style="font-size:15px;"> “What happened?” Eric saw her father stretched out on the couch, his foot on a pillow with a wet washcloth draped over his ankle.
“I twisted my damn ankle,” her father said impatiently. “The dog tripped me.”
“Not exactly,” Mindy said, unwilling to let Peaches get all the blame.
“Take a look. Tell me what you think,” her father said to Eric.
“You need to ice it, keep it elevated,” Eric said without examining the puffy ankle.
“I told Mindy a vet can handle the little things,” Wayne said with satisfaction.
“Dad, that’s commonsense first aid, not a diagnosis.”
“I’ll drive you to the emergency room,” Eric offered.
“I’m not sitting around there all day. Take a look. I trust your judgment.”
“If I were licensed to treat people, I’d order an X ray to see if it’s fractured. Look, it’s as big as a soccer ball and turning purple.”
Her dad sputtered and protested while she double-bagged some ice cubes and wrapped them in a dish towel.
Fifteen minutes later Eric finally convinced him to hobble out to his SUV. He settled Wayne on the back seat with his foot elevated, a pillow under his ballooning ankle and the makeshift ice bag on top of it.
An hour and fifty minutes later Wayne was wheeled in a chair into the examining area of Community General Hospital after telling Mindy to stay behind in the waiting room. A TV droned on in the cheerless tan-and-brown room, although no one among the day’s minor casualties was paying the slightest attention to it.
“We’ve got to break up,” Mindy said in an urgent whisper to Eric.
“Break up?” He laughed so loudly a health-care worker in a pink smock gave him the evil eye. “We can’t break up.”
“You know what I mean. Dad will expect you to stay by my side in this hour of crisis. I can’t ask you to hang around all day listening to his war stories.”
“Your father was in the military?”
“Accounting war stories. Tax payers versus the IRS. You’ll hate it.”
“I’m always willing to hear out an expert. Maybe I can pick up some good tax tips.”
He was teasing her. She was trying to let him off the hook, and he thought it was a joke.
“Please, Eric, I really appreciate what you’ve done…”
“Pretending you turn me on?” His teeth actually sparkled when he smiled like that.
“Be serious. This has gotten too complicated. Either I have to tell my father the truth, or we break up.”
“Here? Now?”
He looked across the room where a sallow-faced teenager was holding his arm over his chest. Beside him a gaunt woman with flamboyant hennaed hair quickly averted her eyes when Eric looked at her. Apparently she found them more entertaining than the talkie Sunday intellectuals on the tube.
“What do we do?” he asked. “Yell at each other, stage a fight? What’s my motivation in this scene?”
“I’ll just tell Dad it wasn’t working between us.”
“How will you get home from the hospital if I leave?”
“Cab,” she suggested listlessly. “Or I can call my friend, Laurie Davis. She’s not doing anything today.”
“I’ll take you and your dad home.”
“It really would be easier if we split up before Dad’s done here.”
“We’re not going to now. You dad is going home tomorrow. Let him leave happy. You’ll meet someone eventually. That’s the time to tell him it didn’t work out between us.”
“I don’t like taking advantage of you. If Dad weren’t so darn pushy…”
“He is who he is.”
Easy for him to say, she thought glumly.
“He’ll expect you to stay for dinner,” she warned.
“Can you cook?”
“We brought home lots of leftovers from yesterday’s dinner.”
“How about ordering Chinese?”
“Dad won’t eat it. Might have MSG in it.”
“Mexican?”
“Too spicy.”
“Pizza? He does eat pizza, doesn’t he?”
“Thick crust with Canadian bacon and mushrooms. Green peppers give him heartburn.”
“Is he your real father?” he asked with a grin.
“So I’ve been led to believe. Fortunately he’s kind, generous, loyal, honest and all those other Boy Scout virtues except when he’s trying to run my life.”
“I sorta like him myself. Tell me he watches basketball.”
“He’s still mad at the Suns because they’re out of town this weekend.”
“Well, love,” he said, doing the worst English accent she’d ever heard, “I really don’t think there’s anything here we can’t bloody well handle.”
4
“DAD, GOOD NEWS,” Mindy said Monday morning when her father thumped out of the guest room on sturdy wooden crutches rented from the hospital.
“Is the dog tied up?” he asked. “I’m rusty on crutches and I don’t want to be tripped again. I haven’t used these things since I tore up my knee playing high school basketball.”
“Peaches is outside on her line, but now that she’s used to you, she’ll be calmer. You don’t need to worry.”
He grunted and plopped down at the kitchen table where his coffee was waiting.
“Now what’s the good news?” he asked.
She knew what he wanted to hear, something to do with engagement rings, wedding bells, more grandchildren.
“I called the airport. There’s no problem getting a wheelchair. You can go from my van to the door of the plane without setting foot on the floor. So far they expect your plane to be on schedule. I’ll take care of baggage and everything, and Dwight will be there to meet you at the Pittsburgh airport. Even the weather is cooperating, so it should be a smooth flight.”
“I
