Margaret nodded.
That answer satisfied her.
“You waiting for them?”
“One of them.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Friend?”
“No.”
Margaret stared.
Bear sighed.
“Kid was alone.”
“How old?”
“Maybe twenty-five.”
“That is not a kid.”
“Everybody under forty is a kid.”
“Then I'm ancient.”
“Wasn't going to say it.”
“You thought it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled.
Then looked toward the telephone in her hand.
No missed calls.
No message.
Her smile disappeared.
Bear noticed.
“Grandson?”
“Yes.”
“Close?”
“Very.”
“Usually reliable?”
Margaret gave him a look.
“He has tattoos.”
Bear stared at his arms.
Margaret continued.
“So apparently reliability survives them.”
He laughed again.
“Good to know.”
“He's twenty-seven.”
“Lives in Carlisle.”
“Works construction.”
“He should've been here by now.”
Bear's expression shifted.
“What kind of truck?”
Margaret frowned.
“Why?”
“Just asking.”
“Gray pickup.”
“Older?”
“Four years.”
“Full-size?”
“Yes.”
Bear looked toward the emergency elevator.
Something moved behind his eyes.
Margaret noticed.
“You know something?”
“No.”
Too quick.
Margaret had spent twenty-seven years with physicians.
She knew avoidance too.
“What?”
Bear hesitated.
“The wreck.”
Her face changed.
“What about it?”
“Gray pickup.”
Everything in Margaret stopped.
Bear immediately held up one hand.
“Don't jump.”
“That’s exactly what I'm about to do.”
“Different county plate.”
“What plate?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because you would've seen my face.”
Margaret stared.
Correct.
He continued.
“The driver was young.”
“Conscious.”
“Talking.”
“What was his name?”
Bear looked toward the elevator.
“Michael.”
Margaret stood too quickly.
The hallway tilted.
Bear was on his feet immediately.
He did not touch her.
He simply stepped close enough to catch her if she fell.
“Easy.”
“My grandson is Michael.”
“I figured.”
“Last name?”
“Didn't hear it.”
Margaret reached for the wall.
Bear lowered himself slightly.
“Sit.”
“No.”
“Mrs.—”
“Don't you start.”
Bear stopped.
Margaret closed her eyes until the hallway steadied.
Then opened them.
“Where is he?”
“Emergency department.”
“Why are you here?”
“They brought him up for imaging.”
“What happened?”
“Pickup hit debris.”
“Swerved.”
“Shoulder.”
“Guardrail.”
“Airbags.”
Margaret's face went white.
Bear continued immediately.
“He was awake.”
“Talking.”
“Mad about his truck.”
“That’s usually a good sign.”