When Crickets Cry Read Online Free PDF Page A

then disappeared into the silent deep, sounding the echoes of remembrance throughout a hollow and shattered heart.

     

Chapter 3
    en minutes in the waiting room of the Rabun County Hospital emergency room filled in many of the missing pieces. Most folks around Clayton, Georgia, had heard the story of Annie Stephens. Parents were missionaries, killed two years ago in a civil war in Sierra Leone; Annie had a twin sister, but she died a year before her parents-from genetic heart complications. Annie now lives with her aunt Cindy and became a viable transplant candidate months ago after the last surgery did little to improve her condition and her ejection fraction dropped below 15 percent-the final straw. Her doctors in Atlanta gave her six months almost eighteen months ago. And because she has no insurance, she's filled that five-gallon water jug seven times, raising over $17,000 to help cover the cost of her own surgery.
    I was right when I said she'd never make it to puberty.
    Normally, a small hospital like this would not have a Level 2 trauma center attached to it, but a quick look around told me that Sal Cohen had a lot to do with it. A brass plaque on the wall read Sal Cohen Emergency Medical Wing. Around Clayton, the story is legendary. About forty years ago, Dr. Sal lost a kid because the hospital didn't have enough of the right equipment. Two kids, premature twins, and only one incubator. He got mad about it, and two incubators have grown into the best trauma unit north of Atlanta.
    Cindy McReedy pushed open the two swinging doors marked Medical Staff Only and walked into the waiting room. She stood on a chair, subconsciously picked at the sleeves of her plaid cotton shirt, crossed her arms as if she were cold-or not real good at speaking to groups-and waited while the room quieted down. She looked like she was about six months behind in her sleep and was juggling about eight more bowling pins than she could handle. I'd seen that look before; it would not get better before it got worse. She waved her arms above the crowd, and the tractor twins starting telling everybody to "Shhhhh!"

    Cindy wiped her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Annie'll be okay. The arm is a clean break ... um, snapped ... but they put her to sleep, set it, and placed it in a cast. She just woke a few minutes ago and asked for a Popsicle."
    Everybody smiled.
    Cindy continued, "The arm'll heal, albeit slowly. Doc Cohen's with her now, letting her dig through his coat pocket."
    Everybody smiled again. Most every hand in the room had dug through that same pocket.
    "As for her heart, we won't know for a few days. Annie's tough, but. . ." She paused. "We ... the doctors ... they just don't know. We'll have to wait and see." She folded her arms again and looked over the crowd. She wiped away a tear and half-laughed. "Annie's real lucky that stranger got to her before I did. If it weren't for him ... well, Annie wouldn't be here."
    A few eyes turned to look at me.
    Out of the crowd somebody yelled, "Cindy, did you talk with the folks at St. Joe's, and will they finally move her up on the dang list? Ain't she considered critical by now?"
    Cindy shook her head. "The problem's not them, but us ... or rather, Annie. After her last surgery and that whole thing"-Cindy waved her hands as though she were brushing bread crumbs off a picnic table-"Annie won't let them activate her name until she's found the right doctor."
    A tall guy next to me spoke up and said, "But Cindy, for the love of Betsy! Override the little squirt! It's in her own best interest. She'll thank you when it's over."

    Cindy nodded. "I'd like to, Billy, but it's a little more complicated than that."
    It always is, I thought to myself.
    Cindy lowered her voice. "Annie's only got one more of these in her. I'm not sure she could make it through another recovery. Everything about the next one has got to be absolutely right because. . ." She looked at her feet again, then back at Billy.