Written in the Scars (31 page)

ELIN

“Don’t forget your gloves!” I rush to the door and hand a pair of bright red gloves to one of my favorite students. “It’s getting cold out there, big guy. You’ll need these.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Whitt,” he grins a wide, toothy smile.

I ruffle his hair before he turns and joins the line to head out to recess.

Closing the door softly behind me, I let out a long, tired breath. I tossed and turned last night, finally just getting up around one in the morning. I sat in the living room and planned out how to tell Ty about the baby. It was the excitement of knowing that kept me up. But by the time I fell asleep and woke up, the adrenaline had worn off and I was sluggish.

When I realized Ty wasn’t home yet, the adrenaline kicked back in.

Turns out his crew was working over, which isn’t out of the ordinary. A simple call to the Blackwater Office, something I’ve done a number of times over the years, answered that. Still, it started my day off wobbly and the rollercoaster of highs and lows is taking its toll.

“Ouch,” I mutter, stopping in my tracks. One hand goes onto a student’s desk as I bed forward and squeeze my eyes shut. A rumble, not quite a cramp but not
not
a cramp either, tightens in my belly. “Breathe,” I tell myself, concentrating on the rising and falling of my chest.

My heartbeat races as much as I try to steady it. “No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”

I need my husband. I need to hear his voice.

Quick steps lead me to my purse in my bottom desk drawer. Shaky hands tug at the zipper and retrieve my cell.

“Let him be home,” I whisper as another tug rips through my insides. “Please. Let him be home.”

Tears build in the corner of my eyes as I unlock my screen to see no missed calls and no texts. It’s ten o’clock, seven minutes past, to be exact, and I can’t fight the flicker in the back of my mind that it’s odd I haven’t heard from him at all.

I tell myself he’s probably just exhausted and grabbed a shower and fell asleep as I find his name in my favorites list. My finger is on his picture, “My Love” printed across the top, ready to drop and place the call when a knock reverberates through my classroom.

ELIN

My hand hovers over his name and I teeter on the verge of not answering the door and going through with the call. That answer is made for me.

It pushes open and Mr. Walters, the elementary school principal, pokes his head around it. “Elin?”

Blowing out a hasty breath, I sit the phone down. “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Walters. Can I help you?”

He steps through the opening.

I suck in a soft breath.

Gloom is written all over his tight features. He clears his throat and stands tall. “I don’t really know how to say this, Elin, but can you get your things and come with me, please?”

“Um, sure. Is . . . is everything all right?”

A million thoughts run through my head—have I been fired? Has someone filed a report against me?

“Blackwater Coal called the office a few minutes ago and asked that you come to their headquarters immediately,” he says softly.

“Why would they do that?”

I’m afraid to ask, but even more terrified of the answer. When Ty got hurt, they called my phone and asked me to meet the ambulance at the hospital. My phone hasn’t rung today. I check it again. No missed calls.

Why would they call the school?

It occurs to me, just as a slight quiver to Mr. Walters’ composure sets in, that I might prefer that question to remain unanswered. My legs go numb, as do my hands that reach furiously for my things.

He’s talking, but I’m mentally removed from this moment. It’s some sort of survival mechanism, I’m sure. If I can just come up with a decent reason, it will make it all right.

Maybe Ty tested positive for drugs and I need to pick him up?

Instantly, I’m relieved at the idea. That we can deal with.

Yes, I’ll pick him up and rip him a new asshole and make him get professional help this time. Real help, not some self-detox in the—

“ . . . accident, Elin.”

My head jerks to the front of the room.

“What did you say?”

He’s watching me like you look at the family standing beside a casket, like you want to seem all warm and familial, yet you’re afraid in their current state they may completely melt down. It’s a look that’s friendly, yet mixed with sadness, and one I hate. It’s also one I can’t process at the moment because my mind is stuck on that one little word.

“Accident?” I ask, my voice too loud for the room. “What accident? Who’s been in an accident?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” he says and I believe him. The lines on his face soften. “They just asked that you arrive as quickly as possible. Can I give you a ride?”

