The Promise

There was a sudden loud whoop-whoop-whoop from outside, and Peyton whirled to see Mac in the sheriff’s deputy’s SUV roar down the street with lights and sirens. And right behind him another deputy followed, also lit up. Behind them, the wrecker from the service station was moving pretty fast, lights revolving.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “That doesn’t look good. I’ve only seen Mac all lit up once since I moved here. I’ve never seen Mac and the other deputy both tear out of town like that.”

  Right then his cell phone rang, and Peyton had a sinking feeling. It matched the look on Scott’s face. He pulled out his phone.

  “Scott Grant,” he said; then he listened. He nodded to the phone. “Hold on,” he said. He looked at Peyton. “The perfect storm,” he said to her. “Bus accident just off 101 near Bandon. Church camp bus—full of kids. All area medical and rescue has been called.”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “Go.”

  “On my way,” he said into the phone. He pocketed it. “The clinic keys and keys to my house are in the top desk drawer. You can close the clinic. Put up a sign—closed for emergency. You can take the kids to my house—plenty of food and toys.”

  “I don’t know where you live!”

  “Well, everyone else does. Just ask someone.”

  “I don’t have safety seats!”

  “It’s three blocks, Peyton. We walk from my house to the beach all the time.” Then he dashed into the break room to tell his children goodbye. She heard him say, “When I get home, I want Peyton to tell me you’re the best children in the world.”

  “Oh, God,” she whispered to herself. “This isn’t happening to me.”

  Four

  There were a few patients scheduled, and Peyton thought she might be just turning them away with the excuse that the doctor had an emergency, and since she was new, she didn’t want to presume to take over their treatment. But six people stopped by and didn’t expect to keep their appointments—they only wondered what she had heard about the accident. One of them was Carrie from the deli next door, and she was kind enough to give Peyton directions to Scott’s house.

  She sat at the table in the break room for a little while, making sure the kids were comfortable with her before taking them home. “Well, I suppose we should lock up the clinic and head to your house. Want to show me the way?” she asked.

  “Follow me,” Will said, backpack slung over one shoulder.

  She shoved her directions into her pocket and, holding Jenny’s hand, followed. Will went up the walk to a small house with a nice little flower bed in the front. He waited by the door until she could unlock it for them. Then, inside they went, dropping backpacks in the foyer.

  “First, we have a snack,” Will said.

  “What kind of a snack?” Peyton asked.

  Jenny went to the pantry and got out some Goldfish crackers. “We have our own dish,” she instructed. “Then we play. Then we have dinner. Then we have a bath. Then ice cream.”

  “Wow, that sounds like a very busy schedule. And sounds like you’re almost ready to take care of yourselves. Want to show me the dish you want for the fishies?”

  Jenny was happy to do that. She pulled the step stool over to the counter, climbed up and opened a cupboard that revealed some bright-colored plastic plates and bowls.

  “Do you have kids?” Jenny asked.

  “Nope. But I come from a very big family, and I have lots of brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews. Lots,” Peyton replied.

  “Like five?”

  Peyton laughed. “More like twenty-five.”

  Jenny looked quite impressed.

  The very first thing to put Peyton a little more at ease was Scott’s house. It was quite nice but very ordinary and on the small side. She looked around a little bit. There was nothing uppity or fancy here. There was a kitchen with nook, small dining room, living room, master with bath, second bath and two more bedrooms. Right away she was pretty sure Scott would never say the words, I have an image to maintain, Peyton.

  “Where does the babysitter stay?” she asked Jenny.

  “Gabby has the whole downstairs!” Jenny said.

  “We’re not allowed down there—it’s hers!” Will said. “She has her own TV!”

  “I suppose she should,” Peyton said. “She probably has things to watch that you wouldn’t like that much.”

  “And she has a boyfriend! Charles. They kiss!” Jenny said.

  Peyton laughed. “You might have a boyfriend someday, you know.”

  “No, I don’t like boys. Except Daddy and Will. Sometimes Will.”

