rush forward, hitting the front of the skull, and then bounce back to hit the rear of the skull. This causes damage to both the frontal cortex and the posterior of the brain.”

  Joelle’s hand covers her mouth. “Oh my God. What does that mean?”

  The doctor sighs. “Well, that we don’t know. And we won’t for some time. Maybe days or weeks. Sara has a lot of blood and swelling in the brain.” He points to a wire coming out of her skull. “See this? This measures ICP. Intercranial pressure. We need to try and keep the ICP down or we may have to drill another hole and remove part of her skull to relieve the pressure.”

  Joelle sits down in the chair next to the bed and looks at her cousin. “This sounds bad. Is she … is she going to die?”

  “At this point, we don’t know. Anything is possible. With brain injuries, we could be looking at death or complete recovery or anything in between. We’ll know more in a few days when we can do another MRI after the swelling goes down. But right now, the swelling is only getting worse, and it will continue to do so for about the next twenty-four hours.”

  “And the tubes down her throat?” Joelle asks.

  “One is the ventilator. It’s breathing for her. The other is a feeding tube for nutrition.”

  “She can’t breathe on her own?”

  “Not right now she can’t. Her brain needs to heal before that can happen. Assuming the brain damage didn’t go all the way down her brain stem, she may eventually be able to breathe on her own.”

  Joelle looks at the doctor in horror. “She may never be able to breathe on her own?”

  As they continue to discuss Sara’s condition, I look over at the hospital bed. She looks a little better now. At least the blood is gone. Her face is easier to look at, and I can tell that she’s a beautiful woman. But there are still tubes and wires everywhere. I can’t imagine what her boyfriend will think when he sees her.

  The doctor puts a hand on Joelle’s arm. “You need to prepare yourself for the worst. With this kind of brain injury, almost every body system can be impacted. It’s possible she may never walk or talk. It’s also possible she could make a full recovery.”

  “What are the chances of both of those scenarios? What are the odds she’ll die?”

  He shakes his head. “I really can’t say. It’s different for everyone. But Sara has youth on her side, so for now, we sit back and monitor h
er and hope for the best.”

  “I can’t be here much,” she tells him. “I have twin toddlers at home.”

  “I can stay,” I tell them. “Until her boyfriend gets here.”

  The doctor nods. “Do I have your permission to discuss Sara’s case with, uh …”

  “Denver Andrews,” I tell him.

  “Do I have your permission to discuss it with Mr. Andrews in your absence?”

  Joelle nods. “Yes, and with Oliver—that’s her boyfriend. We’re trying to get ahold of him.”

  “I’ll keep you updated as much as I can. And feel free to call the nurses’ station at any time.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Miller,” she says.

  Joelle and I sit with Sara for a while, but we don’t talk much. She calls her husband and explains everything to him. Then she stands up. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. John—that’s my husband—said he’ll try to find Oliver, but we just don’t know much about him. Except that he does a lot of traveling.” She nods to Sara. “They both do.”

  Joelle and I exchange numbers before she leaves.

  “You’re really a very kind person to sit with her,” she says on her way out.

  “It’s the least I can do.”

  She flashes me a sad smile and then walks out.

  Sometime later, I’m startled awake by a loud beeping noise. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the chair next to Sara’s bed. The night nurse comes in and looks Sara over. “Her fever is getting worse. I’m going to put some cooling packs under her armpits.”

  “Does she have an infection?” I ask.

  “It’s possible due to the head wound,” she says. “But more than likely, her brain is having trouble regulating her body temperature. It’s common in head injuries. I’m also going to turn the temperature down in the room. I can bring you a blanket if you’d like.”

  I look at the clock and see it’s after midnight. “That’s okay. I’m going to head home to get some sleep. Can you … keep her company sometimes? I feel bad that nobody has really been here for her.”

  “You’ve been here for her.”

  “But I’m not family. She doesn’t know me from Adam.”

  She nods sympathetically. “The day nurse told me you’re the one who rescued her. I’ll do what I can. We all will. I promise.”

  “Thank you. I don’t have another shift for a few days, so I’ll come back in the morning.”

  “You’re coming back?” she says, surprised. “I thought you were just sitting with her until her family got here.”

  “Her family did get here,” I say. “All she has is a cousin. One cousin. And a boyfriend, apparently, but he’s MIA. So, yeah, I’m coming back. Nobody should have to go through this alone.”

  She studies me for a minute. “Are all firefighters like you?”

  I laugh. But on the inside, I’m disgusted with myself. “No firefighters are like me. I’m in a class all by myself. Believe me on that one.”

  “A bit cocky, are we?” she asks with a flirtatious smirk. Then she holds out her hand. “I’m Tiffany.”

  Seriously? This is the second time today I’ve been hit on by hospital staff while Sara lies dying in bed.

  “Hi, Tiffany. I’m Denver. And I’m really tired, so I’ll see you later.”

  I grab my phone and walk out of the room as her words trail behind me. “I hope so.”

  Chapter Four

  The wet heat from the hot shower feels good on my stiff shoulders. I realize now how tense I must have been yesterday when I was in the car with Sara.

  I didn’t get much sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I relived those moments with her. Only this time, the car was toppling over the edge with me inside. When I wasn’t dreaming about Sara, all I could think about was my parents’ accident and seeing their dead bodies.