The car flies down the highway, past the fields now waiting on spring to arrive for the next crop. Nothing looks out of the ordinary, nothing feels different than any other Thursday morning, except I’m in Mr. Walters’ car going a wild rate of speed as I try to get ahold of Lindsay.

Every time it rings, it goes dead.

“Shit!” I say, ending yet another failed attempt at getting through. “I can’t take this.”

My head falls in my hands and I force air in then out of my lungs. My heart is beating violently in my chest as every worst-case scenario fires through my brain.

“Elin, if it was anything incredibly wrong, don’t you think we’d have heard it on the radio? Or gotten some wind of it in the media?” His hand lands on my knee and I stare at it. It feels heavy, the weight of it sitting awkwardly on my leg. He withdraws it quickly.

“I don’t know,” I reply, wishing he’d shut up. I know he’s trying to help, but I need to think. I scroll to Ty’s name and call his number for the hundredth time.

Straight to voice mail.

My hand shakes uncontrollably as I concentrate on my breathing and I try to convince myself this is going to be okay.

Feeling my phone buzz in my hand, I jump. “Hey!” I say as soon as I swipe it on. “Lindsay? Where are you?”

“Heading to Blackwater.”

The one word etched with a sob so deep, so distressing, it shatters what’s left of my nerves.

It must be Jiggs. They wouldn’t call her if something happened to Ty.

My breathing becomes jagged as I see my brother’s face, hear his stupid laugh, imagine his eyes lighting up as he teased me growing up about what I got for Christmas.

I nearly drop my phone.

Dear God, let him be okay. Let them all be okay. Let this be some stupid meeting about healthcare or 401K’s.

“What did they say?” I ask, my voice crackling with the tears I’m trying desperately to hold back. “Did they tell you anything?”

“No. They just said I needed to come to the headquarters as soon as possible.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as she cries into the phone. “Are you alone?” I ask.

“Yes. I’m driving myself. I’m on Five Mile Road now, almost there.”

“I think you’re just ahead of me,” I say, spotting a blue car a mile or so up the road.

“Why are you out here?” she asks, sniffling. “Did they call you too?”

I nod, then realize she can’t see me. “Yes.”

“Oh, Elin,” she says, sobbing once again. “What can it be?”

“Linds, stop. We’ll be there in just a minute. Maybe it’s nothing,” I offer, although I don’t believe it. Not the way this has gone down.

I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“I’m here. I’ll see you inside,” she says and disconnects the call.

I look at Mr. Walters and he offers me a sad smile, so I look away. Pity isn’t wanted. There’s no reason for it. Everything is going to be okay.

ELIN

We pull to the front door and I spy Lindsay’s car in the emergency lane, but I don’t see her anywhere.

“Do you want me to come in with you?” Mr. Walters asks.

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the ride,” I say, jumping out of the car before it’s to a complete stop and heading for the glass doors with Blackwater Coal printed in black across the front.

The warm air smacks me in the face, making my perceived suffocation even more real. I look frantically at the faces in front of me.

Men, women, some in suits, some in mining vests. Some wearing glasses, others hardhats. The one thing in common: the look of devastation and fear on their faces.

“I’m Elin Whitt,” I sputter, slamming my purse on the counter. “Someone called.”

For a brief moment, no one moves. I look from face to face, willing one of them to step forward and give me answers.

“Follow me, Mrs. Whitt,” a large, burly man says. He starts down a long hall, turning to me as he walks. “I’m Vernon Trent, Chief Officer of Safety with Blackwater.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, peering through windows into offices as we come to the end of the hallway. I don’t see Lindsay. “I need to find my sister-in-law. She got a call too.”

A hiccup catches the rest of my words. Vernon stops at the doorway to a closed room. “She’s in here. Please, follow me.”

“This better be some stupid meeting about insurance . . .”

The door opens and I spy Lindsay pacing along the far wall. She turns as I enter, her mascara-streaked face racing towards me. I catch her in a hug, our arms winding around one another. I can’t cry. I won’t. Everything is going to be okay.