right. I remember that you called each other on a regular basis, Mr. Bailey. Do you have any idea what sort of injuries Tristan…I mean, Mr. Grant…sustained during the accident?” I’m nearly breathless with worry. He notes the expression on my face and his stance toward me softens a bit.
“Well, he has a concussion and some broken ribs. We’ll know more once he’s x-rayed and scanned at the hospital. I don’t think his injuries are life threating, however. The only problem is that the local hospitals are overflowing with thousands of people injured during the original quake. They can’t keep up with the demands. We’ll have to fly Mr. Grant to another location for treatment,” he tells me.
“Where would you take him, to another city?”
“Yes, we could helicopter him to a couple of nearby cities with good urgent care centers; cities that have not been affected by the quake. Do you live in the San Diego area, Miss Prime?”
“Yeah, I live near the SDSU campus in La Mesa, at the moment, but I need to return there soon,” I add.
“Then I suggest that you make your way home while it’s still light and the roads are passable. Getting around San Diego right now is difficult because many of the side roads are badly ripped up. The best route to take is the I-8. The others are too dicey,” he advises with care.
I bite my lip. “Thanks! Therefore, you’re telling me that there’s no reason for me to wait around. But, I don’t want to leave him, Mr. Bailey.”
He nods his head to affirm my need. “Leave me your cell number and I’ll be sure to update you with Mr. Grant’s condition and location, once we know it. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sure Mr. Grant would like to thank you for keeping him company, eventually,” he says with a kind expression.
“I feel bad leaving Tristan,” I protest and look into Mr. Bailey’s eyes for some type of clue.
“There’s really nothing more you can do, Miss Prime. Since your area hasn’t been damaged by the quake, you’re better off there than here,” he assures me and then dismisses me with a nod. He’s on the phone with someone else the moment he turns his head away from me. Mr. Bailey seems protective and efficient. Tristan’s hired a very good security team.
Before leaving the scene, I rush over and touch Tristan’s forehead for a moment. It’s cold and clammy. The EMT physician scowls at me and attempts to warn me off but I’m off and running down the endless staircase within seconds of the last contact with my favorite man.
“Please let Tristan be okay,” I chant as I head toward the parking garage. I’ve got 95 flights of stairs to descend before I reach my car. I need a good workout like this to deal with my anxiety. Thank goodness, I’m going down and not up. As soon as I return to my place near campus, I must visit the dry cleaners. I’ve borrowed my best friend Ashley’s clothes for the interview and they’re grimy from my adventure on the elevator. I need to return them.
To my relief, my car’s undamaged by the quake except for a ridiculous amount of fine grained cement fragments. My old Honda operates like a tank and starts immediately. It takes me forever to reach the ramp for the I-8. By the time I arrive at our apartment near campus, two hours have passed. I’m exhausted and famished as I fill the bathtub with warm water and a jasmine scented body wash. While the tub fills, I eat the final Power Bar from my purse. Then I soak for an hour while I relive every conversation, every touch, every contact that I had with Tristan. I sigh with disappointment that it’s over for now. All I can think about is how wonderful he made me feel. I want him with every fiber of my being. I literally will Tristan to get better.
I’m putting on my pajamas when Ashley arrives home for the evening.
“Joanna, you’re finally back from quake central. Thanks for the calls and
“Well, he has a concussion and some broken ribs. We’ll know more once he’s x-rayed and scanned at the hospital. I don’t think his injuries are life threating, however. The only problem is that the local hospitals are overflowing with thousands of people injured during the original quake. They can’t keep up with the demands. We’ll have to fly Mr. Grant to another location for treatment,” he tells me.
“Where would you take him, to another city?”
“Yes, we could helicopter him to a couple of nearby cities with good urgent care centers; cities that have not been affected by the quake. Do you live in the San Diego area, Miss Prime?”
“Yeah, I live near the SDSU campus in La Mesa, at the moment, but I need to return there soon,” I add.
“Then I suggest that you make your way home while it’s still light and the roads are passable. Getting around San Diego right now is difficult because many of the side roads are badly ripped up. The best route to take is the I-8. The others are too dicey,” he advises with care.
I bite my lip. “Thanks! Therefore, you’re telling me that there’s no reason for me to wait around. But, I don’t want to leave him, Mr. Bailey.”
He nods his head to affirm my need. “Leave me your cell number and I’ll be sure to update you with Mr. Grant’s condition and location, once we know it. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sure Mr. Grant would like to thank you for keeping him company, eventually,” he says with a kind expression.
“I feel bad leaving Tristan,” I protest and look into Mr. Bailey’s eyes for some type of clue.
“There’s really nothing more you can do, Miss Prime. Since your area hasn’t been damaged by the quake, you’re better off there than here,” he assures me and then dismisses me with a nod. He’s on the phone with someone else the moment he turns his head away from me. Mr. Bailey seems protective and efficient. Tristan’s hired a very good security team.
Before leaving the scene, I rush over and touch Tristan’s forehead for a moment. It’s cold and clammy. The EMT physician scowls at me and attempts to warn me off but I’m off and running down the endless staircase within seconds of the last contact with my favorite man.
“Please let Tristan be okay,” I chant as I head toward the parking garage. I’ve got 95 flights of stairs to descend before I reach my car. I need a good workout like this to deal with my anxiety. Thank goodness, I’m going down and not up. As soon as I return to my place near campus, I must visit the dry cleaners. I’ve borrowed my best friend Ashley’s clothes for the interview and they’re grimy from my adventure on the elevator. I need to return them.
To my relief, my car’s undamaged by the quake except for a ridiculous amount of fine grained cement fragments. My old Honda operates like a tank and starts immediately. It takes me forever to reach the ramp for the I-8. By the time I arrive at our apartment near campus, two hours have passed. I’m exhausted and famished as I fill the bathtub with warm water and a jasmine scented body wash. While the tub fills, I eat the final Power Bar from my purse. Then I soak for an hour while I relive every conversation, every touch, every contact that I had with Tristan. I sigh with disappointment that it’s over for now. All I can think about is how wonderful he made me feel. I want him with every fiber of my being. I literally will Tristan to get better.
I’m putting on my pajamas when Ashley arrives home for the evening.
“Joanna, you’re finally back from quake central. Thanks for the calls and
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