Page 83 of One in a Million
“Hello?” A female voice chimed through the speakers. “I’m trying to reach Ms. Jo Beth Ellis.”
Jo licked her dry lips and cleared her throat. “This is Jo. Who is this?”
“This is Sarah Wyndham,” the voice said. “I’m a nurse, calling from Lone Oaks Hospital.”
Lone Oaks? Home.Earl.Jo straightened in her seat. “Does this have something to do with Earl? Is he okay? Has h—”
“Yes, I’m calling about Earl Ellis, but please don’t be alarmed. He’s resting comfortably now and was very lucky.”
“What do you mean? What’s happened?”
“I see here”—rustling crossed the line—“that you’re listed as Mr. Ellis’s granddaughter. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning. Your grandfather has had a stroke.”
Jo’s pulse picked up again, her muscles clenching.
“But he’s stable now and resting well in room four-o-eight,” Sarah continued. “He’ll need to stay here for a few days. He’ll require an extensive period of rehabilitation, and as you’re listed as his emergency cont—”
“I’m already on my way.” Jo pressed the pedal harder, the car picking up speed. “But I’m two hours out.”
“There’s no rush, Ms. Ellis. As I said, your grandfather’s resting peacefully now and will be for some time. If anything changes prior to your arrival, I’ll call you immediately.”
Jo nodded, then, remembering she was on the phone, said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll see you soon.”
The call disconnected.
Thoughts racing, Jo drove for an hour then, tank running low, pulled into a gas station—Jimbo’s Pit—and fueled up. A man exited the small convenience store and walked by her car on the way to his, an odd expression crossing his face as he eyed her face then chest.
Jo looked down at the blood staining her white blouse. Oh, no. She couldn’t show up at Earl’s bedside looking like this. She touched her fingertip to the dried blood on her bottom lip and flinched. There were two restrooms outside the convenience store, both with signs that readSEE CLERK FOR KEY.
Tank full, she replaced the pump handle and went inside to pay, grabbing salt, bottled water, and gauze before approaching the checkout counter. The clerk, a young man with blue hair, rang up her purchases, bagged them, and handed the sack to her.
“May I have the restroom key, please?” She kept her eyes down but felt the intensity of his scrutiny on her bloody lip anyway.
His hands left the counter briefly then returned, holding a key out toward her. “Ma’am?”
She took the key, then looked up, meeting his concerned gaze.
“Are you okay?” He glanced out the window then back at her and whispered, “If you need help . . .”
That mirthless laugh returned, bursting from her lips before she could stop it, her eyes burning. “D-do you know I offered someone the very same thing today?”
He tilted his head and his concerned expression changed to confusion.
“No, I—” She backed away, clutching her bag. “No, thank you.”
Jo went inside the restroom and locked the door, dumped the salt she’d purchased into the bottle of water, soaked a strip of gauze in the mixture, and dabbed at her bloody mouth. She hissed at the sharp sting, her eyes welling.
She thought of Earl, ill and alone; McKenzie, short-handed and disappointed; Natasha, angry and full of hate; and her students who sat in a classroom without her. She thought of how she’d failed them all and how she’d failed herself.
Then her fingers stilled against her throbbing lip, and an unexpected surge of determination coursed through her as she realized how much Earl would need her in the coming days . . . and how—even though her life was crumbling around her—she wouldn’t fail him again.
“What do you mean you’re quitting?” Brooks Moore demanded.