  “And what does Daddy say about that? As if I don’t know.”

  “He says, good.”

  Will lost interest in the conversation when it veered into boys and kissing. He went to his backpack for his Kindle and held it up while he snacked, watching some downloaded movie or cartoon. During this time, Jenny informed Peyton that they could have pizza for dinner because that’s what they did when there was no cooking. Gabby had to visit her mother, so Daddy was cooking, but not too much. Peyton was shown where to find the frozen pizzas and ice cream. Peyton was fully capable of that but wondered if Scott might be home before then. While Jenny was conducting her kitchen tour, Will left the room. He returned quickly, his arms laden with blankets, some dragging along the floor.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Peyton said. “What’s going on there?”

  “It’s for a fort.”

  “Where?”

  “There,” he said, indicating the dining room table.

  “Where did you get the blankets?” she asked.

  “From the closet floor. They’re fort blankets, not bed blankets. They’re too dirty for the bed, Gabby said.”

  “I see. So I guess Daddy allows this?”

  “Sometimes he gets in it with us, if he doesn’t have a book or a phone call,” Will explained.

  Peyton stepped closer to the dining room to watch the construction of the fort, which was accomplished with all the precision of experienced builders. Heavy books held the blankets on top of the table, chairs were turned around to make more space underneath, one blanket on the floor, a couple of pillows inside.

  “And what do you do in there?” she asked.

  Will shrugged and just pressed on. “Take stuff in there.”

  “Sometimes we have ice cream in there,” Jenny added. “Or movies. And games and books and stuff. But not paints or clay or Play-Doh.”

  “I can see how that would be a problem,” Peyton said. “I’ll be in the living room.”

  The kids disappeared inside, and she was very grateful for that. She wanted to turn on the TV, see if there was any coverage of this wreck. It wouldn’t be good to turn on the news and have the kids hear anything shocking or scary since their father was there. But she wanted to know any available details. She was not optimistic there would be much news as this was a very small town, and it was an accident off the main roads.

  But, ah! In the age of smartphones there was amateur footage already sent to news stations. And it looked god-awful. A blue school bus was on its side halfway off the road, back emergency door gaping open and lots of emergency vehicles all around. There were other vehicles scattered around, but she couldn’t tell if they’d been involved. A Coast Guard helicopter was taking off, presumably airlifting a patient or patients—USCG provided emergency services to the local area. The scene looked chaotic and terrifying, but the broadcaster said that even though there were thirty-seven children on board and many injuries, there was only one fatality, the bus driver.

  The group had been en route to a church camp along the river; they’d come from the north part of the state. There were young camp counselors among the group, and one young lady with a bandage on her forehead was interviewed. “We were skidding and spinning and hitting other cars, and then all of a sudden the bus just flipped over. All the kids were tossed everywhere, and we landed on top of each other in a big pile. No one knows what happened.”

/>   The newscaster said that while it was as yet unconfirmed, it was possible the accident was caused by the driver suffering a medical episode.

  Indeed, news film showed two cars and a truck that looked damaged, and it was reported that area hospitals were preparing for injured. And, typical of a small town, curious about everything, the police were now managing crowd control.

  “Looks like pizza for dinner,” she muttered to herself.

  * * *

  Scott called Mac’s cell from the car. “I got the call. I’m going to come by the scene to help first responders with triage before continuing on to the hospital.”

  “Can’t hurt. They’re calling F.D. from Douglas County and Coast Guard is en route.”

  “Any details on injuries or fatalities?”

  “A lot of kids have evacuated the bus already, some helped out by motorists. Watch the road and park behind emergency vehicles.”

  Scott approached cautiously and pulled off the road behind the tow truck. As he was jogging with medical bag in hand, he passed Eric Gentry, who waited just outside his tow truck. Right beyond Eric and the wrecker was a paramedic rescue unit and behind that, an ambulance. Fortunately, he knew the fire captain. No pleasantries were exchanged. “I want you on that medic unit over there and treat who you can. We’ll transport the ones who can’t be treated here,” the captain said.

