Wildest Dreams

“If I’m not imposing,” he said.

“Not at all. I enjoy having you drop by. By the way, when is the next big race?”

“Three weeks, in Tahoe. I’ll go a week early to train in the mountains there, to get acclimated. My trainer will come here first. We’ll do a trial run, then go to Tahoe together to get ready.”

“Where is your trainer now?” Troy asked.

“She’s in Boulder, her home base. She’s an exercise physiologist. Well, she’s a PhD in physiology, not an ordinary trainer. She’s a partner in an athletic training facility and I’m not the only client by a long shot. Sometimes she’ll send a colleague. Babysitter, that’s all—I have my own degree and have been doing this for a long time. But there’s no substitute for a trainer who challenges the protocol, pushes at the edges of the envelope and generally provides data on the competition that can be useful. She’s a little bit like a manager—sending me daily reports on the results of events from all over the world and making recommendations based on training studies.”

It was quiet around the bridge table. “Sounds a lot more complicated than I thought,” Lin Su said.

“Is complicated,” Mikhail said. “Grace was my full-time job for nine years. You have this trainer part-time?” he asked Blake.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I admit a trainer is beneficial and even necessary, but I’m pigheaded and don’t like a lot of interference. I also don’t like to be too crowded. So, who’s the bridge favorite at this table?”

“Once it was me,” Winnie said. “Then I hired a nurse from Boston. On top of that, I might drop my cards at any moment.”

“My adoptive mother played a lot of bridge. I learned young so I could sit in if they needed a fourth. I shouldn’t play so well—I think my job is at risk,” Lin Su said.

“Is a competitive table,” Mikhail said. “It will anger Winnie if you win. It will anger her if you don’t play well. You are doomed.”

The cards were dealt, but before anyone could pick them up, Lin Su’s phone chimed in her pocket. “Excuse me please, Charlie is checking in.”

Surprise immediately came over her features and she stiffened into a posture of fear. “Your EpiPen? How could you...? Okay, don’t talk too much...The oxygen? Did you call 9-1-1?...Okay, stay on the line, I’ll get them.” She looked at Winnie for just a second. “Charlie can’t breathe. I’m going. Will you be all right?”

“Mikhail and Troy will be here,” she said. “Just go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Blake said.

“I’ve got this,” Lin Su said, turning and running into the house. She pulled her purse out of the kitchen pantry and was on the move.

Blake stayed with her. When she got to the garage and was heading down the drive to her car he caught her. “I’ll drive you,” he said. “You can deal with your phone while I drive. I’m calmer and faster.”

She gave it about one second of thought. “Do you have your phone?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and traded his phone for her keys and they got in. She gave him the beginning of the directions, out of Thunder Point, headed toward south Bandon and Coquille, then she told Charlie to stay calm, stay on the line; she was on her way. She placed the 9-1-1 call and said she needed medical assistance immediately. She explained her son’s condition and even recommended drugs that had been effective before—epinephrine, corticosteroids and magnesium sulfate. She said something very soft to Charlie, then went back to the 9-1-1 operator.

“I don’t know what happened. He was fine this morning—no wheezing, no symptoms—and now he can’t explain because he can’t talk... I’m a nurse. I’m on my way, I might beat you there... Yes, he had an EpiPen and when I asked about it he just said ‘lost.’ That isn’t like Charlie... Yes, I’m coming, Charlie...”

She had a phone to each ear, would stop briefly and say “next left” or “right at the light.”

Blake was cautious but fast. He wouldn’t mind if he picked up a cop who pursued them. In ten minutes’ time he was in a very different part of town—it looked like an industrial area full of storage units and fenced-off areas where big road maintenance and construction equipment were parked. They passed a poor excuse for a strip mall—a convenience store, bar, motel. They drove a little farther, past some run-down apartment buildings and trashy neighborhoods. The sight of rough-looking people—teenagers and adults—just hanging out brought a flood of memories back to Blake.

Lin Su spoke to the 9-1-1 operator in a normal voice but alternately murmured to Charlie, instructing him to remain calm, take even breaths. Her foot on the floorboard of the car tapped wildly but her hands were steady.

“This is it,” Lin Su said. “Right turn, sixth trailer in. Oh, God, they’re there! I never heard sirens!”

Paramedics had just arrived. Blake was pulling up as one of them used a crowbar on the trailer door. It popped open like an old tin can. He parked Lin Su’s car at the front of the trailer so the paramedics would have an unrestricted exit if they took Charlie to the hospital. Lin Su was out of the car and running to her trailer before the car was entirely stopped.

It was then that Blake looked around. There was an old man with a rake in his hand standing between a fairly decent trailer and Lin Su’s extremely small fifth wheel. He held the rake, though there didn’t appear to be anything to rake; it could have been his idea of a weapon. Across from his trailer there were three young men—boys—standing around the back of a truck that was up on blocks. They looked scary, wearing their pants very low on their hips, sporting tattoos and chains, hair scraggly and unkempt, torn T-shirts. He didn’t see any gang colors but they weren’t Sunday school escapees. There were mobile homes and trailers of every variety, all parked within a perimeter of trees on a dirt patch, no grass. There was one small building—a brick structure that could be a public bathroom or laundry facility—and it was covered with graffiti.

