The speaker hissed. Then it went again.
“Odell Fire One. Hello, Shirley.”
“Hello, Ron,” she said softly.
Hiss.
“Medic Two. Hi, Shirley, it’s Deb. We’re up at the hospital. Brenda’s here, she says hi too. She’s waving at the radio. I told her you can’t see it.”
My mother laughed. A small, real laugh. The first sound out of her in forty minutes that wasn’t careful.
The deputy had turned and was staring down at his own shoulder like something had crawled up onto it.
“Kessler, State Two Forty-One.”
That one was crisp. Clipped. A state trooper.
“I’m up on Highway 14, and I’ve had you on scan the last half hour. Tell Shirley the State Patrol says good afternoon. Tell her she talked me through that fog in oh-eight.”
