The Beckoning Ride

I gripped the phone tighter as I heard my sister's voice. "Come as quick as you can," she shouted. "It's Cal. He won't answer his phone."

Her words came in a rush. "I called the fire department to go to his house. They had to take off the back door. Found him on the floor by his bed. They took him to the hospital."

"Hurry."

And then she hung up.

"Wait, wait."

That was all.

Cal. My brother. My hero.

A voice inside me screamed, "Go!"

I grabbed my fleece. My shaggy uncombed hair bounced; my fuzzy house shoes flopped on my feet. I grabbed the keys from the kitchen counteer and tossed my coffee into the sink.

No time for makeup, but I had on clean clothes.

The cold wind hurled sand and dirt as I worked at driving my car from Dallas. Steady. Stay calm. My mind raced. What happened? Would I lose my brother? Would he ever get to leave the hospital? For 75 miles I drove, clinging to the steering wheel as if on a racetrack.

I spotted the small red brick hospital. I aimed my car into a tight parking spot. The car bumped the curb, I rocked back and forth. A ship on a stormy sea.

A wave of antiseptic smell overwhealmed me as i stepped inside the old brick building. The glossy tile floor looked wet.

Right away, a receptionist called to me.

"You must be here to see Bill?"

Word certainly got around in this small Texas town. I rushed to the room she was pointing to, trying to harness my fears. My sister must have heard me. She stepped out and motioned for me to come in. I took a deep breath and entered the room.

"Someone hurt him, I think," she said.

I dropped my purse by a chair and rushed to his bed. My heart sank. There was blood on his arms and legs. His eyes, deep blue, looked weary. His gray hair ws askew. His six-foot frame overpowered the small old-fashioned hospital bed.

I touched his weathered arm. How did he get so old?

"Cal, it's Izzie. I'm here."

He looked away when I asked what happened, remained silent and stared out the window. I remembered he'd been robbed before. He didn't want to talk that time either.

I turned to my sister. "What happened?"

"I think someone came back for money, and he refused to give it to them," she said.

I looked at my brother.

"Cal?"

Was he afraid? He could be in danger if he revealed who did this to him.

A middle-aged doctor strutted into the room. His ostrich boots and western jeans showed below his white coat. The heavy thudding of his boots matched my heartbeat. He didn't introduce himself.

"Here's the situation," he said. "CPD, extremely high blood pressure. Some bodily functions have stopped working. He can't walk. He's not very responsive."

I sank iinto a chair. How could this be? Cal had been a father to me. He cooked, cleaned, and walked me to school. I followed him everywhere.

Is now my turn to take care of him?

My future was uncertain. I had just retired and had been looking forward to a well-earned rest. I had more questions than answers. I felt as though I'd just been swallowed up.

Was I capable of helping someone so ill?

I pushed the doubts away. I had no choice. He was my brother, and I would fight for his recovery.