Chapter 11. Alarmed

WHITNEY

On Tuesday, Buck and I spent the morning at the firehouse. We removed the damaged flooring and sheetrock the firefighters hadn't already pulled out, and completed the measurements I'd intended to make on Sunday, before I'd been thwarted by the fire. I revised my list of materials needed, and we set off for the building supply store.

The first thing I put in my cart were two sets of hardware for the exterior doors at the townhouse, the front door and the kitchen door. I bought the type with a numeric keypad, like Joanna had. Physical keys were slowly becoming obsolete. They were easy to lose, they could break, and if one got into the wrong hands the only solution was to install a whole new lock. With a keypad, all a homeowner had to do was change the code to prevent anyone with a previous code from gaining access.

This easy task complete, we headed to the flooring department.

"Sorry," said the clerk. "There's kinks up and down the supply chain. Hardwood floor planks are on back order. We've got engineered wood if that'll work for you."

Engineered wood, while still relatively durable, had only a thin layer of hardwood atop a plywood base, and thus could not be repeatedly refinished. We'd much prefer real hardwood. I'd see about getting some elsewhere. We declined, but thanked the clerk for the information.

We bought sandpaper and enough stain to refinish the floors in the bedrooms. Several sheets of drywall along with multiple gallons of primer went onto our carts, as well. I bought small paint samples in shades of red, yellow, and gray. Once I determined what combination looked best in the firehouse, I'd be back to buy more to complete the painting. We also bought a doorbell with a built-in security camera for the townhouse, and five wide-angle security cameras, one for each side of the fire station and one for the back of the townhouse.

Our last stop was in the lumber department. While I counted out lengths of trim and quarter round, Buck meandered down the aisle. He returned with a number of raw pinewood slats and a heavy-duty piece of plywood.

"What's all that for?" I asked.

He said nothing, but a slow grin spread across his face. I took a second look at the materials. What could he make out of them? A lattice for climbing roses? A ventilated bin for compost? "It's for a crib!" I shouted, matching Kavish in my excitement and volume. "Colette's pregnant!"

Men passed by, casting looks in our direction, some of them smiling. One patted Buck on the back, chuckled, and said, "God help ya, son. Your life will never be the same."

Buck confirmed my suspicion with a proud grin. "The baby's due in late January."

"Why didn't y'all tell me?!"

"We didn't want to jinx things by telling anyone too soon. Besides, I'm telling you now."

My mind reeled. I was thrilled for my cousin and my best friend, and myself as well. I'm going to have a baby cousin! A baby cousin once removed, officially, but whatever the relationship would technically be, I was over the moon.

We took our items to the checkout. While the cashier rang us up, I texted Colette a photo of my face with a huge smile on it. Buck just told me the news!

She texted me a photo right back. It was a picture of her in her chef's uniform, a hand over her mouth as if she were about to succumb to morning sickness. She accompanied the photo with a message. My pregnancy's been real fun so far. She followed it with the green sick-face emoji.

Buck read the message over my shoulder. "It's been hard for her to go to work, what with all that heat in the kitchen and the food smells."

"Maybe it'll pass soon. I've heard morning sickness gets better as things move along."

"I sure hope so. She's miserable."

Between Joanna's daughter, Macy, being sentenced to bed rest and Colette's nausea, I began to think maybe Collin and I should just adopt some shelter cats to complete our family when the time was right.

We loaded the large materials onto the flatbed trailer attached to Buck's van, and stowed the smaller supplies in his van and my SUV. After a quick lunch of fast-food burritos, we drove back to the fire station, arriving at a quarter to two. Buck opened the rolling door of the big garage bay and started unloading.

We were about halfway through when he left the bay to carry some of the drywall upstairs. No sooner had he disappeared through the upstairs door than Joanna came veering around the corner, teetering on her feet. She held a hand to her forehead. A lit cigarette dangled from her lips, smoked down to a nub. With my arms full, I couldn't reach out immediately to steady her. By the time I set the cans of paint down, she'd grabbed the metal fireman's pole and appeared to be hanging on for dear life. Her mouth opened and the cigarette fell to the concrete floor, smoldering as she turned vacant eyes on me and muttered gibberish that sounded like Kavish's nonsense words.

I rushed over and ground out the butt with the toe of my boot. "Are you okay, Joanna?"

Her head circled on her neck. Is that a yes or a no? She crooked her elbow around the pole to hold herself upright while shaking another cigarette from her pack. It took three tries before she managed to get it between her lips. When she did, a few stray pieces of tobacco fell out of the end. She went to light the cigarette with her plastic butane lighter, but was off-kilter again. She nearly set her hair and collar on fire before I was able to take it from her. The cigarette dropped from her lips and hit the floor near the butt of the other before rolling a few feet away.

