Every Waking Moment(38)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Help me!” Preston called to anyone who might be around. He and Max were the only ones in the pool area, but he knew there should be a few maids not far away. They’d been pushing carts from room to room all morning.

He prayed they could hear him. “This child needs a doctor. Get help. Get a doctor!”

“I’m coming,” a female voice called. A flash of gray told him a maid from the second story was hurrying toward him, but he feared help wouldn’t arrive fast enough. Max was slipping away.

What should he do? He didn’t know anything about CPR or first aid, but he felt he needed to help Max breathe.

Flattening the lounge chair, Preston tilted the boy’s head back, checked his breathing passage and began mouth-to-mouth. He wasn’t sure he was doing it right. He only knew he couldn’t let another boy die. Not on his watch.

“Stay with me, buddy, please,” he murmured between breaths. “Hang on.”

Weakly, Max kept reaching up and pushing at Preston’s face, trying to resist. This wasn’t working. This wasn’t what he needed. But Preston had no idea—

Suddenly he remembered the silver chain Max had pulled off with his T-shirt and thrown on a chair. He hadn’t paid much attention to it before. What if…

Leaving Max on the chaise, he ran around the pool to the boy’s T-shirt. Sure enough, the chain was tucked inside. The metal tag on the end had a medic alert symbol and a single word engraved beneath it: diabetic.

Shit! Max was in insulin shock. His body needed sugar to bring him out of it. Suddenly everything began to make sense. That was what Max had meant by “low.” But Preston couldn’t believe he’d been with this child for two days and had never guessed there was anything wrong with him.

“Juice!” he cried. “Get me some juice!” He hoped the woman hurrying toward him would hear him and turn back. Max needed food. Fast. Now. If he passed out, he wouldn’t be able to eat or drink. Then his life would depend on getting him to a hospital, and Preston had no idea if Ely even had a hospital.

Flip-flops slapped the pavement in a rapid staccato. “I’m coming. What’s the matter?”

Preston hurried back to Max. “Get some orange juice. Right away!”

She ran off, and he willed Max to hang on a while longer.

The seconds that passed felt like hours. Max’s breathing grew shallower. His eyelashes rested on his pale cheeks as his body tried to conserve its sugar to fuel his brain.

Alarm doubled the amount of adrenaline in Preston’s body as he lifted the boy into his arms and cradled him against his chest. “It’s coming, Max. Don’t give up on me, buddy. You’re tough, right? You can beat me in a race across the pool. Can you do this, too?”

Max attempted to nod—and it was such a valiant effort that Preston kissed the top of his head. God, this kid was brave. He was deathly ill and yet he was still trying hard to be a good boy and do what he was told. “That’s the way.” Warm tears rolled down his cheeks. “You’re a stud. Don’t go to sleep, okay? Fight it a little longer.”

The woman finally returned from the front office with a glass of juice. Preston held Max while she lifted his head and helped him drink. More spilled on Preston than went into the boy’s mouth, but at least Max still seemed capable of swallowing.

“How much do we give him?” she asked.

Preston had no idea. He’d never been around a diabetic. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to risk falling short. “Give him the whole glass and go back for more. Then call a damn doctor.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EMMA GOT OUT of Ruby’s car at the entrance to the Starlight Motel and hurried past the office. I’m coming, Max. I’m coming. She’d almost made it to their room when she spotted the little group clustered by the Jacuzzi. Then her heart sank. They were talking low, circling someone on a lounge chair, and she feared she knew who that someone was.

When the maid shifted to one side, Emma could see Preston holding Max, rocking him back and forth, back and forth, and felt her knees go weak.

Dropping her shopping bag, she started running. “Max!” Her hands shook as she fumbled with the latch on the gate. “Max!”

Her son lifted his head from Preston’s shoulder and smiled weakly. “Hi, Mom.”

As young as he was, Max often tried to ease her worry by assuring her he didn’t mind taking shots or testing his blood. She knew that smile was meant to reassure her, but it only made her feel guilty. Somehow she should have thought of another way to get his meds.

He’s okay. I’m back now. Max will be fine, she told herself. But Preston’s face was bathed with tears. And he looked up at her with such unbridled rage and loathing she knew that even if Max was going to be okay, he was not.

Emma broke eye contact with him. She should’ve told him about Max’s condition. But she’d been too afraid of losing his help. And she’d never dreamed he’d take Max swimming. He hardly spoke to the poor kid.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she said to Max. “What happened?”

“I went low.”

“At the pool?”

“Uh-huh.”

He slipped into her arms, and she buried her face in his hair, absorbing the solid, comforting feel of his stocky little body.

“How bad was it?” she asked Preston.

He didn’t answer. Standing up, he stalked off toward their room.

“Lloyd Bannister’s on his way,” the manager said, filling the awkward silence. “He’s a good doctor, been practicing for years. And your boy here seems to be bouncing back already, thank God.”

Emma muttered something polite to thank her and the maid for their help, but her attention wasn’t really on them. It was on her son, her own relief, and the man who’d left them so abruptly.

Preston reappeared only moments later, wearing a clean T-shirt and another pair of jeans. The sight of him, apparently recovered, gave Emma hope that he’d forgive her for what had happened. But that hope died the moment she saw he was carrying his laptop and his duffel bag.

“I need my cell phone,” he said, his voice clipped.

Emma’s hands were shaking as she dug his phone out of her purse and handed it to him. She wanted to apologize, but he turned immediately to the manager.

“I’m ready to check out.”

Emma watched them both walk away. A few minutes later, Preston stepped outside again. When he squinted against the sun, Emma realized she still had his sunglasses and his hat, and hoped he’d come back a second time. But he didn’t bother. He didn’t even glance in the direction of the pool. Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder, he headed down the street.