He was nine, not a doctor, and no one had taught him what to do when the information in a book and the behavior of a living stranger appeared to match. What he knew was that Hamilton seemed to be in worsening pain and that the adults around him were busy congratulating themselves. Miles thought of Rebecca trying to keep her voice steady in the waiting room. He felt the terrible familiarity of watching a problem while other people treated it as an interruption.
At 8:15, Hamilton dropped his fork.
The sound against the china was small, but the sudden gasp that followed turned every head. Hamilton's left leg had jerked beneath the table and become rigid, his foot angled inward in a position that made him visibly afraid. He tried to straighten it, then stopped because the effort brought a burst of pain. His face lost color as he gripped the wheelchair's armrests.
"Greg?" Victoria said, half rising. "What's happening?"
"My leg." He drew a breath that broke halfway through. "I can't move it. I can't move the damned thing."
Brandon stepped beside him, uncertain whether to adjust the leg or leave it alone. Thomas pushed his chair backward and asked whether Hamilton could feel his foot. Elaine reached for a napkin, then looked at it helplessly as if cotton might solve the problem. Richard lowered his phone for the first time that evening.
"Call an ambulance," Victoria said, firmly enough to cut through the questions. "Now."
Peter called emergency services and gave the restaurant's location, Hamilton's approximate age, his sudden symptoms, and the fact that he was already using a wheelchair. The dispatcher asked follow-up questions about his face, speech, awareness, and other symptoms. Hamilton answered some himself, impatient and frightened in equal measure. Peter relayed the answers and said they had been told an ambulance was coming, though the projected arrival time could be around eighteen minutes because crews were handling several urgent calls.
Eighteen minutes was not an unreasonable wait for some situations, but it sounded endless to a man in pain. Hamilton cursed under his breath as another spasm seized his hip. Brandon told him to breathe slowly and not force the leg into position. Victoria moved the nearby chairs back so responders would have room to reach him when they arrived.
A waiter named James appeared with water, towels, and the restaurant manager. He asked whether they needed a more private area, then immediately regretted it when Hamilton stared at him. The manager offered to clear the surrounding tables, but Victoria shook her head. Moving Hamilton unnecessarily seemed unwise, and none of them wanted to risk making his pain worse.
Behind the shrubs, Miles's heart began beating so quickly that he felt it in his throat. He looked at the article again and compared the drawing with the way Hamilton's leg had turned. The resemblance seemed extraordinary, yet there was no way for a child hidden behind a hedge to know whether the causes were truly the same. Miles read the cautionary paragraphs once more, then placed the pages back in their bag.