Chapter 43

“Did you fall?” Mac tried to keep his voice calm, even. At Dee’s age a fall could be very serious.

She clutched her arm harder and winced, a little cry escaping her. “Call 911,” she managed to say, with labored breath. “My heart.”

“Oh God. Just stay right there, Dee. I’m calling.” One thing Mac knew about Dee—she had a bad “ticker,” as she called it. If she was having a heart attack, this would be her third. He moved quickly to the landline phone on the wall and called for help. Once he’d given their location, what they needed, and answered a few questions, he hung up. He rushed into the living room and pulled a throw pillow off the couch, along with an afghan Dee had once made hanging off one arm.