Her lips trembled before she pressed them together.
The doctor came in ten minutes later, though in Caleb’s memory it always felt as if that conversation lasted an entire winter.
There had been a logging truck on Highway 212, just east of Laurel. A drunk driver had crossed the line in the rain. Caleb’s pickup had taken the full impact on the driver’s side and spun into the guardrail. The engine block crushed the cab. Rescue crews had cut him out. He had lost too much blood before they reached surgery.
The doctor’s mouth moved carefully, clinically, respectfully. There were words about trauma, massive damage, necessary intervention, above-knee amputation, both legs, survival odds.
Caleb heard only two things clearly.
Continue on the next page:
