“Thank you, Daisy,” I say.
The note was meant to be given to her if she ever happened to come back into Daisy's cafe, sure. But, I didn't plan on her being with someone when I wrote it all those years ago. I was young and naive back then, now I know better. The note belongs in the trash, not in her hands. I take some small bit of comfort though, knowing that most likely, it'll end up where it needs to be regardless. It's not like Sydney will ever forgive me, not completely. And it's not like I can blame her for it.
A guy can hope, though. Back when I wrote the note, I still had a lot of hope left in me. That's not so much the case anymore.
“Well, I better be off. Gunner's waiting in the truck,” I say.
Reaching out, Daisy takes my hand in hers and squeezes it tightly, giving me an encouraging smile.
“Don't give up on her, Jack. I know what I saw all those years ago between you two. That was true love,” she says. “And the way you looked at each tonight was much the same. She has your information. She'll come around. Mark my words, Jack. She'll come around.”
I smile faintly, but I don't buy it. I don't buy any of it. Not even close. I appreciate what Daisy is saying though. I appreciate that she's trying to keep that spark of hope alive in me. No matter how false that hope might be. Squeezing her hand before letting it go, I don't bother to argue with her as I step back out into the frigid, frozen night.
Gunner is sitting in the front seat patiently, staring at me, likely watching Daisy and I through the window of the restaurant. He looks content in the driver's seat, so much so that I joke with him when I open the door.
“You gonna drive us home, buddy?”
He kisses my face as I slide into the driver's seat, helping him scoot over, his entire body wagging as if I'd been gone for much longer than a few minutes. With the way he greets me, you'd think I was coming home after being away for years, or some shit.
“Back seat, Gunner,” I say, patting the guy on the head.
He obeys, his tongue still out as he hops over the center console into the back seat of my truck. He sits down and looks at me like, I'm ready for the next adventure.
“Just going home, Gunner,” I say. “I think I've had more than enough adventure for one night.”
Yeah, I talk to my dog. Probably more than I should. I settle myself into the front seat and put the truck into reverse and start to back out. Out of the corner of my eye though, I see movement and glance over. Though it's getting pretty dark, I see a woman walking down the middle of the road in nothing but a skirt and light blouse. I can see that she isn't even wearing any shoes. She's looking down at the ground, and while it's too dark to see her hair color or features, I know who it is right away.
She stumbles, almost falling into a snow drift. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her bare arms, and she slides on some ice. She stumbles and can't quite catch herself, falling down into the snow. She lays there in the freezing snowbank, not moving. I'm out of my car in a second flat, running down the middle of the street toward her.
“Sydney!” I call.
When I get to her, she stares up at me with blank eyes. I take off my coat and wrap her in it as tightly as possible. That's when I see the blood pouring from the wound in the back of her head. I quickly yank my cell phone out of my pocket and dial 9-1-1.
It seems like it takes forever for the call to go through, and the entire time, my gut is churning, and my pulse is racing. I stare at her and she looks back at me with eyes that are wide, vacant. I've seen people with that thousand-yard stare before and it's usually because they see their own death barreling down upon them.
I'm not going to let that happen to her. She is not going to die on me. I refuse to let her.
“Stay with me, Sydney,” I say in my most commanding voice. “Help is coming. Just hang on.”
I rip off my t-shirt even though it's freezing, and hold it to the back of her head, doing my best to stanch the flow of blood. I check her pulse, it's weak and thready. Even in the shadows and gloom of the evening, I can see that her pupils are dilated. She still hasn't said a word to me, nor shown any sign of recognizing me. She's just lying there, looking up at me blankly.
The operator finally picks up on the other end of the line. “9-1-1, what's your emergency?”
I quickly and as calmly as I can, explain the situation. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, forcing myself to stay calm and in control. Because that's what I've been trained to do – stay calm and focused under pressure. Though it's been years, my training kicks into overdrive and I force any emotions or fear I might have right out of my head.
This isn't a battlefield. Bombs aren't going off and bullets aren't flying, but I need to remain as calm and focused as if they are. Sydney needs me to stay calm. To stay in control. The ambulance is on the way, I just need to keep her warm and control the bleeding.
Wrapping her tiny body in my gigantic coat, I pull her into my lap and use my body heat to keep her warm. I find myself rocking her gently, talking in soothing tones even though she's not said a word to me, yet. She just stares at me, expressionless. Shock and trauma does that to a person.
“It's going to be okay, Sydney,” I say. “You're going to be okay. You're going to be fine.”
I keep repeating the same thing over and over again. What else can I say? I just pray that I'm not lying to her. Her lips are purple, and she opens and closes her mouth, as if she's struggling to speak. Finally, a choked voice comes out, a sound I barely recognize.
“H - how do you know my name?”
Her voice is thick and hoarse, sending a chill running through me – and not just from the freezing temperature and the lack of a shirt. She's looking at me with those wide eyes and I can see the fear etched into her features. I can tell by the expression on her face that she genuinely does not recognize me. Like I'm a complete stranger holding her in my arms.
“Syd, it's Jack,” I say. “We ran into each other at Daisy's, remember?”
The look in her eyes tell me all I need to know. She has no clue who I am.
Sirens sound in the distance, bringing some comfort. Help is almost here. She's awake, even though her face is a blank mask. I try to get her to focus on staying awake until the paramedics can get to her.
“Stay with me, Sydney,” I say.
Red and blue flashing lights come closer, and the sirens are blaring now. People on the street stop and stare, and for the first time, I notice them all. “Get out of the way!” I shout, waving to the group of lookie-loos.
They continue to stare, but one-by-one they move to the sidewalk, as if they didn't see or hear the approaching bus. I see Daisy pushing her way through the crowd to get to us. She's crying, her entire body shaking as she hurries over. I fear the old woman might slip on the ice and really hurt herself in her haste, but she manages to get to us without any injuries and I let out a small sigh of relief.
“Oh my God, what happened?” she screeches.
“I don't know, I found her like this. She was just walking down the road,” I say.
She drops to her knees and whispers to Sydney, and still, Sydney looks as if she's never seen the woman in her life.
The ambulance stops short of us and the EMTs quickly pour out. A tall, blonde man is the first to reach Sydney and he pries her from my arms, which is no easy feat. I'm having trouble letting go of her, even though I know help has arrived and there's nothing more I can do.