least she hoped it would be good. But, regardless, there was no way she could work again at the place where she’d have to see and sometimes share patients with Conor McCarthy.
She drew in a calming breath. No point in worrying about it this second.
Banishing all those scary thoughts from her head, she quickly changed from her work clothes into leggings and sneakers and a snug jacket. It was a surprisingly nice day for December in New York City, and she planned to take advantage of every moment of it before gray skies and cold and snow blanketed the city. To enjoy every minute of this crazy and wonderful place before she had to move away.
When the dogs saw the leashes in her hands their tails wagged so hard their entire rear ends wagged along with them, and Yorkie briefly danced around on his short back legs, helping her smile again. At least she still had these two. The two puppies she and Conor had chosen together at the shelter the very first week after their honeymoon.
Her heart pinched all over again at the memory of that day, and of their seemingly idyllic perfect days together until it all had fallen apart.
“Come on, you two!” she said, practically jogging them to the elevator in her hurry to breathe in some fresh air and banish the depressing thoughts that seemed stuck on repeat. “It’s warmer today than yesterday, so this walk will be a nice long one. Happy about that?”
Tongues hung out in doggie smiles as they moved out to streets still lit by the low evening sun and all walked briskly toward the park, a few blocks away.
When they turned the corner they came face to face with two black dogs almost as big as Hudson, accompanied by a small elderly man. Normally Hudson and Yorkie were good around other dogs, but the second the other two saw her animals they growled and bared their teeth, which sent Yorkie onto his rear legs, barking furiously back.
“It’s okay. Okay, guys,” Jill said.
She turned to see if there was any way they could quickly cross the street. But traffic streamed through the green light, and just as she was tugging the dogs around the light pole to head in a different direction, the aggressive dogs lunged.
Hudson leaped away, pulling Jill with him into a stumble, and Yorkie rushed under his legs toward the other dogs.
Trying to firmly plant her feet, she felt a slight feeling of panic fill her chest as she worked to get her two dogs reined in. She could hear the man shouting, see him trying to control his dogs, but her two had got their leashes wrapped around the light pole, and as she tried to unwrap them she was yanked off her feet.
In one split second she went from standing to slamming onto the hard concrete, catching herself with her right hand, and the moment she hit the sidewalk she cried out at the intense pain radiating up her arm.
Damn it! Squeezing her eyes shut at the searing pain and the reality of the situation, she clutched the leashes with one hand and knew, just knew, without a single doubt, that her wrist was broken. How was she going to handle her dogs now?
“Sorry!” the man said breathlessly.
Jill blinked up at him and could see the light had changed. Thank the Lord he was now hurrying across the street, putting distance between her dogs and his. Gingerly, she rose to a sitting position and frowned down at her already swelling wrist.
A woman leaned over her, grabbed the dogs’ leashes and finished untangling them from the pole and each other. “You okay?”
“Maybe not.”
Shaking now, Jill struggled to get her bag unzipped to fish for her phone. Then she realized she had no one who could come and get the dogs while she went to an ER or to urgent care. Not her OT friends, who never answered their personal phones when they were working. Not her parents, who still lived in her home state of Pennsylvania, nor her sister, who lived in New Jersey and was out of town for work.
And not Conor. Not anymore.
“I need to get home.”
“I’ll help you with your dogs. You live very far?”
“No. Just a couple blocks. Thank you... I... Thanks so much. I’ve hurt my wrist and the dogs might be hard to handle on my own.”
“Happy to help. Come!” The woman gave a quick tug on the dogs’ leashes and they both dutifully came to stand quietly next to her.
“You’re obviously an experienced dog-handler,” Jill said, trying to smile. “And at this moment my guardian angel, I think.”
“Ways to be a guardian angel don’t come by too often, so you’re making my day. Except that you’re hurt, which I’m sure sorry has happened,” she said. “I’m Barbara Smith. You need help getting up?”
“No, I... I’m okay.”
Using her good hand to awkwardly push herself to her feet, Jill knew she was definitely not okay, and prayed it was a simple break. Nothing that would require surgery or weeks of the kind of therapy she helped her own patients with.
But, looking at the odd angle of her wrist, and the fact that it was already discoloring, she had a bad feeling she wouldn’t be that lucky.
“Then show me where you live, dear, so you can get that wrist looked at.”
“It’s just a couple blocks north. I’m Jillian Keyser, by the way.”
“I’d say it’s nice to meet you—but the circumstances aren’t very nice, are they?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
Pain still radiating up her arm, she held it protectively against her stomach as they walked the few blocks to her apartment building. She didn’t feel much like talking, which worked out fine because Barbara kept up a cheerful monologue about dogs and the city and the parks she often took her own animals to.
Beyond glad to finally get her pets inside the door, Jill turned to her guardian angel in the flesh. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Truly. I... I’m not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there when it happened.”
“No thanks necessary. I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time.”
“Thank you again.”
The door clicked closed. Jill drew several steadying breaths before she struggled one-handedly to get the dogs fresh water, then debated what to do next.
The surgery center she’d worked at before her divorce had some of the best hand and wrist surgeons in New York City. One of them being her ex-husband. She’d been at her job at OTC for ten months, which had given her some idea about the other surgeons out there, but the truth was she felt more comfortable reaching out to someone she knew well. Someone she knew would fit her in right away for an X-ray, and who wouldn’t blab about it to Conor McCarthy if Jill asked her not to.
She grabbed her cell phone, drew another deep breath, then dialed HOAC. The awkwardness of doing it made her think about how hard it was going to be to function with only one usable hand. Her years of working as an occupational therapist had told her a lot about how handicapping it was, but she had a feeling that having her own struggles would be eye-opening.
“Hi,
