Page 11 of Geordie

“I have your results.” This gives me pause because my cheerful doctor isn’t smiling. “The X-ray confirms you have two fractures in the right ankle and the scan shows torn ligaments in the right knee. Your knee will heal with rest, but your fractures are severe enough to require surgery.”

She watches me with concern as she waits for a response. All I can do is imagine what my life will be like in the coming months. “Surgery, you say. What does that entail, exactly?”

She pulls up a chair and adjusts herself in the seat. “The surgeon will do what’s called a reduction, which means he / she will connect the broken pieces of your ankle. You’ll have a more detailed discussion with the surgeon prior to the surgery.”

“When can I go home?”

She raises an eyebrow. Maybe that question was a bit abrupt, but I need for this to be over as soon as possible.

“These days, after the surgery, they can release you the same day, but unfortunately, you sustained a possible concussion and if you’re going home, someone needs to be there to observe you for two days. They’ll need to pick you up from the hospital. Would you like me to call someone for you? Maybe you’d like them here when you speak with the surgeon?”

When I say nothing, she sits back in her chair, expressing kind sympathy. “You know, it can be anyone. A wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, family member, or a friend; they just have to be an adult.”

I look at her. The question I’m about to ask is painful. “What if there’s no one to call?”

She shows no surprise, only tilts her head, hiding the pity. “Then I suggest you stay in the hospital for at least two days for us to observe you.”

It’s been hours since the surgery. They wheeled me to my room after being in recovery and I’ve been antsy ever since, with nothing to do but rest and think. I find the television remote to search through stations for something to watch until another nurse visits. The distraction doesn’t work; I turn it off, not able to concentrate on the noise or the moving images.

I glance at my phone, but there’s no one to call. I suspect William will follow up eventually, but that would be the end of his support. Lochlan is in Brazil and the rest of my relatives are in Scotland. If my cousin was here, he would’ve taken me out of the hospital, installed me in his apartment, and lectured me on the dangers of dirt bike riding, which he’s never liked or understood. I’ll wait until the morning to call Layla and Connell to tell them what happened.

I stretch a bit and notice a dull throbbing in my ankle. If I ignore this warning and try to man it out, it will continue until it hits with painful consequences. I push the call button for a nurse. It lights up like a wee neon sign. A few minutes later, a nurse bustles in and turns off the call.

“Is there something I can get you?” The nurse is nice. Her name is Maggie, according to her name tag, but I think Bridget would be nicer to talk to; it’s a shame she works in the ER. I could see her as a pretty distraction while I’m in here. I give Maggie my best smile. “My ankle is throbbing. Is it possible to get pain relief?”

She moves next to the bed to check the machines. “On a scale of one to ten, one meaning no pain and ten being severe, where is your pain on the scale?”

All this to get a couple of tablets? Okay, I’ll play the game. “I’m a seven and rising. Please ask the doctor if I could have some pain medication. Maybe it will help me sleep.”

Chapter six

Mocktails

Lily

Thecarcoastsslowlydown the hill in the dark. Halfway to the bottom, I cut the headlights to continue in stealth mode to my destination. I’m still guided by the soft glow of streetlamps, my dark SUV blending into the night. The heavily wooded residential landscape hides me from view, but I can see the houses from the street through the low thicket.

I pull onto a side street with a clear view of the Eichler-style house. I can’t see inside from here, but I know he’s there. In my mind, I can see him going through his evening workout, having dinner, relaxing with a book, music always in the background until he turns off the lights for bed.

I don’t plan to be here long. I have about fifteen minutes before the warmth in the car becomes unbearably cold. The keys rattle as I turn the ignition to hear our playlist, the one Stephen and I worked on together, the one we played on Sunday mornings.

Every night after working at the restaurant, I take the freeway, bypass the off-ramp to my apartment, exit at Melrose, and head to this house. I’ve come here every night since the breakup to sit here like a teenager stalking her ex.

I glance over my shoulder, staring at the suitcase on the back seat, packed with the clothes I kept at his house. All I have to do is pull into the driveway, grab my case, and go inside.

I turn back to the house, knowing he’s so close, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Pain squeezes my heart at the thought of returning. My face buried in my hands, my head bumps the steering wheel as I let out heaving, deep sobs at the pain. Jesus, I’m a pathetic mess. I can’t let him go, and I can’t forgive him.

A jam jar of sweet peas sits on top of a stack of books on the coffee table, a white card propped against the makeshift vase in my apartment. The colorful lacey flowers fill the room with notes of honey, orange, and jasmine. I took some of the blooms from the bouquet Stephen sent to the restaurant. It reminds me of our lazy days in Sicily where these little flowers were everywhere. Stephen and I would fly to Italy in June and July when the plants were in bloom, just because it made me happy. We would dine at the trattoria, dreaming that someday we’d retire in the Italian countryside to grow old together.

I’m in my PJs, wedged into a corner of the couch with my legs outstretched, balancing my laptop. My tea and a slice of toast are on the coffee table. I’m glad I never gave up my apartment at Stephen’s request; I needed a refuge.

The white corrugated boxes stuffed with my things that were at Stephen’s house, sit in the corner. Over the years, more and more of my stuff found its way into his home. They’ve been sitting there for days, and I still can’t find the strength to unpack them.

Lonely regret washes over me, looking at what’s left of my life with Stephen. The laptop’s screen goes dark. Shit, I let it go to sleep. Blackness covers the screen, like it’s bored with my company. I hit the space bar to get back online.

The search box already has my search terms entered since I forgot to hit enter before I got distracted. My finger pushes the enter key a little harder than I should. It’s not that I doubted Tina about who that delivery guy was, but I have to see for myself.

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