My heart pounding like a hammer, I tucked the lighter in my pocket, cupped my hands around my mouth, and shouted up through the hole in the ceiling. "Buck! Buck, come quick! Something's wrong with Joanna!"

Buck's face appeared, peering down through the void. Seeing Joanna, he set aside the pieces of sheetrock in his hands and ran for the stairs, his footfalls thundering overhead. It would have been quicker to slide down the pole but, with Joanna hanging onto it for dear life, that wasn't an option. He clambered down the steps and dashed over. "Is she having a stroke?"

I didn't know whether Joanna was suffering a stroke, a heart attack, or something else entirely but, no matter what was happening, it was clear the woman needed medical attention ASAP. My first reflex was to run for the alarm button on the wall, but I realized that was a misguided impulse. Joanna's eyes rolled back in her head and she began to slide down the pole. Oh, my gosh! "Call nine-one-one!" I shrieked. While Buck whipped out his cell phone, I grabbed at Joanna, claiming two handfuls of her blouse and a bra strap, enough to slow her descent but not stop it. At least I'd broken her fall. I went down with her, falling to my knees on the hard concrete. Damn, that hurts! Too bad I wasn't wearing my knee pads. I was able to get my arms under Joanna to prevent her head from slamming to the concrete. I maneuvered to a sitting position on the floor. As gently as I could, I crooked a knee under her and positioned her so that her head rested on my thigh.

Meanwhile, Buck was on the phone with the dispatcher. He turned to look at me. "What's the address here?"

As I rattled it off, he repeated it into the phone. The dispatcher kept him on the line while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. It felt as if we were stuck in time, each second an eternity. I was aware of each of my breaths, as well as Joanna's, as I kept watch to make sure she continued to breathe. Looking down at her, I contemplated the irony of having to wait for EMTs when an ambulance had once made its home right here in this very bay. Tremors shook her body as she lay in my lap, staring at nothing, her eyelids at half-mast.

An eerie sensation slithered up my spine as I realized her breaths were coming slower, the time between each inhale increasing bit by bit by bit. I put a hand under her chin, feeling for a pulse point. Her heartbeat, too, seemed to be slowing down. Perhaps her respiration and pulse had slowed because she was no longer moving around, much as these vitals slowed when someone slept. But maybe they'd slowed because her life is slowly slipping away…

Buck and I waited in silent panic, the only sounds coming from the rustling trees and the occasional street traffic outside the open bay. A soft whush sounded as a car drove past. A bird chirped. The wind blew a dry leaf into the bay, where it whirled in a circle along with some flecks of dust. Finally, a siren sounded in the distance, the woo-woo-woo telling us that Joanna would soon be in the hands of people who would know how to help her—if she could be helped.

As the siren grew louder, Buck stepped out to the parking lot to wave down the ambulance. A minute later, two paramedics—one male and one female—scrambled around me. They gingerly transferred Joanna from my lap to a gurney, all the while peppering me with questions to try to help them determine what had happened.

I had little information to offer. "She just wobbled into the bay and collapsed. She had a hand to her head when she came in. Her neighbor took her to urgent care for a migraine yesterday. They gave her medication for it." Could what is happening to Joanna now be an allergic reaction to the migraine pills?

Buck held out a hand and pulled me to my feet as the female EMT affixed the straps around Joanna. "Any idea what medication they gave her?"

I shook my head, but realized the medic's focus was on her patient, not me, and said aloud, "No. I might be able to find out, though. I can check with the neighbor."

"Please do. Call dispatch if you find out. They'll relay the information to us. Give her family a heads-up, too, please."

They raised the gurney and rolled it over to the ambulance, then slid Joanna inside. Seconds later, the doors closed and the ambulance turned out of the parking lot, on its way to the emergency room.

"I'll be back," I told Buck. "I'm going to check with Gideon, see if he knows what medication she took." If nothing else, he might know her door code and be able to get inside to check the bottle. He might also know how to get in touch with Holden. With Macy on bed rest, I wasn't sure it was wise to rouse her and shock her with the news.

I sprinted down the sidewalk and across the street, my boots pounding loudly on the asphalt and concrete. I took the two stairs up to Gideon's porch in one step, noting the Dad's Old Fashioned Root Beer sign hung slightly crooked. I might have straightened it were this a social visit, but in light of current events a crooked sign was entirely unimportant. I banged on Gideon's door, willing him to make haste.

