Sobbing.
"Astrid... something happened..."
"Morton was driving your car... he killed someone!" She was wailing now. "There's blood... so much blood..."
My heart dropped like a stone. My whole body locked up where I stood.
I rushed to the hospital with my in-laws.
We hadn't even made it through the entrance when the screaming hit us—raw, guttural, the kind of grief that tears a person apart from the inside.
"My husband... oh God, my husband, how could they do this to you? How am I supposed to live without you?"
"Dad! Dad, please! Your son's getting married next month—open your eyes, please, just look at me!"
"You murderers! You killed my father! You killed him!"
Inside, Bernice sat with her arm in a cast, her face drained of all color.
Lambert's head was wrapped in gauze, a cervical brace clamped around his neck, blood soaking through his clothes.
Morton had a broken femur and fractured ribs.
But Daisy had it the worst. She hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from the car on impact. She was still in emergency surgery.
Lambert spotted me and stumbled over, grabbing my hands. His eyes were wild with desperation.