  They were vacationing in Colorado when it happened. Both Aspen and I flew up there after we got the phone call. They didn’t tell us our parents were dead, not until we got there. But I knew they were. We wouldn’t have been told to go to the police station instead of the hospital if they were alive. And even though they had their IDs with them at the time of the accident, we were still asked to go to the morgue to identify the bodies.

  Aspen couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to do it either, but there was no one else. And I’m the big brother. Well, by three minutes, anyway. It’s my job to protect her. But I never told my sister that those moments were the most horrifying of my life. To see our parents lying on a bed of cold, hard steel, just a sheet covering their alabaster bodies—it’s the memory that plagues my dreams.

  Suddenly, I have the need to make sure Sara isn’t lying in the morgue on a bed of cold, hard steel. I quickly dry off and call her cousin.

  “Joelle, it’s Denver Andrews. Have you heard anything about Sara?”

  “I talked to a nurse an hour ago. She said nothing has changed. Her ICP remains high, and she’s still under sedation. She spiked a high fever overnight, so the nurse told me to dress warmly because they have the temperature turned down in her room.”

  I’m not sure why I breathe a sigh of relief, because that really doesn’t sound like good news. But it’s better news than her being dead.

  “And Oliver? Have you found him yet?”

  “No. He must be worried sick by now. I know I’d be going crazy if John had gone missing and I couldn’t reach him.”

  “You don’t know where he lives or works?” I ask.

  “I really don’t know much about him. Sara met him at one of her showings, I think. He’s in the business, but I’m not sure if he’s an artist or if he works for a gallery or what.”

  “How long have they been together?”

  “More than a year, maybe? I’m not really sure. I’m sorry, I know I’m not much help.”

  “I have some contacts at NYPD. I could put in a call to see what they can do.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” she says.

  “What about social media?” I ask. “Maybe we should start there.”

  “Sara isn’t active except for the one app that deletes messages as soon as you send them.”

  “Snap Chat?” I ask.

  “Yes, that’s the one.”

  “No Facebook account? How about Twitter or Instagram?”

  “She’s not on Facebook. I don’t know about the others. I guess we could try, but in my experience, people don’t always use their real names, so I’m not sure it will be all that helpful in finding Oliver. But I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

  “What about Sara’s other friends? Do you think you could contact any of them to come sit with her?”

  She snorts into the phone. “Ha! Like any of them would bother. They’re way too into themselves. The circle Sara ran in, let’s just say those snooty artists aren’t exactly the caregiving type.”

  “So there’s nobody?”

  There’s a long silence and I can practically hear Joelle thinking.

  “Well, I could try Lydia. But, to be honest, I’m not sure she’d come either.”

  “Lydia?”

  “They were childhood best friends where Sara grew up in Stamford, Connecticut. When they graduated from high school, they both moved to the city and took waitressing jobs. But like I told you yesterday, when Sara lost her parents, she withdrew from everyone. And then when she started living the life of an artist, everything changed. I’m not even sure Sara and Lydia are in contact anymore.”

  “Still, it might be worth a try,” I tell her.

  “Okay,” she says. “I’ll reach out to her.”

  “Do you mind if I sit with Sara again today?”

  “You don’t have to do that, Denver. I know you must be very busy.”

  “I just got off a twenty-four-hour shift yesterday, so I have a few days off now.”

  “And you want to spend that time babysitting my cousin?”

  “She shouldn’t be alone, Joelle. Nobody should be under these circumstances.”

  She sighs into t
he phone. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sure you think I’m a grade-A bitch. But Sara and I didn’t have the best relationship these past few years. I know I shouldn’t hold that against her when she needs someone the most, and I’m really trying not to, but I do have other obligations with my mom and the twins. And I don’t live in the city, so the commute alone is difficult. But I promise to try and get there when I can. Maybe I can stop by later this afternoon for a few hours.”

  “That would be nice,” I say. “I’ll let you know if the police find anything.”

  “Thank you, Denver.”

  “It’s all part of the job.”

  “I doubt that,” she says. “But thank you, anyway.”

  After we get off the phone, I send a text to a buddy of mine over at NYPD to see if he can get me Oliver’s contact info, and then I head out to the hospital.

  The subway is only four blocks from Aspen and Sawyer’s townhouse, which is good, because even though they do have a garage out back complete with a car they keep here that they said I’m free to use, I won’t use it.

  Sometimes I wonder how I ever did my job in Kansas City back when I was a cop. For a long time after my parents’ accident, the only time I drove a car was when it had KCPD on the side of it. It makes me wonder if I became a cop for the same reason I became a firefighter—to try to save people. But the thing is, I never did save anyone back then. In fact, all I did was get myself into a deep pile of shit. I was too trusting, and I paid the price. I promised myself I’d never let something like that happen to me again.

  But living in New York is different. Nobody here looks at me like I’m a criminal. They don’t whisper about me behind my back. They don’t put the CLOSED sign in their shop windows when they see me coming. They don’t laugh at me when I’m down on my luck.

  The past ten months of living here have been the best months I’ve had since high school. Since before my parents died. And even if I never get offered a permanent position at FDNY, it still beats the miserable existence I had back in Missouri.