Free Words Get In the Way by Nan Rossiter Page B

in the cafeteria. They’d have the pies to look forward to when she finally got home.
    A light snow had started to fall that afternoon and, even though the weatherman had said it wasn’t supposed to amount to much, by the time Callie and her dad had returned from the dinner, it was really coming down. As soon as they walked in the house her dad had picked up the phone, and Callie had stood in the kitchen, still wearing her jacket, waiting and listening.
    “I’m sorry to call you at work, hon’,” he’d said, “but I’m concerned about the roads. I think you might want to wait before you head home, or else I can come back in the truck.” He paused, and Callie could tell her mom wasn’t easily convinced. Finally, it was her dad who relented. “Well, okay, but promise me you’ll turn around if the roads are bad. Yes, love you too.” He had hung up the phone and stood by the window, watching the snow fall.
    On a normal day, her mom would have left work at three-thirty and been home by four. But that afternoon, four-thirty came and went, and by five it was getting dark. Callie and her dad had tried to watch football, but neither one knew who was playing, never mind who was winning. Her dad had turned on the outside lights and realized that the snow had changed to a wintry mix. He had reached for his coat and announced he was going to look for her, and Callie had stood up and said she wanted to go too. But her dad had said it would be better if she stayed by the phone.
    He was still clearing the snow off his truck when the state trooper pulled up at the end of the driveway with his vehicle’s emergency lights glowing in the misty darkness. Callie had watched from the kitchen door as he got out, put on his covered hat, and walked up the driveway toward her father. She had felt icy fingers of fear wrap around her heart as she watched her dad turn to talk to him; her dad had nodded and his shoulders had sagged, and then she’d stumbled out to stand beside him.
    Her memory, after that, was a confused jumble of images and voices: the solemn look on the officer’s face, the pelting ice stinging her cheeks, shivering in the darkness. Her dad putting his arm around her, telling her to go get her coat ... but not being able to move ... just shaking uncontrollably ... and not being able to breathe ... just drowning in the sea of words. Mrs. Wyeth was traveling on Mountain Road ... a sharp corner ... a slight incline ... a boy from Maine heading in the opposite direction ... lost control ... both rushed by ambulance ... the boy was pretty banged up ... but Mrs. Wyeth was much worse ... did they want him to drive them?
    No ... No ... Thank you. Her dad’s face was pale and his hands were shaking. They would take the truck. They were leaving now.
    Callie would never forget the eeriness of the emergency lights flashing across the dark, misty sky as they approached the accident scene. Her mom’s car was already loaded on a flatbed, and the front of the boy’s car was unrecognizable. She’d looked away, tears streaming down her cheeks, but when she’d spotted her mom’s nursing cap lying in the snow, she’d screamed, “Stop, Dad! Stop!”
     
    Henry slipped his hand into Callie’s, and she looked down and suddenly remembered why they were there. She scooped him up, and he touched the tear on her cheek. It dribbled down his finger. Callie wiped her face and smiled. “It’s okay, Hen-Ben. Mommy’s just thinking too much ... again .” She reached for the paper bag with the sandwich in it. “Let’s go see Papa.”
    They walked down the corridor toward her dad’s room and, as she passed the nurses’ station, an unfamiliar face looked up. “May I help you?”
    “We’re just on our way to see my dad.”
    The nurse looked down at the list of patients. “I’m sorry, but which patient is your dad?”
    Henry started to squirm in Callie’s arms, and Callie, becoming impatient, shifted him to her other hip and answered,