Lost Boy Read Free

over to study the confusion on his face. “Is there anyone else we should call? Does your mom have a boyfriend? Maybe you got a grandma or an aunt or a friend?”
    Now Ryder’s eyes began to water, so he clamped his lip between his teeth and shook his head before he gave the answer that was so big and so awful it crushed him.
    â€œNo. We got no one.”

“What’s your name, hon?” the lady behind the desk asked.
    â€œRyder. Ryder Strong.”
    â€œHow about your mom’s name?” she asked.
    â€œRuby.”
    â€œRuby Strong?”
    â€œNo, her last name is Shoesmith. Ruby Alice Shoesmith.”
    â€œBut you said you don’t have a father? Is she your real mom?” The woman was trying to stay patient. “Who can we call to come get you?”
    â€œI’m Doyle McDonald,” the firefighter interrupted. “Look, he’s upset.” Doyle gave the lady behind the counter a serious look and pointed to the FDNY patch on his sleeve. “I got him.”
    The lady stopped chewing her gum. “We’re also gonna need insurance information from someone.”
    â€œLet me settle him down and find out who else there is andI’ll get back to you.” Doyle offered a smile of strong white teeth beneath the bushy mustache. “Promise.”
    â€œSure,” the lady said, nodding. Ryder wasn’t surprised that the lady accepted the promise of a fireman like a gold coin. Firemen were heroes. Everyone knew that.
    â€œWho can we talk to about his mom? How she’s doing?” Doyle asked.
    â€œSomeone will be out soon. You can have a seat over there to wait.” The lady pointed to a waiting room before she returned to her computer.
    â€œOkay. Thanks.” Doyle nodded and steered Ryder to a plastic-covered chair bound together with others in a long row against the wall. They sat down in the two seats that were closest to the double doors where Ryder’s mom had gone in.
    Ryder couldn’t hold still. “I have to see her. I have to.”
    Doyle looked sympathetically at Ryder’s tears. He studied the reception desks for less than a minute before he mashed a finger to his lips, stood, and silently waved Ryder toward the double doors, which hissed open automatically. Inside the doors was a hive of activity—a series of hallways stuffed with medical equipment, patients on gurneys, and nurses and doctors hurrying to and fro.
    Doyle stopped the first nurse he saw. “I need to see the female trauma who just came in. I was at the scene.”
    The nurse took a quick look at his uniform, hesitated when she saw Ryder, but pointed down the hall anyway. “You better hurry, they’ve got her in EOR 3 and they’re gonna open her up.”
    Doyle nodded, took Ryder by the arm, and headed in thedirection of the operating room.
    They passed a room guarded by two policemen. Inside, a young man with a bandana around his head screamed in pain while a handful of hospital people tried to hold him down. His lower leg flopped around on its own like a fish and blood was everywhere. Ryder swallowed and felt Doyle’s tug.
    They stopped outside the operating room and its double doors. Ryder was tall for his age, but the windows didn’t let him see in. Doyle studied whatever was going on. His tan face lost some color and his grip tightened on Ryder’s arm. He tugged Ryder aside as a young woman in scrubs emerged with blood spatters on her pale blue mask and hat.
    â€œHow is she?” Doyle asked.
    The doctor looked at Ryder. “He can’t be here.”
    â€œI know,” Doyle said. “I got him, though.”
    â€œYou should not be here, either,” she said.
    Doyle pointed to the firefighter patch on his sleeve, which everyone knew was as good as a key to the city. “How is she?”
    The doctor shook her head and started off down the hall. “Not good.”
    â€œMaybe we should wait