Page 220 of Falling Backwards
She lets out a laugh so small and frail that it’s not too different from the new whimper she lets out next.I’m glad she liked my joke from a recent conversation we had—I don’t even remember how she ended up mentioning she dances around this apartment sometimes, just that it brought a smile to my face—but I hate knowing she’s hurting.
Indeed, she tells me now, “It hurts.”
“I know,” I say sympathetically.I rub lightly at her calf, only dimly noting that this is the first time I’ve touched this bare stretch of her skin.I look up at her with sympathy too.“And I’m sorry as hell, but we gotta clean it with soap and water.”
At that,shelooks mildly ill—and very unhappy.
However, she’s Maggie and she’s smart, so while I warm up the stream of water for her in the tub, she points out through wobbles that she won’t have to scrub or really even touch the wound since there isn’t any debris in it.I nod along in confirmation.She’s right about there not being even dirt among the damage, and it makes sense for her to just lightly get soap suds on the wound for a little while, then gently run water over it.
She turns out to do okay with the soap part, but then it comes time for rinsing with the cup that Emma brought along with a bandage, and Maggie hesitates.I can see the plastic of the cup giving in her grip a bit.
Hell, I understand.
“I don’t wanna do this,” she says.Her voice is tight with dread.
I hold out my hand for the cup.“Want me to?”
Then I lower the hand and fight not to roll my eyes at myself.I’m an idiot.She was saying she doesn’t want to be in the extra pain that rinsing is going to bring, not that she wants someone else—
“Do you mind?”she asks in a small voice.
…Oh.
She looks at me sadly.“I know it’s gross,” she goes on, “but I—”
“No, it’s no problem,” I quiet her.I put one hand on her back and decidedly take the cup from her with the other.“I’ve got you.I’ll take care of it.”
Her sad look softens a bit, and she manages to still be damn lovely even in a time like this, and I have no idea how.
“Thank you,” she says in a tremble.
I rub at her back.“Deep breaths, okay?”
She nods and starts right in on those.
I do my best to be thorough, quick, and careful all at once.Maggie still cries some, though.I hate it and find myself chanting, “I know, I know,” over and over while I work, wanting to be done already.
Shortly, I am, and I can help her to the couch.I intend to set her up as comfortably as possible so she can relax.As I set to that task, I eye her knee and wonder if we should bandage it now or let it air out for a while.
I start to ask, then pause when she speaks first.
“Luke,” she says with a thick sniffle, “how am I gonna exercise with my knee all busted up?”
My mouth had been open, but now it snaps shut.I blink at her in disbelief.
Is she seriously concerned about her workouts right now?
She sniffles again.“I was—I wasjustgetting going with my exercise.This is gonna set back me getting in shape.”
Yeah, she’s for real.
I sit next to her.“Hey, don’t waste time and energy worrying about that.You’re fine.”
“No, I’m….”
Her eyes catch how seriously I’m looking at her, and she doesn’t finish her protest.She gulps it away.
Still, I tell her with a squeeze of her uninjured knee, “Your value doesn’t hinge on whether you can work out or not, ’cause it doesn’t hinge on what shape or size or weight you are.”