A few seconds later, he pulled the door open and gave me his gargoyle grin. "Hello, Whit—"

"Joanna collapsed at the fire station," I said, interrupting him. There was no time for niceties. "The paramedics need to know what medications she's on. Do you know what the doctor at urgent care prescribed her?"

Gideon simply stared at me for a second or two as he processed what I'd told him, then he shook his head once and said, "Lasmiditan. It's also called Reyvow."

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 9-1-1, putting the call on speaker in case they asked for more information that Gideon would be in a better position to provide. After explaining why I was calling, I gave the dispatcher the name of the drug.

"What dosage?" she asked.

Gideon gave her the answer. "One hundred milligrams."

The dispatcher asked, "When did she take her most recent dose?"

Gideon said, "Probably right before she collapsed. They gave her a dose at urgent care around this time yesterday. She was only supposed to take one pill every twenty-four hours." He eyed me. "The doctor warned her it could cause dizziness. He told her not to drive for eight full hours after taking a pill."

The information brought me a small measure of relief. As scary as Joanna's condition had seemed, maybe it was nothing more than the side effect of the drug. Maybe they needed to reduce her dosage.

The dispatcher asked, "Is she on any other meds?"

"Lipitor," Gideon replied. "She has high cholesterol. I don't know the dosage, but she takes it in the morning with her breakfast."

"Got it." The dispatcher wrapped things up and terminated the call, promising to pass the information along to the EMTs.

As I slid the phone back into my pocket, Gideon put a hand on the doorframe as if he needed to steady himself. He was not a young man, and the news about his friend had to be upsetting. "I'd better get in touch with Holden," he said. "I'll let him notify Macy."

My guess was he didn't want to risk upsetting Macy in her fragile condition. It was too much responsibility. He motioned for me to follow him into his place, and once we were inside he shut the door behind me. His cell phone was charging atop the end table. He unplugged it, pulled up Holden's name in his contacts list, and placed the call. He stared at the carpeting while waiting for Holden to answer. Gideon had the volume turned up high, and I heard Holden's phone ringing on the other end of the line. One ring. Two rings. Three. After four rings, Gideon was transferred to voicemail. He left a message. "We've got an emergency with Joanna. I haven't said anything to Macy. I figured that was best left to you. Call me as soon as you get this."

He jabbed the button to end the call and frowned. "Holden mentioned they don't like the warehouse workers taking personal calls on their cell phones when they're on duty."

"Call the main number," I suggested. "They can track him down."

"I don't know it."

While he could dial 4-1-1 for the information, it would probably be faster to find the number on the internet. "I'll search online." I whipped out my cell phone and brought up the browser. "Who does he work for?"

"Frozen Freight Carriers."

Holden's employer explained the ice-blue shirt he'd been wearing at Joanna's when he and Macy had come to share the news that Macy was expecting. I'd seen the company's trucks on the roadways. They, too, were ice blue, and likewise featured a large image of the company's mascot, a smiling snowman with a twig arm crooked over the top of a blue dolly laden with icicles. I typed the company's name into my browser, clicked on the link to their website, then clicked on the contact tab.

As I rattled off the number, Gideon typed it into his phone. He held for a few seconds before his call went through. "I need to speak with Holden Griffin. He works in the warehouse. We're having a family emergency and he's not answering his cell phone." He paused a second or two. "Yes, I can hold. But y'all need to find him quick. It's urgent."

We waited for a couple of excruciatingly long minutes before someone came on the line. Gideon put a hand to his head in exasperation, much like Joanna had put a hand to her forehead in apparent pain earlier. "What do you mean he's not there?" He paused a second or two. "I've already tried his cell! He's not answering." Another pause. "All right. I'll do that." He hung up without a goodbye and looked up at me. "He must've stepped out for a break. They suggested I send him a text. They said he might be more responsive if he can see right away what's going on." Gideon proceeded to send Holden a text, dictating it out loud as he typed in all caps. JOANNA ON WAY TO ER! CALL ME NOW!

The strategy worked. Fifteen seconds later, Gideon's cell phone buzzed with an incoming call from Holden. Gideon poked a crooked finger at the screen to accept the call and put the phone on speaker. "Something's wrong with Joanna. That builder girl is here and she said Joanna collapsed at the fire station. They took her away in an ambulance."

Like Gideon, it took Holden a second or two to digest the news, but then his cry came through loud and clear. "Is Macy with her?"

"No," said Gideon. "Macy doesn't know. We thought you should be the one to tell her."

"Thanks, Gid. The last thing Macy needs right now is stress. I hope Joanna will be all right, for her sake and for Macy's."

Gideon said, "Could be a reaction to that migraine medicine they gave her." He repeated what he'd told the dispatcher, that feeling dizzy was a potential side effect of the pills she'd been prescribed at urgent care. "The doctor told her not to drive and to be careful."

