“Where are you?”

“I’m at the Lunenburg hospital. The car’s totaled.”

I don’t know why I tell him that. I suppose I’m stalling, avoiding what must come next.

“Jeez,” he says. “What happened?”

I swallow uncomfortably because I don’t know how to explain all of this, but I do my best.

“An oncoming car crossed the center lane and clipped me in the back end,” I say. “It was enough to send me into a spin, and then I hit the shoulder and flipped and rolled into a ravine.”

“A ravine? Oh my God, Mom! Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. Thank goodness for seat belts. But they had to use the Jaws of Life to get me out. It took a while.”

I feel totally incoherent as I try to describe it.

I hear Zack breathing hard. “I need to get there. I want to be with you. Where’s Dad?”

My heart pounds like a jackhammer, and I can’t find the right words. All I can think about is what if both Alan and I had been killed. Zack’s an only child. He would have been left all alone.

I swallow and take a breath.

“It’s complicated. I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m just going to say it flat out. Dad was the driver who crossed the center line, and after he hit me, he crashed as well. He survived, but he’s unconscious, and we’re waiting for a helicopter to take him to the QEII.”

Zack shouts into the phone. “What? How could that happen? You guys collided with each other?”

I sit down on the bed, wishing there was a way for me to help my son cope with this. “I don’t know how it happened—I’m just as confused as you are—but . . . it was foggy, and there was freezing rain.”

I feel like a coward for blaming the accident on the weather when there’s no doubt that the icing didn’t begin until at least twenty minutes after the crash.

“But why was Dad driving to Lunenburg when he was supposed to come to the game?”

I have no answer to give because Alan didn’t call me, and I have no idea why he didn’t stick to the plan. I feel helpless and muddled.

“I don’t know, Zack. I’m not sure what he was doing. I’m trying to make sense of it, but I can’t worry about the why right now. I just need to stay with him and pray that the helicopter arrives soon and that he’s going to be okay. That’s what you need to do too. Say a prayer, because he’s in bad shape.”

“How bad?”

I hesitate, not knowing how much to reveal because this is my baby and I want to protect him. Then I remind myself that’s he’s seventeen years old, practically a man. I have to be honest.

“He hasn’t regained consciousness since he arrived at the hospital, so he might have a brain injury. Right now, they have him on life support—”

“No . . .”

I hold up a hand. “Please, we can’t lose hope. It could just be some swelling, and when the swelling goes down, he could come out of it. Brain injuries are difficult to predict.”

“But . . .” Zack is quiet for a moment. “Could he end up as a vegetable?”

“Let’s not use that word,” I gently say. “We need to stay positive. Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

I hear Zack crying softly, and I give him a moment.

“Are you still at the rink?” I carefully ask.

“Yes,” he replies in a low, broken voice.

“Can you get a ride home with someone?”

“Jeremy can take me.”

“Good. And keep your cell phone on. I’ll let you know when we’re getting on the helicopter.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“I love you.” I’m about to end the call when he asks one more thing.

“Wait, Mom. Where’s Winston? Wasn’t he with you?”

I close my eyes and exhale heavily. “Yes, he was in the back seat, but he got thrown, and . . . well, we’re not sure where he is right now. He must have run off.”

“He’s lost? On the highway?”

“Yes, but some men from the fire department are searching for him, and the local cops have been informed as well. They’ll find him, Zack. I promise.”

Knock on wood.

“I hope so,” Zack replies. “What if he gets hit by a car?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “Let’s not think those kinds of thoughts. Just say more prayers, and I’ll let you know more as soon as I hear something.”

We say goodbye, and I look up at my mother, who has just swept past the privacy curtain with two cups of coffee, one in each hand. She looks pale from all the stress. “I thought you might like one.”

“Thank you. But you should sit down, Mom.”

She moves closer and hands me the cup. I peel back the plastic lid and take a sip. The warmth feels good between my palms—a welcome comfort after so many ordeals.

Mom sits down. “How did he take it?”

I shrug with resignation. “As good as can be expected, but he’s upset and worried. I told him to go home and wait until I call.” I cup my forehead in a hand. “Where is that damn helicopter?”

