Free Her Last Breath: A Kate Burkholder Novel by Linda Castillo

thing an hour ago. Do you think something’s happened?”
    “Why don’t you sit down and catch your breath, and I’ll check on him, okay?” Gently, I ease her backward toward the chair, but she refuses to sit.
    She looks at me, blinking back tears. Her eyes are swollen and red rimmed from crying. The delicate area beneath them is the color of a bruise. Her complexion is so pale it’s almost translucent; I see the blue strip of a vein at her temple. Her lips are nearly white beneath the fluorescent lighting of the room. But even sleep deprived and in the throes of a powerful grief, she’s lovely.
    “I keep expecting Paul to walk through the door,” she whispers. “He always knew what to do.” Her legs give way as if they no longer have the strength to support her, and she collapses into the chair, leans forward, and puts her face in her hands. “I need him. What am I going to do without him?”
    “Everything’s going to be okay.” But my words ring hollow even to me. This is one of those times when everything isn’t okay and may never be okay ever again.
    Across the room, the bishop brings the recliner to an upright position, but he’s having a difficult time getting to his feet. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks fragile and old and utterly exhausted. I start toward him to help, but he raises a hand to stop me. “No, Katie. I’m fine.”
    Feeling useless, I step back. “I’ll check with the nurse to see what the holdup is.”
    I’m midway to the nurses’ station when I see an orderly and a nurse wheeling a gurney down the hall. There’s an IV stand connected to it. Both bed rails are raised, and there’s a small figure beneath the sheet. The nurse is wearing SpongeBob scrubs, with a pen behind her ear. Her name tag heralds her name as S USAN M. The pin above it warns: I CAN BE DIFFICULT.
    “Is that David Borntrager?” I ask as they approach.
    The nurse looks up from the clipboard, gives my uniform a quick once over, and smiles. “This little champ is ready for his room.”
    Keeping pace with them, I glance down at David. He sleeps soundly, his mouth slightly open, head crooked to one side, completely unaware. His left arm is swathed in some kind of purple wrap, and he’s got a raw-looking abrasion on his forehead. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in decent light, and I can’t help but notice the heavy brows and the down-slanted eyes, the too-small distance between his nose and upper lip, his obesity, and I remember hearing talk about Mattie and Paul having a special-needs child.
    “How is he?” I ask.
    “Doctor Reinhardt repaired a blood vessel in his abdomen and removed his spleen. He lost quite a bit of blood, so we gave him two units. It was touch and go for a bit, but his blood pressure is stable now. The only other trauma is the broken arm and a slight concussion.” Another smile. “This little guy is going to be just fine.”
    Relief shudders through me, and I release the breath I’d been holding. I follow alongside the gurney as they wheel him to room 308. We arrive to find Bishop Troyer standing at the door. His old face breaks into a grin when he spots the boy.
    Mattie springs from her chair, one hand over her mouth, and rushes toward her son. “Is he all right?” Her gaze goes to the nurse. “Can I touch him?”
    “He’s going to be fine. And, yes, you can touch him all you like. Just don’t jostle him or press on his tummy.” Unfazed by the fact that Mattie is Amish and there’s a bishop standing a few feet away, the nurse smiles. “I’m Susan, by the way. You must be Mom.”
    Some of the desperation leaves Mattie’s expression, but her eyes never leave her son. “Ja.”
    “I’m David’s nurse today.” Her voice is devoid of the phony cheeriness that grates in situations like this, and I find myself liking her.
    The orderly, a big teddy bear of a man wearing blue scrubs with a long-sleeve tee-shirt beneath, maneuvers the gurney so that it’s