“Mama!” Mia cries out again when the paramedics roll a stretcher into the house.
“Excuse me,” I say to the officer. I half expect him to grab me, but I’m a free man now, a private citizen, and he just lets me go up to the little girl.
I bend down and meet her eyes. “Hey, Mia.” I tap Gavin’s head with two fingers. “Gavin’s feeling pretty nervous about the ride in the ambulance. You think you can tell him it’s going to be okay? He looks like a brave giraffe, but he could use his best girl right now.”
Mia nods and clutches Gavin tightly. I keep her focused on me while they get Bridget settled on the gurney.
She’s a lot more alert now and is able to talk and answer questions. Once she’s sitting up, she points to Mia. “My daughter,” she says.
“Mama, I want to go with you.”
Bridget’s words don’t make much sense. She’s slurring a little but clearly trying hard to answer.
“You two can follow us,” the paramedic says. “We need to go.” He tells me the hospital he’s heading to and instructs me where to park.
“I…I don’t have a car here.” I try to explain, but Mia hands me her mother’s purse and keys.
The cops walk up to us and intervene. “You want to ride with us, honey? We can take you in the police car.”
She looks from them to me, and for a minute, I’m torn between desperately wanting her to go with them and realizing that if she does, I’m likely to end up right beside her. In the back of a cruiser. My throat feels like it’s closing up. My shoulders drop as I feel a small hand on my sleeve.
“Can you drive my mom’s car? I’m not allowed in a car without my car seat.”
I look into those wide eyes with wonder. This is a smart kid. A kid who’s been trained to be smart. She trusts the police and authority figures, knows how to dial 9-1-1. I start to suspect there’s more to their story, but the cops are looking at me, waiting for my answer.
“Absolutely,” I tell Mia. “You got shoes? Let’s go.”
The police officer who was talking to me bends down to meet Mia’s eyes. “You want to ride with him, honey? Is this your mom’s boyfriend?”
I don’t know how the guy concluded I’m not Mia’s dad, but I don’t care. I hold my tongue and thank my lucky freaking stars when the kid says, “He helped me and my mom. I want to ride with him.”
I have no idea why she feels that way, but I’m not about to question it. Thankfully, neither are the police. But they do leave me with a warning about meeting me at the hospital for an official statement about what happened.
I know how this has to look. Like I’m some asshole in her life who hit her or pushed her. Whatever they believe or suspect, for now, they are letting me drive the kid to the hospital.
The cops are watching our every move, and I have no clue where my phone is. I don’t even know which car is hers. I call out to her, “Mia, why don’t you meet me at the car? I need to grab my phone.”
She runs up to me and holds out her little hand. “I put it in my pocket.”
I’m impressed that tiny dress has pockets, but I don’t much care as long as I’m reunited with my phone. “Great job, kiddo.” I nod at her and grab Bridget’s purse. Then I follow the cops and paramedics out, locking the door behind us using her keys.
Mia is standing by the beat-up red sedan parked right out front. The same one I was using as my landmark earlier. She’s waiting by the back seat, and I can see through the window there’s a kid’s car seat back there.
“You still ride in that thing?” I ask quietly. “How come?”
“It’s the law,” she explains, and I almost smile.
“Yeah?” I unlock the car and open the door for her. The ambulance is already pulling away from the house, but the uniformed officers are waiting until we take off. I groan and try to still the thundering of my heart in my chest. I’ll bet any money they follow us all the way to the hospital.
Mia climbs into the seat, handing me Gavin while she fastens the belt. “I either have to turn eight or weigh forty pounds,” she explains. She sounds like she’s repeating the answer to a question she’s asked her mom a hundred times. Then she holds out her hand for Gavin. “I turn eight in a few months.”
“All right, then. You know how to do that, right?” I ask quietly. “You’re all belted in?”
She nods. “I do it all the time. Mom just checks to make sure I did it.”
I look at Gavin. “Gav, can I trust you to check on Mia’s seat belt? I’m not an expert, but I bet you are.”
Mia grins huge, and it’s such a relief after all the tears, the tightness in my chest eases a little at the sight.
I climb in and immediately adjust the mirrors and move the seat as far back as it will go. The low fuel light goes on the moment I turn the key, and I curse softly under my breath.
I have no clue how much gas in is here, but the hospital we’re going to is only a few miles away. I’m going to press my luck yet again and hope the guardian angels of good deeds look kindly on me for once.
Just as I turn over the engine, my phone rings.
“Goddamn…” I look up at the kid in the back seat, and I hold back the rest of my curses. The caller ID is Arrow, probably wanting to know why I didn’t respond to his text earlier. I swipe the screen and bark out, “Hey, Arrow, man, now’s not the best time.”
He’s saying hello and starts talking, but just then, I see the blue and red lights on the cruiser behind me turn on.
“I’ll call you later,” I tell him and toss my phone in the passenger seat.
“Are you okay?” Mia asks from the back. “What’s your name again? I kind of forgot.”
“I am, sweetheart,” I say. “You can call me Crow.”
“Crow?” she asks. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
I meet her eyes in the rearview. She looks amused. Interested.
“No, it’s a nickname,” I tell her. “Didn’t you tell me your mom’s name is Bridget, but people call her Birdie?”
Mia’s eyes open like I’ve just unlocked a treasure chest of toys in front of her. “No way,” she blurts. “Crow is a bird, and my mom’s nickname is also about a bird. That’s crazy.”
“If you want, you can call me Logan.”
“Logan kind of rhymes with Gavin,” she says, clutching her giraffe.
“It kind of does,” I agree, but it so doesn’t.
“I like both,” she says. “Logan and Crow. Can I call you both? Like I sometimes say Mom but mostly call her Mama?”
I nod. “That works, kiddo. Do you have a nickname?”
She smiles. “My mom calls me sweetie and honey, but those aren’t really nicknames. She just says that because she loves me.” She’s quiet for a moment and then says, “You just called me kiddo. My dad calls me kiddo sometimes. Is that a nickname?”
“Sort of,” I say, distracted. Since she’s brought up the issue of a dad, I latch on to that. “Mia, do you know how to reach your dad?”
She nods. “His number is in my mom’s phone.”