His spine went straight like she’d electrocuted him. “Wow. That’s harsh.”
“I’m just saying, Kyle, you’re new at this.”
“Which is why, Ainsley, I want to follow the directions to the—” He stopped speaking abruptly, his gaze cutting across the yard. “What’s your dad doing?”
She turned to look. He was taking fawn-like steps across the dirt, rubbing at his mouth, mopping at his sweaty brow with his arm.
“How should I know from all the way over—”
Kyle pushed past Ainsley, and she lost her balance and fell, sitting down hard on her backside in the soft dirt.
“What the . . . ?” She turned to watch Kyle sprint across the yard and driveway to reach her father just before he started seizing. He caught Gary under the armpits and gently lowered him to the dirt.
“Dad!” Ainsley scrambled to her feet and ran over to them. “Dad, are you okay?” She couldn’t keep the panic out of her voice.
“Ainsley, go get some juice,” Kyle commanded. “Mr. Buchanan, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, sir.” He had her father’s head cradled in his lap, keeping it from banging against the ground. She stood there, tears in her eyes, watching his arms jerk and convulse.
“Shouldn’t we call 911?” someone asked.
“Ainsley,” Kyle snapped. “Juice. Now.”
Through the haze of her fear, she stumbled toward the street. There would be juice in his truck somewhere; her mother would’ve made sure of that. Should I call her? Ainsley threw open the driver’s side door and looked under the seat. Sure enough, a six-pack of orange juice boxes was stuffed under there, dusty and probably expired, but it would work. She slammed the door and hurried back across the yard, pushing through the crowd that had formed around him, hands shaking as she tried to poke the plastic straw into the pre-perforated hole.
Kyle took the juice box without a word, ripped out the straw and began to squirt it directly into his mouth. Her dad had stopped shaking, but his skin looked terrible, and when she knelt next to him and grabbed his hand, it was clammy and cold.
“Dad?” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I’m here. It’ll be okay, Kyle’s taking good care of you.”
Kyle looked at the ingredients on the side of the juice box, then his watch. “All right, Mr. Buchanan. I’m going to ask you some simple questions, and I’d like you to try to answer them by nodding or shaking your head, okay?”
Gary nodded.
“Before you fell, did you feel confused, dizzy, or nauseous?”
He nodded again, and Ainsley covered the hand she was already holding with her other hand.
“Are you feeling shaky, anxious, or irritable?”
He nodded again.
“We usually eat at 12:15,” she put in. “He said he just wanted to finish up with the . . .” A sob came out of nowhere, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
Kyle’s hold on her arm was gentle but firm. “Ainsley, I think he’s going to be okay, but he’s probably hypoglycemic. I need you to stay calm so you can help me. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded frantically, wiping at her leaking eyes, and he gave her a warm smile. “I know you can. Deep, slow breaths, okay? I don’t need two people passing out.”
It was sort of a joke, but she didn’t laugh. She couldn’t. Not while her dad was still lying on the ground, looking like death warmed over.
“Mr. Buchanan, in about ten minutes, we’re going to test your blood sugar, and if it’s too low, you and me are going to take a little ride up to Santiam, all right?” Kyle put two fingers to her father’s neck, still looking at his watch. “Your heart rate is starting to come down. That’s good.”
Gary nodded, and he seemed to be getting some color back. Ainsley rubbed his hand, the hairy, age-spotted skin feeling more dear to her than ever before. The minutes ticked by so slowly, Ainsley felt an hour had passed before Kyle turned to her. “Ainsley, could you please go get his testing supplies?”
“Glove box,” said Gary, trying to sit up. Kyle helped him, supporting him from behind in case he went down again.
“I’ll get it,” Ralph said, hurrying toward the truck. These old guys can move when it suits them, she thought, grateful that she didn’t have to leave her father’s side.
Someone had brought Kyle the first aid kit, and he expertly wiped Gary’s fingertip with an alcohol wipe before waving it dry. Ralph came back with the glucometer, and Ainsley held her breath as the machine calculated his blood sugar.
“That’s acceptable,” said Kyle, and he patted Gary on the shoulder. “Tell your body it’s doing good work, Mr. Buchanan.”
“Good work,” he murmured, but Ainsley didn’t think he was talking to his body.
“The next order of business is a meal. I’d rather you didn’t drive far . . .”
“Will you come with us?” Ainsley blurted out, and she felt her cheeks burn as everyone looked at her.
Kyle gave her a crooked smile. “If you want me to,” he said softly, “but really, he’s going to be fine . . .”
“I want you to. Please.”
“Okay.” He touched her hand. “I’m sorry I knocked you down, I didn’t mean to. Are you okay?”
She wiggled in place. “My tail bone’s a little sore, but I’ll be fine.” She felt a deep sigh welling up in her, and she let it out, her lips purring like a motorboat. Her dad imitated her, then gave her a small grin.
“You,” she said, pointing at him, “are in big trouble, old man.”
“What happens at the site stays at the site,” he replied, shrugging.
“Nice try. Let’s go get lunch, and you can keep trying to fruitlessly bribe me and Kyle not to tell Mom.”
“There’s no reason your mother needs to hear about this, is there?”
They stood up, and she immediately put a protective arm around his back, stabilizing him. Kyle quietly got on the other side, and they started toward the truck.
“You know she checks your supplies, don’t you?”
He groaned. “The juice.”
“Yes, the juice. She’s going to know whether I tell her or not. You should just come clean.”
“What’s your vote, Doc? Should I tell the missus or risk her wrath?”
“Well,” Kyle said slowly, “I don’t think a husband and wife should keep secrets unless they’re poker-related.” He glanced at Ainsley, who managed to smile back at him.
“Good answer, Doc,” said Gary, angling for the driver’s seat.
“Uh, Pop? We can take your car, but I’m driving,” said Ainsley.
“What, you don’t trust me?” he asked, grinning, as he dug his keys out of his front pocket and handed them over. Her own hands were shaking as she took them, and she helped her dad into the middle seat. Kyle caught her before she climbed in.
“How about you let me drive? Give yourself a few minutes to come down off the event before we put your concentration to the test . . . It’s not far.” She looked past him toward her dad, whose eyes were closed, his shoulders sagging. Mutely, she nodded and passed him the keys. He walked around to the other side and opened her door before getting behind the wheel.