A police car entered the park slowly and stopped near the fire rig, and closely following the police car was an ambulance. Two EMTs got out and pulled out a gurney, moving to the trailer. They stayed outside as if waiting for instructions to transport, so Blake did three things. First, he gave the three thugs the stink eye. Then he went to the officer’s car and asked where he might find the hardware to close up and lock that trailer. It was that action that finally seemed to persuade the thugs to wander off. He was given directions to the nearest store. Finally he went to the doorway of the trailer and looked inside.

Lin Su was kneeling on one side of Charlie while two paramedics administered oxygen and managed an IV bag on the other. Charlie was between his mother and the paramedics, eyes closed, fingers twitching a little bit. He looked gray.

Blake tried to stay out of the way for the time being. It was about twenty minutes before the gurney went into the small trailer and came out again with Charlie on it. He appeared to be sleeping; perhaps he’d been sedated. Lin Su followed the gurney outside.

“Is he going to be all right?” Blake asked.

“I think so,” she said. “They’re going to take him to the hospital in Bandon, and if he doesn’t improve right away, they’ll move him to Pacific Hospital, closer to North Bend.”

“Go with him,” Blake said. “I’m going to see if I can close up your trailer. I’ll bring your car and meet you there. Let me see the phones, please?” She dug around in her purse and handed them over. He quickly punched his number into hers and handed it to her. “If his condition or location changes, give me a call, will you? I’ll see you at the hospital as soon as I can get some kind of a lock on this door.”

She looked at him in complete gratitude. Her eyes welled with tears. “Thank you,” she said so softly he barely heard her.

“No crying now,” he said. “It’s going to be all right. Just stay with Charlie.”

Three (#ulink_93da863f-b228-572b-b7fe-85d65ac4f356)

Closing up that little trailer turned out to be far less complicated than Blake had expected. The elderly man with the rake informed Blake that he had tools he could loan and together they fixed a padlock onto the mangled door. During that exercise Blake had seen a little bit of the inside of the trailer. It was cozy and compact—a bed that folded out when a table was lifted up, a galley kitchen, a bedroom with a small double bed that took up almost the whole room, a little bath with shower.

Right in the middle of what would serve as kitchen/living room/bedroom, right where he supposed Charlie had collapsed and paramedics tended him, things were messy and awry. The table was pushed up, the bed/bench shoved back, tracks of dirt on the floor, clutter left behind from opening packages of gloves, wipes and syringes. Everything else was shining clean, tidy and spare.

It wasn’t much of a house for a woman and teenage boy. It was so small, leaving little room for belongings. He spied Charlie’s backpack with his laptop in it and scooped it up to take to the hospital with him just in case Charlie didn’t come home that night. It was a mean little shelter in a crappy trailer park and it stung Blake. He didn’t like thinking of Lin Su and Charlie living here when “here” was actually so much better than how Blake and his mother had lived. They’d lived with rats, for God’s sake. Rats and gang members and drug dealers.

He took the backpack and closed up the trailer. By the time he got to the hospital it was growing dark. He walked into the emergency room and asked about Charlie Simmons, and who should walk out of the exam area but Scott Grant, Thunder Point’s doctor.

“Well, hey there,” Scott said, sticking out a hand. “Lin Su said you’d be bringing her car over.”

“And I spotted this,” Blake said, slipping one arm through the backpack strap and presenting his hand for a shake. “How is he?”

“He’s going to be fine but I’m keeping him overnight just to be safe. Besides, he’s weak—an asthma attack takes a lot out of a person. And he was sedated, as well.”

“What happened?” Blake asked. “He was good the last time Lin Su checked with him.”

Scott leaned a hip on the counter. “I haven’t heard the whole story yet, but I think he got chased by some bigger kids from the neighborhood. He said he went to the drugstore to get a refill on his meds. They know him there. But he ran into a problem and got chased all over hell and gone—at least a mile—and he was already struggling a little bit, thus the reason for the refill. Shit like that used to happen to me—I was a little kid in glasses. But I didn’t have asthma. I think going to school in Thunder Point will be easier on him—lot of people to look out for him there. Like Troy. Spencer.”

“Right,” Blake said. “Except they’re not just big kids from the neighborhood. I saw a few of them hanging around, waiting to see what the cops and paramedics did. They’re not your run-of-the-mill bullies. I didn’t see gang colors but I talked to the cop—they’re local hoods, all tatted up, using, holding, selling. The look of longing on their faces might’ve been for the drugs in the paramedics bags. If they chased him I bet they thought he had money in his pocket.”

Scott’s expression darkened. “Is that right?”

Blake lowered his voice and leaned closer to Scott. “It’s a rough neighborhood,” he said quietly. “I grew up around guys like them.”

“You think Charlie was in real danger?”

Blake raised a brow. “He’s in the hospital.”

“Yeah, there’s that. Think they might’ve beat him up or something if they’d caught up with him?”