On the third attempt, the truck started.
Elias almost laughed with relief.
“Good old girl,” he murmured.
He glanced at Alice.
“Ready?”
She nodded weakly.
He pulled away from the curb.
The trip to the hospital seemed longer than any cattle drive Elias had ever made.
Rain struck the windshield.
The wipers dragged water across the glass with a tired squeak.
Streetlights reflected on the wet road, turning each intersection into a blur of yellow and red.
Elias drove carefully.
His hands gripped the steering wheel.
Every few moments, he glanced toward Alice.
She sat curled inside her coat, holding the stuffed horse against her chest.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?”
“Tired.”
“I know.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Getting closer.”
She closed her eyes.
He watched the road.
A few miles later, she whispered, “Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me about the ranch.”
He looked at her.
“Right now?”
“Please.”
He tried to keep his voice steady.
“Well, there’s a little hill just beyond the north pasture.
Remember?”
“The one with the yellow flowers?”
“That’s right.”
“And Juniper likes to eat them.”
“He certainly does, though he shouldn’t.”
She gave a faint smile.
Elias continued.
“In the spring, the creek runs high.
And the grass comes up green all along the bank.
You can smell the earth after the rain.
Sometimes the whole valley looks like it belongs in a painting.”
Alice listened with her eyes half closed.
“And the stars?”
“Oh, the stars are still there.
Thousands of them.
More than this old man could ever count.”
“Can we go back?”
He swallowed.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“When?”
“When you’re feeling better.”
She tightened her hold on the stuffed horse.
“Promise?”
“I promise.
We still have a lot of beautiful days waiting for us.”
He wanted to believe those words with every part of his heart.
At the next traffic light, he looked over again.
Alice’s breathing was still too quick.
He thought of the nearest hospital.
He thought of the money in his wallet.
He thought of the insurance forms that had not been finished.
For a moment, fear tried to persuade him to turn toward a cheaper clinic or go home.
He rejected the thought immediately.
No bill mattered more than Alice.
No embarrassment mattered.
No stranger’s judgment mattered.
He pressed the accelerator when the light changed.
The emergency department was busy that night.
Several cars were parked near the entrance.
A man stood beneath the awning smoking in the rain.
An ambulance waited near a side door, its lights flashing silently.
Elias pulled up beside the curb.
The clock on the dashboard showed 11:43 p.m.
He shut off the engine and hurried around to Alice’s side.
She lifted her arms toward him.
He carried her out, kicked the truck door closed, and moved toward the glass entrance.
Inside, bright lights reflected off the polished floor.
A security guard stood near the doorway while hospital workers moved between the reception area and the treatment rooms.
Elias tried to enter.
The guard stepped in front of him.
“Hold on, sir.”
Elias stopped.
“I need a doctor for my granddaughter.”
The guard looked at Alice.
“Have you checked in?”
“No.
I just got here.”
“You need to speak to registration first.”
Elias glanced toward the reception desk, where several people were waiting.
“She’s having trouble breathing.”
“Sir, everyone needs to follow the procedure.”
Elias adjusted Alice in his arms.
“I understand.
But she needs somebody to look at her now.”
The guard held out an arm.
“Please wait right here.”
Elias stared at him.
The rain-soaked cold was coming through the open doors.
Alice’s head rested heavily against his shoulder.
“Please,” he said.
“She’s only seven.”
The guard’s expression tightened.
“Do you have an insurance card?”
Elias fumbled in his coat pocket.
“I have some papers.
Her father’s arranging the coverage.”
The guard looked at the worn envelope Elias produced.
“Is it active?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Then you need to get that sorted with registration.”
“I don’t have much cash, but—”
“Sir, I can’t let you go straight through.”
Elias felt his face grow hot.
He was used to being poor.
He was used to repairing things instead of replacing them.
He was even used to watching other people speak down to him because of his old clothes and weathered hands.
But he had never imagined standing with a sick child in his arms while someone questioned whether he had enough money to walk through a hospital door.
“She’s not asking for anything fancy,” he said.
“She just needs help.”
The guard shifted slightly, still blocking the way.
“Back up, please.
You’re crowding the entrance.”
Elias took half a step back.
Behind him, the wind carried cold rain beneath the awning.
