Page 4 of Tear Me Apart
“No, it’s fine. I don’t care who rides with me. But we can’t leave. I need to find out who wins.” As she speaks, she hears them blow the horn. The course is being closed.
Her dad’s smile warms her. He leans close, whispers, “Maybe we’ll get lucky. You’re still in first place overall.”
The EMT isn’t quite glaring at them but is clearly anxious to get moving. “We have to take her now, folks. Who’s riding with us?”
Her mom presses her palm against Mindy’s cheek, unstraps her helmet. “Hang tight, baby. I’ll meet you at the hospital. We’ll get you fixed up. Be strong.”
Mindy grits her teeth again when they put her into the ambulance; the jostling makes red-hot pokers shoot through her leg. Her mother’s face disappears as the doors slam closed, the worry etched as deep as a fissure in granite.
Her dad takes a seat on the bench, trying to stay out of the way. The paramedic leans over her, takes her blood pressure and pulse. She tries to stay calm, not cry, not fall apart. All she can think about is her coach’s disappointment that someone else will be standing on the podium because she got too aggressive toward the bottom and let her ski get caught in that rut. He’s always told her aggressive equals arrogance, and arrogance equals crash.
“Mindy, I’m Todd. I’m going to start an IV and give you some pain meds so that leg doesn’t hurt so bad. Okay? A little pinch here, hang tight...that’s a brave girl, well done.”
Within moments, the horrible pain in her leg is gone. Her thoughts become disjointed.
Arrogant Crash. That’s a good band name. I wonder if they’ll let me have the gate I hit. Would it be arrogant to ask? The snow was so cold.
I didn’t make it.
Mindy doesn’t care, which surprises her. She feels sleepy and warm, hears her dad and Todd talking. And then there is nothing.
2
VAIL HEALTH HOSPITAL
Lauren Wright bursts through the Emergency Room doors exactly ten seconds behind the stretcher carrying her broken daughter. The paramedics wheel Mindy into a treatment room. Jasper is holding Mindy’s hand, even though she’s asleep. When he sees Lauren, his eyes close in relief. He reaches out his free arm and she snuggles in, letting him hold her while he also holds their daughter’s hand. Mindy looks dead. Gray, pained, lifeless.
“Is she okay?” Lauren asks, her voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah. They gave her some morphine so she wouldn’t hurt so badly. She was mumbling about a band named Arrogant Crash before she went out like a light. Todd here thinks it’s a punk rock band from Aspen who played Coachella last spring, but who knows?” Jasper grins, and Lauren manages a breath.
“Hope she’s okay. She’s an amazing skier,” Todd the EMT says, and Lauren nods her thanks to him.
“We appreciate you taking care of her.”
“Sure thing.” He hands off the chart to a petite redheaded nurse in blue scrubs. “Fingers crossed.”
The nurses are sweet and smiley, and Lauren’s blood pressure ticks down another notch. They bustle around, adjusting the IV tubing, attaching leads, turning Mindy from skier to patient. It makes Lauren uneasy to see her daughter tethered to the beeping machines. One of the nurses lifts the white-and-red towel covering Mindy’s leg, and Lauren gets her first good look at the severity of the injury. The lower half of Mindy’s leg is a tangle of hamburger with a large white bone sticking out. Lauren feels an odd tingle run through her body. Gooseflesh raises on her arms.
Jasper sees her blanch. “What’s wrong? What is it?”
She points at Mindy’s leg, whispers, “That. Oh God, Jasper, what if—”
He grabs her hand tightly, tips up her chin so she has to look into his eyes. They are good eyes. Exceptional eyes. Light blue centers with a dark blue ring. Add in the sandy hair and athletic frame, and Jasper is a man to be noticed. A man who, to her never-ending relief, only notices Lauren.
“No, no, no. Do not say it. Don’t even think it. She’s going to be fine. She’s young and healthy. The leg is badly broken, but it’s fixable. Everything is fixable.”
Fixable.
Lauren feels the wail begin inside her. Her lip wobbles. She cried in the car all the way to the hospital, tears of fear, tears of anger, tears of frustration for her only child. Jasper was right to separate them, if only for ten minutes. He’d given her a gift, moments alone to come to grips with the situation. It was kind, and necessary.
When she arrived at the hospital and put the car in Park, the tears ended. She’d wiped her face, fixed her hair. Vowed to be strong for Mindy. And for Jasper. And for everyone. Because that’s what mothers do. And Lauren is great in a crisis. Ask anyone.
Now, she is doing everything she can to stay calm and in control. Mindy is so strong, so driven, so determined—soperfect—and seeing her daughter broken and bleeding in the snow, and now unconscious on this impersonal bed, breaks something inside her. She doesn’t want to be overly emotional in front of Mindy, who hates scenes. Keeps Lauren at arm’s length when she makes a fuss. Mindy has a cold, calculating streak in her—which is why she is such a brilliant athlete and competitor. She can turn the emotionsoffandonat will. It is a trait Lauren continually worries about. Did Mindy get it from her? From Jasper? They are both excellent compartmentalizers. Have they done their only child a disservice by being overly rational?
Oh, her leg...it looks hideous. Lauren doesn’t want to think about what this accident might mean. Lesser injuries end careers. And she doesn’t know what will happen to her little girl if she can no longer ski.
A burly dark-haired man comes into the room. “I’m Joe, from radiology. I’m going to take her to X-ray now. You guys stay here. We’ll be back in fifteen.”
