Page 30 of Five Stolen Rings

“You scared her,” I say, shooting him a disapproving frown.

“Good,” he says with a snort. “She shouldn’t be talking about the doctors to the patients.” He looks me over, then jerks his chin toward the door. “Ready?”

“Yes,” I say. I’m more than ready. I can feel the medical bills piling up with every second I stay here, and I’m currently very uninsured. “Let’s go.”

Jack twirls his keys around his finger, and I smile faintly; it’s something he used to do in high school, too.

“Here are the rules,” he says once I’ve checked out and we’ve left the building. “Keep the cut dry for forty-eight hours. No showers, in other words, and don’t submerge it in water. After the forty-eight are past you can shower, but still don’t submerge it. Pat it dry. Take ibuprofen if you have a headache, and come back here in ten days to get the staples removed.”

I nod gently, following his long stride to the car; he reaches it before me and opens my door. He doesn’t look chivalrous or gentlemanly as he waits for me to get in, though—just impatient.

And yet his hand hovers over my head as I slide in, making sure I don’t hit it.

How did I never notice what a natural caretaker he is? Was he like this even when we were kids?

Since the hospital is in Boulder, we have to drive all the way back to Lucky together. But the car is silent, save for the radio playing low in the background. There’s something vaguely uncomfortable about it, but I don’t know what to say,so I stay quiet, only speaking when we’re finally back in Lucky.

“My car is still at Maude’s,” I say.

“We’ll get it tomorrow,” Jack says in a tone that allows for no argument. “Go home and go to bed.”

Honestly, I’m grateful; my head is pounding and I’m tired. So I nod my assent and turn to look back out the window, watching the fat flakes of snow whiz past us. Strings of holiday lights line Main, cheerful red banners stretched over the road; the town is ready for Christmas.

I’ve never felt less holly jolly. And yet…the world moves on. Even when time slows for me, the rest of the world keeps going. There’s something reassuring about it—knowing that my struggles aren’t the center of the universe, knowing that time marches on regardless of what’s happening to any one person.

It makes me hopeful that I can rejoin that swift-moving stream again. I’m just…not sure how.

Yeah,I decide as we pass the large inflatable Christmas tree in the town square.I never learned how to fail, and it’s coming back to bite me.

But how does onelearnhow to fail?

I sigh and abandon these mixed-up thoughts—for now, at least. My head is too sore.

When Jack pulls up in front of my parents’ house, he doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks, Jack,” I say quietly.

“That’sDoctor Piorrato you,” he says.

I almost smile. “Thanks, Doc.”

He gives a sharp jerk of his head, which I take to meanYou’re welcome;I open the door without saying anything else. Mrs. Driggs across the street is shufflingdown her driveway dragging trash cans behind her, but other than that, the world is silent here, which I appreciate.

“Mrs. Driggs,” I call, waving to Jack and then shutting the car door. I hurry across the street to her. “Here, let me take those.” The trash cans probably weigh as much as she does. She’s a little bird lady, small enough to blown over by a stiff wind.

“Oh, thank you,” she says with a frustrated sigh. “I used to be strong and hardy, you know.”

A little smile flits over my lips. “I know. I remember you doing yard work. I helped water your flowers.”

“You did, didn’t you?” she says, chuckling now.

I drag the trash cans the rest of the way to the curb and then turn to her. “I missed the last book club, but I’d like to come next time. Let me know.” Because I keep resisting the path life has brought me on, and it’s not doing a dang thing. I may as well make my peace with it.

I failed. I’m a failure. I messed up, did something stupid, and it cost me my dream job.

Into my head pops a snippet of the Serenity Prayer I heard when I accidentally crashed that AA meeting:Serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

That’s what it said, right?

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