Page 9 of Always There For You

Hadley was drawing a crowd. Not shocking at all. She was always good at that, commanding the attention of a room with her sweetheart face and bright eyes and long, wavy hair. Hair that today was half up in a knot on the top of her head and sparkling from a little beaded chain she’d wrapped around it. Her thick red sweater and grey leggings were not without trademark touches, from the tasseled, multi-colored scarf down her back and the goldenrod socks peeking out above grey boots; all of it made Hadley look like the glittering, bubbly sprite Amelia knew her to be.

It made her heart thunder to look at Hadley having such a great time while others looked on. The selfish part of her wanted to keep Hadley for herself, all that color and energy shimmering around her; but that was part of what she loved most about her best friend. How, no matter where she went, people wanted to talk to her, to interact with her, to laugh and smile and feel as though they were the center of that happy little world.

I love you

The words were right there. She could say them now and watch ruination take hold, sweeping away everything good. Or she could, as usual, hold it in, tend to it like a gardener, and watch it flourish. There was still time to confess, after all. There would always be time.

Chapter four

Three weeks to opening

“Is she okay?”

Hadley turned to give Sara the next bottle to stack on the shelves and replied, “Who?”

“Amelia.” Sara frowned and it marred their narrow, almost feline features. “She’s been in the back for a while.”

“In her office?” Hadley’s mind flashed with a warning signal, but she shook it off.

Amelia was probably fine.

“No, in the stock room. She asked me to come out here and help with the shelves, but she said she’d be right out.” Dark brows drew down in confusion. “I’ll go check on her.”

“No, you stay and keep shelving, you’re doing great. I’ll get her.” Hadley smiled, trying not to sound or look concerned. “She probably got stuck in an inventory spreadsheet, knowing her.”

“Okay.” But Sara was still frowning. Hadley gave them a pat to the shoulder before taking off at a jog to the back of the store. She passed the bathrooms and offices to the keycard door that led to the stock room and loading dock. “Hey, Ames?”

Silence.

Shit.

“Ames? You okay?”

Finally, a thin voice replied. “Hadley, can you come back here?”

And now she was very worried. Hands cold, Hadley swiped her card once and when the display let red, she swore and tried it again. And again. On the third pass, with frustration mounting so much she was ready to rip the door from its hinges, the scanner finally beeped and lit up green. And then she was racing inside, looking left to right until, over the top of a crate, she spotted a wild mass of red curls up in a bandana. “Ames!”

“I’m okay.” But Amelia didn’t sound okay. Her voice was tight and low, threaded through with pain. And when Hadley rounded the crate, she didn’t look okay either. Amelia’s face was bone-white but there was sweat on her brow and a few curls of red hair clung there. Hadley was immediately at her side, kneeling in the dust so she could take stock of the situation and help Amelia. The stepstool they used for the higher inventory shelves was on its side, one of its plastic legs cracked. Amelia’s phone was at least twenty feet away and out of easy reach. The screen was spiderwebbed with a large crack, the kind that would make using the thing near impossible.

And there was blood on the floor.

Just a few bright red drops, but any blood was too much. Amelia was cradling her left hand, but her face spoke of more pain than a cut. “Okay, what do you need? We have bandages in the bathroom.”

“Cut myself on the tape dispenser. But I fell off the stepstool trying to grab it, and I’m having trouble getting back up.”

Not good. Amelia was tough, and not just in a “I’m good with pain” kind of way. Her dearest friend was often stubborn to a fault, and it would take something like this to make her frightened. One of Amelia’s biggest fears was falling, and she studiously avoided anything that looked slippery or cracked; she was as likely to dodge a wet spot on the floor as she avoided uneven sidewalk stones. Time and time again, Hadley had watched her detour into the grass or hop to another part of the floor to reduce the chance of tripping or falling.

I can’t fall. I’ll hit hard and it’ll be just pain for days. I can’t add that to how I feel every day.

She’d never forgotten that confession after Amelia had turned down an invite to go ice skating years ago. It had been a long, trying endeavor for Amelia to get some kind of diagnosis, but no matter the quality or quantity of physical therapy sessions or medications, falling was still a massive fear.

Heart in her throat, Hadley asked, “What do you need me to do?”

All Amelia could manage was a weak, “Please help me up.”

She’d do more than that. She’d take Amelia home and bundle her up and find heating pads and ice packs and make tea. Anything at all to soothe the ache. Even if she couldn’t cure it, she’d get Amelia whatever she wanted and needed.

Under Amelia’s direction, Hadley stooped to let her reach up and wrap lanky arms around her neck. Thankfully, Amelia’s legs were uninjured and her hand was only cut a little, so Hadley could devote all her attention to ensuring her friend’s back and sides weren’t jostled. Slowly, with Amelia death-gripping her and apologizing in the same breath, Hadley got them to their feet.

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