Raphaela's Gift (8 page)

"Why don't you tell me about your relationship with Raphaela?"

He glanced from the emerald canopy to the stark gray of the canyon walls and then looked down to the river snaking through its center. The foam on the water glittered in the midday sun.

"Ella is my baby girl. My only child. And I love her more than life itself. What more is there to know?" His voice had taken on a sharp edge, like the rock in the gorge. Even he could hear it.

Faith didn't speak as she gazed over her shoulder at the ravine, deep in thought. He guessed she regretted having come out here with him.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so--" He was losing control! His decision to cooperate wasn't standing. "--so brief," he said. His gaze followed hers, to the wild crashing waters below. He silently watched a yellow raft full of riders bob and dip in the whitewater.

"Do you ever let those defenses down?" Her voice was soft and non-threatening, but her words clubbed him with ample force.

He felt cornered. "No, I don't."

"Why is that, Garret?" This time her voice wasn't so soft.

"Why? Because your program is a sham, that's why. I don't believe in it, I don't want to be here, and I don't expect you to help Ella a bit."

"So leave! Make good on your threat and take your daughter home," She yelled back. Her eyes flashed with anger. "What makes you think it's a sham, anyway? You don't have any real reason for believing that, do you? I mean, her miraculous progress speaks for itself, if you'd let it!"

"Look, Faith, I don't expect you to understand this. But, I'm a doctor. I know about places like this. Places that promise miracles but deliver empty deception. Charlatans have been doing it for years; 'drink this snake oil and blind men will see, cripples will walk, and all your ills will miraculously disappear!' Well, Miss LeFeuvre, no miracle is going to help my daughter."

"How do you know that? Why can't you give us a chance?"

"Because if there were anything," he confessed softly, "anything at all that would help me communicate with my little girl, I would have found it already."

"So everything you said earlier, your apology, your promise to cooperate. It was all an act? A lie?"

His eyes met hers. "No. It wasn't. I meant what I said when I apologized. I'm not crazy about this place, but I'm staying. No matter how I feel, I won't do anything that might halt Ella's progress because if I did, I'd never be able to live with myself." He dropped his regard back to the gorge. As he watched, the raft flipped over, sending its riders into the angry river. "That raft turned over. Hope no one gets hurt." He stood to get a better view.

Faith stood and then slid to the ground. "Oh, my gosh! That's a rough rapid right there. At this time of year, it's full of hydraulics, holes in the water that can trap a body underwater." She took several steps before he caught her arm.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She tugged her arm free. "Down to make sure everyone's okay. Are you coming with me?"

He checked his cell phone clipped to his belt. The light was green. He started to dial.

Faith laid her hand on his, and he looked up. Their gazes met. "Is that all you're willing to do? Make a phone call?"

His ego bruised, he shot back, "They can have a rescue helicopter here in a few minutes..."

"Maybe we should make sure that someone is hurt before we call for help. Those rafts capsize all the time. Usually, everyone is okay, but sometimes they get hurt."

He nodded.

She motioned toward a slight opening in the brush. "Here's a path, but it looks steep."

Glancing down at his loafers, he wished he'd thought to wear hiking boots, or at least tennis shoes. Descending a treacherous gorge in leather soles was going to be more excitement than he'd prepared for. But when he glimpsed down and spied a rafter clinging to a rock in the river's center, screaming at the top of her lungs, he knew he had to take the chance. "Now we call," he said, first hitting the power button on his phone. After the operator told him a search and rescue helicopter had been sent, he said, "Let's go."

They plunged into the thick forest and ran down the narrow path that was no more than beaten down ivy at the cliff's edge. Faith wasn't any more prepared for rock climbing than he was. She wore a dress and flat, but slick-soled shoes, and he had to catch her when she slipped, holding her by the arm until she found secure footing. As they scrambled down the steep trail, he silently prayed his assistance would not be needed at the river. It had been years since he'd been a med student, working in emergency medicine. A mistake could be fatal if the injury was bad enough. Experience had taught him that painful lesson years ago.

The path curved, snaking down a shallower side of the gorge, but was still slick and muddy. Several times, Garret slid, his soles losing grip in the muck, and once he skidded down fifteen feet before he found a foothold. After he reached the bottom, he released a sigh of relief. Faith gave him a knowing grin, having several times used his body as a brace to keep from careening down the path.

By the time, they neared the riverbank; the swift current had carried several of the rafters downstream, including the woman who had been clinging to the rock. But two of them, a man and woman had swum to shore.

Garret looked at Faith as he offered her a hand down the last slope next to the riverbank, then after sucking in a few deep breaths, he ran to the visibly shaking man and woman. Over the roar of the river behind them, he asked if they were injured.

The man stared blankly, but the woman gripped Garret's arm and cried, "Our son! He's ten. With a yellow vest."

With Faith at his heels, Garret dashed down the riverbank looking for boy. "We'll never find him," he called over his shoulder, his breaths bursting through the words as he ran. "The current's too fast. He's probably half a mile downriver by now." Trees and bushes with limbs reaching toward the riverbank blocked his way. He pushed them aside as he ran.

"Ahead, on the other side of the bend, the current slows. If he can swim, he can make it to shore over there." Faith leaned against a tree, looking breathless as she pointed in the direction she meant.

Around the curve, the water still ran swift, but its surface was smooth rather than thrashing. A gathering of rafters stood on the shore about fifty yards ahead. He sprinted toward them, leaving Faith behind.

When he approached the sodden group, curious stares greeted him.

One man looked at Garret and asked, "What's up?"

Garret froze, his gaze shooting from one face to the next. "I'm a doctor. Looking for a small boy. Ten, with a yellow vest." Faith's footsteps shuffled on rock behind him.

