Page 22 of Santa of the Creek
“I think I was hit by a truck rather than a small dog.”
Everything aches and my ankle is swollen to twice its usual size. Now that I’m awake, I need the bathroom, but I’m not looking forward to moving.
“Do you need me to come over to take care of you?”
“I’m fine,” I say hastily.
I can’t think of anything worse than Gloria coming over to nurse me. I love her, but no. I need to eat and sleep. Then I’ll be fine.
“Are you sure? I’m not working today. I begged the sheriff for the day off so I can go to the tree lighting ceremony.”
It’s a real big thing in Collier’s Creek. Another Jake’s tradition. We have a local celebrity to press the button and everything. I love the way this town embraces their founder’s traditions. Randy had coerced me into taking part in the Jake’s Day parade to represent the Bar and Grill. I dressed up as a cowboy, which was ridiculous because I’ve never been near a horse in my life. Alligators, now they’re a different matter.
“You should come tonight,” she says. “Dean will be there.”
“He will?” I don’t hide my dubious tone. I can’t imagine my shy—whoa, hold on! He’s not ‘my’ anything. He is the guy who helped me yesterday because I needed someone to feed my cat. Speaking of which, where is my princess? I raise my head to see her curled up on the other side of the bed, fast asleep. That’s weird. Usually she bats my face, demanding to be fed, but she just sleeps on.
“He always supports the mayor. It’s a thing,” Gloria says, unaware she’s lost my attention.
“I’m supposed to keep the weight off my foot today,” I say, ignoring the discussion about Dean. “I’ll see the tree another time.”
“That’s a shame. You’re missing a great event.”
“My ankle is swollen. I’ll go next year,” I promise. “If I’m not working.”
“There’s always the Christmas Bash. You should be walking by then,” she suggests. “Okay. Talk to you soon, honey.”
And she’s gone, leaving me to contemplate going back to sleep. But I really do need the bathroom.
I stand up, and my stomach does a sickening roll as I put weight on my ankle without thinking. I sit down, breathing deeply until the nausea fades.
“Man, this sucks.” I won’t be going anywhere today. I squint at my phone. Nearly ten o’clock. I can’t believe I slept for twelvehours. I send a quick text to the bar, but I don’t expect an immediate response.
I shuffle into the bathroom with the aid of the crutches, use the john, contemplate a shower, decide that’s too much effort, and clean my teeth and splash water on my face instead.
Five minutes later I’m back in bed, via a detour to the kitchen to feed Ariel because now I’m up, she’s wide awake and vocal, telling me that she’s clearly a poor starving animal who hasn’t been fed for days, except I can see by the contents of her bowl that Dean had fed her the previous night.
“Uncle Dean was so good to you,” I coo.
Good grief, Uncle Dean? Thank goodness no one heard me say that out loud.
I give Ariel a stern look. “Don’t you tell anyone. They’ll never let me forget it.”
She makes no promises. Probably wise.
I pick up a bottle of water, a fresh icepack, and a pack of cookies and shuffle back to my bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a sigh of relief. I doze for a couple of hours, my foot propped up on two pillows with the icepack, and my dreams full of a shy man with sad eyes dressed in a Santa hat, until my phone buzzes again. I check the screen this time and breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s Aunt Hebe, video-calling me to see how I am. She always does that, swearing people lie but their expressions give them away.
“Morning, Aunt Hebe.” I yawn into the screen.
“Hand over your mouth, please, Echo.”
I oblige for the second yawn. “What time is it?”
“Just gone noon. Are you still in bed?”
“Yeah, I’ve been up once to feed the cat, but I’m wiped out. I hope that doesn’t last.”
“It won’t,” she assures me. “You’ll feel fine in a couple of days. I sprained my ankle last year, just before you arrived inthe Creek. I couldn’t believe how painful it was, but it didn’t take long to be up on my feet. Did Dean take you home last night?”
