fortunate you had someone there to elevate it and keep it stable all those hours.”
Reed agreed. Without Claire’s help, he would be in much worse shape.
“The cast.” Reed dipped his chin to indicate his leg. “How long will I have to wear it?”
“Plan on a minimum of six weeks.”
Six weeks?
“No other injuries?” Reed asked. “Only the broken—what did you call it?”
“Tib-fib. You broke your leg. We’ll keep you here overnight. In the meantime, I want you to give some thought to how you’re going to manage at home. Do you have anyone who can help you get around?”
“I’ll be fine.” He’d figure it out. People got around in casts all the time. It wouldn’t be that big a deal.
But what about Alaska? In all the chaos, he’d forgotten his monthlong trip to the last American frontier. The timing had been perfect. Do his duty as best man in Jake’s wedding, squeal the tires out of Lake Endwell Sunday morning and drive across the upper states until he reached Bellingham, Washington. From there, he’d hop on a ferry for whale watching and spend the rest of the month exploring Alaska. Give him time to breathe before tackling his duties as the new vice president of Rockbend Construction. Eight years of intense work and he’d finally been offered the VP title he coveted. Everything had fallen into place.
Until this.
He swallowed the copper taste of disappointment. Why had God allowed this to happen? Jake’s wedding ruined. A broken leg the day before Reed’s Alaskan adventure.
What now? He couldn’t return to Chicago. An image of the busy sidewalks he navigated seared into his mind—it was hard enough getting around the city on two legs, let alone on one. And he didn’t have anyone in Chicago who could help.
He’d just have to change his daily routine and walk less, drive more.
The doctor pulled out a stool and wheeled next to the bed. “The tibia supports the body’s weight. Avoid putting any pressure on the leg for several weeks. We’ll start you in a wheelchair, check the X-rays and if it’s healing, we’ll okay crutches. You’ll still have to stay off this leg, though. Don’t plan on driving until the cast is off.”
Wheelchair?
No driving?
As if that was going to happen. He wouldn’t bother telling the doc he had no intention of following his instructions. A wheelchair would never work in his high-rise apartment.
A sound startled him. Barbara hovered in the doorway, raised her eyebrows and fingered her pearls. “Doctor, would it be okay for Reed to have some lunch? He hasn’t eaten since yesterday.”
“Of course.” The doctor rose. “If you have any questions, I’ll be in later to check on you. And tell the nurse if you’re experiencing any pain.”
He was experiencing pain all right—the giant pain in the rear this injury had forced on him.
“I’ll tell the nurse you’re ready for some food.” Barbara hesitated. “Or would you like us to bring something? Roger and I will gladly go to the cafeteria.”
Yeah, Dad would gladly go to the cafeteria to avoid spending time with him. And Barbara would flutter around and make the atmosphere even more charged. If he could go back to sleep and not wake up until his leg was functioning...
“That’s okay.” Reed gave her a tight smile. “I’ll eat whatever the nurse brings.”
“Are you sure? I can find something specific, maybe lasagna? You still like Italian food, right? Or a sub sandwich? Ham, turkey, roast beef. Chips. A pop—”
Lord, help me out. A little patience? “I’m not very hungry. Anything is fine.”
“You look like you’re not feeling well. Is your leg hurting? I’ll send your dad back in while I find a nurse.” She scurried out, leaving him alone, to his relief.
A minute later, Dad appeared, as uneasy as earlier. “Did the...uh...doctor fill you in on—” he waved his hand at Reed’s leg “—everything?”
Reed nodded.
“He told us you would need some help. Uh...I would offer you a room, but...”
Disappointment flooded him, but Reed didn’t show it, wouldn’t let Dad see how much his dismissal still hurt. Would they ever get past the strain in their relationship? “I got it covered.”
He brightened. “We weren’t sure what to do. The split-level would be hard to navigate in your...um...condition. The wheelchair, you know.”
The split-level would be hard to navigate, but Reed didn’t doubt the real reason his dad didn’t want him around. They hadn’t been relaxed in each other’s presence in over twenty years. The death of Reed’s mother still tore them apart.
“Like I said.” Reed attempted to sit up. “Don’t worry about it.”
Dad stood there, swaying slightly, as if he wanted to say something. Finally, he turned to go. “I’d better go see what’s keeping Barbara.”
Yes. He’d better go to Barbara. He’d been pulling that move for as long as Reed could remember.
Alone once more, Reed closed his eyes. Maybe he could book a flight back home tomorrow. But what about his truck? He’d driven into Lake Endwell with all his gear for the trip.
“Knock, knock.” Claire smiled from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts.
Reed grinned, waving her inside. She eased into the chair next to his bed. His smile faded at her swollen face, her bandaged hand and the scratches on her bare arms. “Does your eye hurt?”
“Not really.” She lifted her hand wrapped in gauze. “A few scrapes. Nothing a little time won’t mend. The bigger question is how are you doing?”
He longed to touch her cheek, to thank her for taking care of him all those hours while they waited for rescue, but caution prevented the words from spilling. This intrigue couldn’t be explored. Not with her, the one with the enormous family. The one who lived here. No matter how careful he was or how hard he tried to understand family dynamics, he failed. Every time.
Best to keep things light. Reed pointed to his cast. “Like my new look? Admit it—you’re jealous.”
Her laugh tinkled, did something weird to his pulse. “Insanely jealous. Want me to sign it for you?” Claire scooted forward a few inches.
“Of course. I saved you a big spot. There. By my knee.” He pointed to his leg. “Need a Sharpie?”
“Only if it’s purple. I’m surprised you didn’t go with a colored cast. Fluorescent pink would have made you the envy of all the girls.”
His lips twitched. “If I had known I could choose a color, I would have.”
“Maybe next time.”
“There