  “Gotcha,” Scott replied.

  It was sheer pandemonium, but Scott could see a gathering of young children standing around the medical unit, some of them holding compresses to their heads or limbs. Mac was setting out flares along the road ahead, closing it off. It was an ominous sight, a blue church bus on its side, glass all over the road.

  “What have we got?” Scott asked the medic.

  “So far it looks like a lot of minor injuries in need of follow-up like X-rays, head CTs, stitches. A couple of fractures we’ll have Coast Guard transport via airlift, and the ambulance can transport our worst casualties, the worst lacerations or contusions. Most of these kids exited the bus on their own, but there are a couple coming out on backboards.”

  “The driver?” Scott asked.

  “Deceased. The coroner is on his way.”

  “Let’s get patching and transporting,” Scott said.

  A second and third fire department showed up, and working together, they began lowering the population of injured at the scene of the accident. The accident was upgraded to a fatal, given the driver, and the state police fatal team was soon collecting data, measuring, taking pictures. There was only one adult supervisor for this large group, a youth pastor, but she was only slightly banged up and held the master list of all the children’s names and contact information. She worked with emergency personnel to keep track of the kids being transported and their destinations. Luckily, there were enough teenage camp counselors present to accompany groups of younger children to various area hospitals. It took close to two hours to send ambulances with four, five or even six kids to local hospitals. Scott followed the third group to the Bandon ER It was going to take hours for parents and guardians to fetch them since they were all from out of town. It looked as if only a few had to be hospitalized overnight for fractures, and they were taken to Eugene’s county hospital.

  The ER was so chaotic, Scott didn’t have time to call Peyton, but he took a moment to text her that he was tied up and asked if she was doing all right. She texted back immediately. At your house, pizza for dinner, all is well. He spoke to a number of parents, frantically en route to Coos County, and tried to allay their fears as well as he could.

  “That could’ve been horrible,” he said to one of the RNs he knew well. “There could’ve been dozens of little bodies all over the road and down the hill.”

  She shuddered. “I know. Even though it was mostly cuts and bruises, I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight,” she said.

  “Me, either,” he agreed.

  * * *

  Throughout the evening, between pizza, games of Candy Land, baths and getting ready for bed, Peyton flipped on the news from time to time just to catch any updates on the accident. They were still showing the original footage, and the reports remained the same. The authorities hadn’t confirmed it, but it seemed that the bus driver, a fifty-seven-year-old woman, had suffered a stroke or heart attack, causing her to lose control of the bus. And the children, some thirty-seven of them, all survived.

  But what a terrible, tragic mess.

  Here at Scott’s home, doing the one thing she swore she would not be coerced into doing ever again, Peyton was babysitting for the boss. She wasn’t going to tell him she didn’t really mind. In fact, had Ted’s kids been even half as polite and well behaved as these two little ones, she might still be in Portland. There were so many simple chores that went so smoothly with Jenny and Will. Like brushing out Jenny’s long hair. “Use that,” Jenny said, pointing to the anti-tangle spray in Scott’s bathroom. And then she sat still and quiet, even sighing from time to time. This had never happened with Ted’s kids; his girls wouldn’t let her help them with anything. She had so wanted to brush their hair, take them shopping, cook with them, help decorate their bedrooms, watch girl movies with them, but they’d held her at arm’s length. She’d soon learned never to compliment their clothing or hairstyles or she’d never see them look that nice again.

  Scott’s kids ate their pizza slices at the table and carried their dishes to the sink. Really? At four and five? Peyton wasn’t sure what came next. “Should I get your bath ready?” she asked.

  Jenny nodded, but Will said, “I take a shower in Dad’s shower.” Ah, so manly.

  “Try not to make a big mess, please,” Peyton asked nicely. And he didn’t. He even hung up his towel and put his dirty clothes in the hamper.