Having heard this, Holden sounded more optimistic. "I hope that's the case and that they can get her feeling better fast. I don't want Macy getting worked up if this could all be for nothing."

"Agreed," Gideon said. "Joanna would never forgive herself if she caused Macy so much worry that it hurt the baby. But I don't like this one bit. I'm going to head over to the hospital." He looked my way and addressed me now. "Do you know which one they took her to?"

The EMTs had made sure I knew where they were headed when they drove off. "Nashville General."

"I'll head over to the hospital, too," Holden said. "I'll see you there."

They ended their call and Gideon snatched his car keys from a peg inside the door. "I'd better get going."

"Will you let me know how things turn out?"

"All right." He turned back, fished a pen out of a coffee mug atop the table, and handed me a pad of yellow sticky notes. "Jot your number down there for me."

I hurriedly wrote my name and number on the pad and handed it back to him. I opened the door to go and nearly ran smack dab into a teenage girl with long blonde hair. The strap of a lightweight nylon backpack in a pink polka-dot print was hiked up over one shoulder. I recognized her as the girl I'd seen before through Joanna's window, when Macy and Holden had gone over to tell Joanna about the pregnancy.

"Hey, Alyssa," Gideon said quickly. He gestured to me. "This is Whitney. She's fixing up the other side of your grandmother's house, the one the Bottiglieris used to live in."

"Cool," she said, her head bobbing.

Alyssa hadn't asked why I was at Gideon's place, and probably didn't care. In my experience, teens didn't think anything adults did was at all interesting. I'd felt the same way at her age. Gideon, however, felt obligated to give her an explanation for my presence. "Whitney came to borrow a tool."

Another "Cool." Another head bob.

I gave her a smile and a nod, afraid to open my mouth.

Turning her attention back to Gideon, she gestured across the street behind her. "I was just over at Grammy's place. Her car's in the driveway, but she's not in her house or backyard. You have any idea where she went?"

"Nope," Gideon lied, attempting to sound casual. "I suppose one of her lady friends might have picked her up. Or maybe she went for a walk."

"Grammy? Take a walk?" Alyssa snorted. "Giddy-up you know that woman don't exercise."

Gideon forced a laugh that sounded more like he was choking. "I'm sure she'll turn up."

Alyssa eyed him closely, seeming to sense his unease. "You okay?"

"Never better." He'd have been more convincing if his voice wasn't two octaves higher than usual. Fortunately, he managed to deflect attention from himself. "You said you were looking for your grandmother. You need something?"

She cocked her head, put the backs of her fingers under her chin, and batted her eyes. "Ten bucks to get a smoothie with my friends later?"

"Don't you have your own money?" His eyes narrowed. "I thought you earned good money babysitting Kavish."

"I do," she said. "Samira and D-Jay are very generous. But I spent all I had on these new kicks." She angled her ankle to show off her new pair of fancy sneakers. "I just had to have them or my life would not be complete, and I would have spiraled into utter despair."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Gideon reached into his back pocket, removed his wallet, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here you go. My treat."

Alyssa snatched the bill out of his hand and held it up. "This is why I love you."

Gideon scoffed in jest. "I hope that's not the only reason."

"Just one of many." She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a smooch on the cheek before turning and walking across the porch to enter the adjoining unit her parents rented from Gideon.

I might think the girl was an entitled brat, but I'd seen real affection in both her eyes and Gideon's. He seemed to be a surrogate grandfather for her. It was sweet. I wondered then about her actual grandfather, Joanna's husband and Macy's father. I knew he'd passed away and thus was no longer in the picture, though I didn't know the details of his death. "If you don't mind me asking," I said as I stepped out onto the porch, "what happened to Joanna's husband?" I gestured in the direction Alyssa had gone. "Did he ever get a chance to meet his granddaughter?"

"Billy Roy?" Gideon, too, stepped out, turning to lock his door behind him. "He died of a massive heart attack at work. He was a warden in the Riverbend Maximum Security Prison. Fell flat on his face in the exercise yard while trying to break up a fight. Happened about fifteen years back, when Alyssa was a toddler. Billy Roy was only in his late fifties at the time. Damn shame."

It certainly was. Joanna's husband should have had a lot more years left. So should Joanna. But I feared that might not be the case. I'd held the woman in my arms, felt her body shutting down. But I was no medical expert, and I'd certainly heard of doctors bringing people back from the brink of death. Who am I to say? Before I left, I basically repeated what Holden had said, though I kept my voice to a whisper. "I hope Joanna will be okay."

"Me too, girl," Gideon said. "Me too."