When a wheelchair was brought over, Kristy had to help me into it since my legs were shaking so much I was pretty unsteady. She wheeled me down the hall as we followed a nurse dressed in scrubs. Why wasn’t she going faster?
I was placed in a hospital gown and asked way too many questions. What seemed like a million pieces of equipment were quickly attached to my body, monitoring my vitals and doing who knows what else. The nurse set me up with an IV, and came back a few minutes later with a syringe that she injected into it, explaining to me that it contained a mild sedative.
My heart instantly started to slow to a normal pace and began beating less violently. The bands that had constricted my chest eased their grip, and I was soon able to breathe easier.
“Feel better?” the nurse asked.
“That’s definitely helping. Thank you.” I let out a sigh of relief and wiped at my cheeks, sure my mascara had probably run at some point during this debacle.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Kristy said sternly from her perch in the only visitor’s chair.
“You? I have no idea what the hell that was. That was one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever experienced. I felt completely out of control, like I was losing my mind,” I admitted, still wondering what the heck had happened to me.
The doctor walked in, a beautiful dark-skinned woman not much older than me, glancing down at my chart in her hands before looking up and greeting me with a smile. “Well, Miss Carmichael, that was one heck of a panic attack you were having.”
I glanced over at Kristy, half expecting to see an I told you so look on her face, but instead found nothing but concern.
“I’m Dr. Patel,” she said by way of introduction. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?”
I shook my head. “No. Never. Are you sure that’s what it was?”
Dr. Patel nodded, tucking my chart under her arm and then clasping her hands in front of her. “Yes. You display all the standard symptoms. Usually they’re triggered by something. Did anything happen that might have upset you before it started?”
Dalton not showing up for our date and my not being able to get a hold of him was one hell of an emotional trigger.
“Yeah,” I said. “Something definitely happened.” And so I told her about what had happened tonight, as well as what had happened the last time someone I loved hadn’t shown up . . .
• • •
Hopping out of the shower after winning our latest softball game, I had been thoroughly stressed about my math test the following day. I’d changed into my pajamas and met my mom in the kitchen, where she was making dinner as we waited for my dad to get home. I tossed my math book on the table and hopped onto one of the bar stools.
“Where’s Dad?” I asked, wondering why he wasn’t home yet. Dad was rarely late getting home for dinner.
“Running late, I guess,” Mom said over her shoulder as she tended to something she had going in the frying pan that smelled delicious.
Someone knocked on the door. The knock was so gentle that at first I thought I was hearing things.
“Was that the door?” My mom turned slightly to look at me.
“I wasn’t sure. I’ll go check.” I jumped down and rushed to the front door.
Swinging it open, I was met by the ashen faces of two police officers I didn’t recognize. One looked really young, and the other was about the same age as my dad. They removed their caps as they looked at me.
“Can I help you?” I assumed they were looking for my dad, although his coworkers didn’t usually stop by our house.
“Hi, Cammie. Is your mom at home?”
Curious, I squinted at them, wondering how in the world they knew my name. “I’ll go get her,” I said, then closed the door behind me and called out, “Mom, there’s two cops at the door. I figured they were looking for Dad, but they asked for you.”
I rounded the corner into the kitchen as the metal spatula Mom had been holding dropped to the floor. It clanged loudly on the tile, rattling for a moment as it rocked back and forth before finally coming to a stop. It’s a sound I’ll never forget.
Still confused, I asked Mom if she was okay.
“Turn off the oven and the stove, please, Cammie.” She wiped her hands on a towel, an expression on her face I’d never seen before. “I’ll be right back.” Her voice cracked, and she was the palest I’d ever seen her as she headed toward the front door.
Mom’s odd reaction made my stomach twist with worry; something was definitely wrong. I turned everything off as she’d asked and rushed to the door just in time to see her fall to the floor in a heap. Her legs folded, and she simply collapsed on top of herself.
“We’re so sorry, ma’am.”
I looked up at the men as I dropped to the floor next to my mom, cradling her in my arms. “What happened? What’s going on?” My gaze traveled between my mom’s face as she cried hysterically, and their stoic ones. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on!” I shrieked.
“Cammie, your father was shot and killed during a robbery,” the older officer said slowly. He looked extremely uncomfortable, as if he’d rather be anywhere than here at this moment. Sadness etched his features as he twisted his cap in his hands, and he averted his eyes as he added, “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Wrong place at the wrong time?” I repeated, thinking how weird that wording was. Dad was a cop, of course he’d be at a robbery. “I don’t understand. What happened?”