  Oh, I was so arrogant, she thought. She had known Ted’s trio of kids were tough, but she thought she could manage them, whip them into shape. It was not as though she was without experience, both personally and professionally. And she had failed completely. Not only couldn’t she keep her relationship with Ted alive, but to her horror, the kids had seemed to deteriorate, growing ever worse in their behavior. Their scrapes with their teachers increased, their sass to her became worse than ever, even their grades dropped as if she’d done more harm than good. They weren’t going to turn out well. In fact, she feared what kind of people they might become.

  “One last game of Candy Land?” she asked the squeaky clean kids.

  “Yay! One more!”

  And then it was quiet time. They wanted to “camp” with their Kindles and crawled under the table. “Peyton, you can come in, too, if you want.”

  “Think I can fit?”

  “You have to make yourself small. And be careful about your head,” Jenny said.

  “What the heck,” she said. Down on all fours, she crawled into the tent, ducking her head for the wooden braces where the leaf fit. “Just for a little while. I should put the tent away before your daddy gets home.”

  “It’s okay. It doesn’t make Daddy mad,” Will said.

  “He’s a very good daddy,” Peyton said, once inside. Will and Jenny slid apart, putting her in the middle. “Very nice,” she said. “You can live in here.”

  “We have a real tent,” Will informed her.

  “For camping?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh. We camp in the backyard, but pretty soon we’re going to camp on the beach before it gets too cold. You can come, too, if you want to.”

  “That is so sweet,” she said, carefully lying down on her back between the two of them, her feet sticking out of the tent. “Sadly, I will be busy that day. So, now what do we do?”

  “We watch,” Jenny said.

  She held up her small screen to share with Peyton while Will was not so charitable. He rolled on to his side, his back curled against Peyton, watching his screen privately. She snuck a peak to make sure it wasn’t inappropriate; he was into dragons, it appeared. “Well, I guess I’ll watch with you. What’s this?”

/>   “Up,” Jenny said. “It’s about balloons.”

  Indeed. A balloon salesman who had a very satisfactory life selling them, married to a happy wife, growing older gracefully if not completely fulfilled since he missed out on some adventures. But he was mostly content. And then his wife died!

  “He’s going to cry now,” Jenny pointed out.

  “I think I’m going to cry,” Peyton said.

  Jenny turned toward her and gently stroked her cheek with her small hand, turning her beautiful big brown eyes up at Peyton. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

  Oh, God! Did she really hear right? She’s four!

  Stop, Peyton, stop! Do not fall in love with these children! They belong to the boss! Another package deal that didn’t work out, that would hurt way too much. She didn’t even have a whole heart left after what Ted and his children put her through.

  “Now he’ll make his house fly and be happy and fun.”

  “That Disney,” Peyton said. “They take no prisoners.” And she sniffed.

  * * *

  Scott felt terrible about imposing on Peyton. It was criminal! She was new in town, had come in to the clinic ahead of schedule just to help out and try to cover for Devon, and what had he done? Not only worked her to a full-time schedule, but gone off on an emergency that sucked up over eight hours. It was after midnight, and there was still confusion and commotion at the hospital, banged-up children sleeping on cots, couches, chairs and gurneys.

  Of course, had he not thoroughly checked out her résumé, talked to former employers and observed her with children in the clinic, he might not have dared. He absolutely believed he could trust her with his children.

  He crept quietly into the house; the kitchen light was on as well as a living-room light. The TV was off, and there was no one on the couch, but there was a fort in the dining room. And out of the fort stuck two grown-up feet.

  He laughed to himself.

  He crouched down and shook her foot. “Peyton,” he whispered.

  She sat up with a start and bashed her head into the dining room table. She went back down with a thud.

  “Shit. Peyton. Peyton. Are you knocked out?” Scott said. And then, for lack of a better idea, he grabbed her ankles and pulled her out from under the dining room table. Her eyes were open, her black hair streaming out behind her, and she was glaring at him. “Damn, I’m sorry! It’s that table-leaf insert, it hangs down a—” He squinted at her. “Um, we might need a little ice there.”