Page 89 of Tell Me What You Want, Or Leave Me

“I thought I had lost you.”

His despair makes me shiver.

“But I’m OK, right?”

Eric nods, but he’s still very emotional.

“Yes, my love, you’re OK. You have a very slight concussion.” He swallows a knot of emotions. “But you’re OK. You don’t have a single break. Just a hairline fracture on your left wrist.”

“You didn’t call my father, did you?”

Eric shakes his head.

“I figured I would call him when you woke up.”

“Don’t call him. I’m all right, and there’s no need to scare him.”

He kisses my hand. “We have to call him, Jude. If you want, we can wait until tomorrow when they release you.”

I protest.

“Tomorrow? And why not now?”

“Because they want to keep you for twenty-four hours of observation.”

“But I’m OK. Can’t you see?”

He finally grins. “Your stubbornness tells me you are, in fact, all right, and you have no idea how happy that makes me. But I want you to stay in the hospital as well. It’ll ease my mind. I’ll stay with you. I won’t move from your side.”

I like that. If I have to be here, he’s the best company I could have. Just then, the door opens and in comes Marta with an anguished Sonia.

“Oh, my girl, are you all right?”

“Yes, it’s OK, Sonia. I’m fine. It’s just a bump.”

“A bump? You mean a hell of a crash!” exclaims Marta. “You have to see the shape that motorcycle is in to fully understand what happened.”

Eric moves so his mother can hug and kiss me. He touches her shoulder to reassure her.

“It’s OK, Mamá. Judith’s fine.”

But now I’m the sad one. “What happened to my motorcycle?”

When no one responds, my eyes fill with tears, and my neck itches. “Please tell me my bike is OK,” I say, which leaves them all aghast.

“My dear,” says Sonia, “don’t get anxious.”

Eric scolds his mother with a look.

“Listen, my love, don’t worry about the bike now. The only thing that’s important is you.”

But that doesn’t convince me. I scratch my neck.

I adore my bike. My father sacrificed a lot to buy it for me many years ago.

“At least tell me if it can be fixed.”

“It can be fixed,” says Eric, now back at my side and blowing on my neck.

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