The man who'd spoken nodded. "He's here. The guy with him is an RN. He said the boy has a broken leg. Looks pretty bad." He pointed at a small boy, dwarfed by the bright yellow life jacket and helmet, who lay propped up against a large bolder. A man was kneeled next to him, his back to Garret.

Garret shook his head as he jogged toward the boy, shocked that his parents would take a boy that size on a river raft, regardless of the jacket and helmet. Rapids were deadly, and adults died wearing the latest in protection. What parent in their right mind would do something so stupid?

The kid was tiny for his age, sopping wet, and his face chalky white. But he was still awake and alert. The nurse held blood-soaked rags on his leg.

"I'm a doctor. Can I help?" Garret offered.

"I'm trying to stop the bleeding. It's bad." The man lifted the rags to allow Garret to check the wound. The boy had a compound fracture, a sharp splinter of bone piercing his skin.

Garret glanced back at Faith, who was standing behind him, her hands cupped over her mouth, breathing loudly. "He needs to get to a hospital."

Faith nodded. "What do we do?"

The boy's eyelids slid closed, and Garret looked down at the leg again. "Damn!"

"What is it?" Faith asked, stooping down beside Garret.

"He's going into shock. Could be the blood loss." He looked up, searched out the nurse, then glanced back down at the child. As he gazed down at the boy's ashen features, his panic swelled until his heart was racing and his hands shook.

"Oh, my God! My baby!" a woman cried from behind him. "Oh, my God! Help him. Please!"

In the span of a breath, Garret was whisked back in time, standing in the emergency room as a resident treating a small boy who'd been hit by a car. Recalling with gut clenching regret how much a foolish oversight on his part had cost the child his life.

That had been his last trauma case. The next day, he applied for an opening at another hospital in psychiatric medicine.

Now, it was happening again. Another child's life lay in his hands.

Faith gripped his shoulder and shook him. "Garret. Are you all right?"

Firmly in the present again, Garrett called out, "Hey, you! Nurse. Do you have a first aid kit? A thermal blanket?"

The man, who now stood with the boy's parents, his hands on the mother's trembling shoulders, shook his head. "Everything's with the raft."

"Damn! We need to lay him down," Garret said as he eased the boy flat on his back. "I may need a tourniquet. A stick and some rope. And find something to warm him," he told Faith.

Faith nodded. "I'll see what I can find." She ran from him, and Garret returned his attention to the boy, determined not to give into his fears. Cursing himself for coming down there in the first place, he checked the boy's foot. It was cold and blue. He guessed the fractured bone had severed an artery, the blood loss causing the child's shock.

Faith returned with a collection of sticks. "I can't find anything to warm him. Everyone's clothes are wet and cold. And I couldn't find any rope."

Garret nodded and stripped his shirt off. Then he looked at Faith, eyed her dress, and asked, "Would you mind donating a bit of your dress?"

She smiled and stood. "Absolutely not."

He ripped a strip from the bottom, wrapped it around the child's thigh, and, gritting his teeth in fear, tightened it by knotting it around the stick and twisting the stick. The bleeding from the wound stopped. And the tiniest trickle of relief eased down his spine. He sat back to catch his breath.

Faith kneeled next to him and eased the boy out of his life jacket and sodden shirt and laid Garret's dry shirt over him.

"Now what do we do?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

He dropped his gaze to the ground, certain she would see his fear, sense the fact that he didn't know what the hell he was doing

The nurse huddled next to him. "What do you think, doc? Do we splint the leg? Or would that damage it more?"

Hell if I know!
They were all looking at him now. Faith, the nurse, the rafters, the kid's terrified parents. Like he was their savior. Like he knew how to treat every damn trauma. He was a psychiatrist, damn it. He treated depression, bipolar disorder, and eating disorders. He didn't set broken legs…or cure autism.

"Garret?" Faith repeated, laying her hand on his shoulder again. He glanced at her, saw the worry in her face. Her mouth was drawn taut, her eyelids heavy. "Can I help you splint the leg?" she asked, nodding.

He returned her nod. "Yes." He showed her where to hold the boy's leg so it wouldn't move and carefully wrapped scraps of her dress around it and some sticks running down both sides to hold it steady. He didn't breathe until it was done.

Then, he stood, turning back toward the nurse. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah."

"You take kids on the rafts?"

"Yeah, we do it all the time. This river's pretty safe this time of year, but I wouldn't take them in the spring, or on any of the other rivers we raft, though."

"Don't do it again."

The young man stepped back.

Garret took a deep breath. "Don't take a kid on the river again!"

"Look man, that's not my call. I just work for the rafting company. They book the trips, and they make the rules. My job is to make sure the tourists have a good time and make it down the river alive."

"You almost failed," Garret growled. "This kid's hurt, could lose his leg. How the hell would you feel about that?"

Faith squeezed Garret's arm, leaned close, and whispered, "You're not going to change anything this way. I agree with you one hundred percent, but this is not the way to handle it. Besides, his parents are the ones who made the decision, not this man. And I'm sure you don't want them feeling any worse than they already do."

Garret's gaze met Faith's again. "What kind of parent would send their kid down a raging river on a flimsy raft?"

"I know, I know." Her expression was sincere.

After the rescue helicopter arrived and dropped a basket as it hovered overhead, Garret and Faith picked up the boy and gently fastened him in with the paramedic's help, then stepped back as the paramedic helped each parent board. A hand gently rested upon Garret's shoulder as he watched the helicopter rise above the treetops. Once the chopper was out of sight, Garret eagerly turned his back to the remaining rafters. Catching Faith by the arm, he gently swung her around, and they walked away. "Damn adrenaline junkies," he cursed.