Just then, the Star Wars theme begins to play at the foot of the bed, and I see Alan’s cell phone flashing. “Someone’s calling him. What am I supposed to say?”

Neither of us makes a move to reach for the phone. “You don’t have to answer it,” Mom says. “You could just let it go to voice mail.”

I consider that briefly because I’ve been through so much and I don’t feel ready to talk to anyone—especially about what happened to Alan—but what if it’s about work? I can’t just let it ring. “Could you pass it to me?”

She quickly hands me the phone, and I check the call display. “It’s a local number.”

Mom inclines her head.

“Hello?”

There’s a long pause at the other end, and then a woman asks, “Is Alan there?”

I wet my lips and take a breath. “No, I’m sorry—he’s not. Would you like to leave a message?”

I perceive another conspicuous pause. “Um . . . I’m calling from Handy Hardware in Lunenburg. I don’t suppose this is . . . is this Abbie?”

I slowly sit up on the edge of the bed. “Yes. Who is this?”

“It’s Paula Sheridan. We went to high school together.”

I remember Paula Sheridan, though we haven’t spoken to each other since I graduated. We didn’t know each other that well because she was a year behind me, but we sometimes moved in the same circles and went to the same parties. I remember bonding with her one night at a summer campfire when her boyfriend dumped her. She cried her eyes out, and I held her hair back when she threw up in the bushes. But that was it. I went off to college in Ontario. I don’t know what she did after high school, and I have no idea why she’s calling Alan’s phone. Yet more questions to add to the growing list.

“Why are you calling?” I ask.

“Oh . . .” She seems lost for words. “I’m just looking for Alan because he ordered something from the store. He was supposed to pick it up today.”

“The hardware store . . . ?”

“Yes. My husband and I own Handy Hardware in Lunenburg. Your husband comes in sometimes to get things, usually on Sundays.”

Ah. Now I understand. He’s always helping my mother with handiwork around the house. I glance up at Mom, and she’s watching me curiously.

“He was supposed to pick up a . . .” Paula hesitates. “Let me see . . . a power washer.”

My stomach turns over as I struggle to figure out how to respond. “I’m sorry—he won’t be coming in.” Does she not realize there’s an ice storm out there? “Are you even open?” I ask, checking my watch.

“Oh, we closed at six. I’m just here taking care of a few courtesy calls.”

Neither of us says anything for a few seconds.

“Could you let him know that I’ll hold the power washer here for him?” Paula finally asks. “He can come by anytime.”

I sense that she’s ready to say “Thank you and goodbye,” but I don’t want to end the call just yet.

“Wait a second, Paula. Did he say specifically that he was going to pick it up today?”

“Yes.”

“When did he say that?”

She pauses again. “Earlier today, when he called.”

“I see.” I don’t know why I suddenly want to divulge something personal to a woman I haven’t spoken to in years, but I can’t help myself. She’s someone I used to know, someone from my hometown, and I really need a friend right now. The words come spilling out.

“Actually, Paula . . . something terrible happened. He had a car accident. We both did. We crashed into each other, believe it or not. I’m at the hospital in Lunenburg, and we’re waiting for Alan to be airlifted to Halifax.”

Paula is silent before speaking in a halting, disbelieving voice. “My God. I heard there was an accident on the 103. It was Alan? Is he okay?”

I begin to pick at a loose thread on my hospital gown while I struggle to keep my emotions in check. “I don’t know. He’s in a coma.”

Suddenly I’m forced to press my fingertips to my mouth to keep from weeping into the phone. I hold the phone away while I fight to pull myself together. Then I bring it back against my cheek. “We’re very worried.”

“Of course you are. My goodness.” She pauses again. “Is there anything I can do? Are you by yourself in the hospital? I could come down there if you need help.”

I sniffle and wipe the back of my hand under my nose. “No, you don’t have to do that. My mom’s here, but thanks for asking.” Then I think of something. “Actually, if you could keep your ear to the ground about our dog? He was in my car when we had the accident, but he ran off at the scene, and we haven’t seen him since. The fire department is looking for him, but if you could spread the word in town . . . he’s a golden retriever, and his name is Winston. He might be injured.”