Bring Me Home for Christmas (7 page)

“I’m okay. Go.” And she almost said, But don’t shave.

Before her breakfast was done, the orthopedist was there. It was barely seven. He tossed off the ice pack. “You’re good to go. I’ll have the ortho tech fit you with crutches and show you how to use them. The nurse will brief you on instructions and problem signs and I’ll see you in ten days to get the stitches out. Call me if you have pain. Aside from some aching and throbbing now and then, your discomfort should be minimal. Most important things—no weight on it and keep it elevated as much as possible for a week to ten days.”

“Um, I don’t live here,” she said. “I live in San Diego. I rode up with my brother to do some hunting. Duck hunting.” She rolled her eyes. “Very dangerous sport. We’ll drive back next Sunday—in five days.”

The doctor got a kind of stunned look on his face. “Becca, do you have any friends here? Or family? Because you’re going to be just fine, but you shouldn’t travel. Not right away, anyway. And not that distance.”

“What?” she said, shocked. “What?”

“Just because your ankle is all put back together doesn’t mean the injury’s not serious,” the doctor said. “And San Diego isn’t exactly down the street—San Diego is a long, long drive. It would even be a very long flight! You’d risk dangerous swelling, maybe blood clots, other complications. You have to remain mostly immobile, leg elevated—you don’t want to swell under that splint. I don’t really advise dangling that leg for more than an hour at a time for the rest of the week. Oh, you can get around as necessary on crutches, but you can’t put any weight on this ankle and you can’t sit in a car or plane for hours.”

“But what if I traveled with the leg elevated?” she asked. “Like if I sat in the backseat of the cab with my leg on the console between the front bucket seats?”

“Hmm,” he said. “Well, if you could manage that, it would be better. But not for a week, and even then you shouldn’t travel more than three to four hours a day, and you should stop overnight. The best scenario is for you to stay close and see me in ten days to two weeks to take off the splint and remove the stitches before you head home. The ankle might bother you for a few days—you might need pain medication. I want you to really think about it.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no family here….”

“And the young man who was here all night?”

“A…friend… I don’t know. I don’t think that would work out.”

“Think about your options over the next day or two.”

“Okay,” she said.

While she was measured for crutches, she thought hard. It might be best just to take her chances. Or maybe she could tell her mother the truth and have her come to get her. Her mother would want to come and get her—so she could carry on for days about how insane it was to come to Virgin River in search of a solution to the Denny/Doug dilemma.

Didn’t that make her feel nauseous….

By the time the tech wheeled her back to her hospital room, Denny had finally returned with a large paper cup filled with coffee.

“Hey,” he said, standing from his chair. “You’re looking pretty good!”

“Thanks,” she said somberly.

The tech put the brakes on the wheelchair. “Want me to send the nurse down to help you get into your clothes?” he asked, looking at her face and Denny’s.

“Please,” she said.

When he left the room, Denny sat again so he could be at her eye level. “You in pain, Becca?”

“Oh, just a little uncomfortable. Not as bad as you’d think it would be.”

“Are you so upset? It looks like you’ve been crying.”

“Denny, I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a week at least. The doctor said I shouldn’t travel, especially not a long trip. I have to elevate the leg, I can’t have it dangling during a long car ride or even a long flight. I could get blood clots or other bad things.”

“Then you’ll keep it elevated,” he said.

“Denny, it’s going to be real hard to get around, to get cleaned up and dressed and all that. And I appreciate all you’re doing, but no offense, the idea of sitting in that room above the garage without even a TV while you guys hunt and fish and play poker… It sounds awful.”

He let out a little huff of laughter. “Becca, I won’t do that to you. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure you have everything you need. I won’t leave you all alone. I promise. And when you can travel again, I’ll take you home. Why wouldn’t I do that for you?” He reached out and wiped a little tear off her cheek. “How long did the doctor say before you can travel safely?”

“Ten days or so. He wants to see me again before I go.”

“So I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, and then I’ll take you home.”

While the nurse was helping her into the clothes Denny brought her, Becca started to wonder about a few things—like who would help her bathe and dress once she left the hospital? She couldn’t undress in front of Denny. Not now. Not under these circumstances. What a stupid mess.

“Uh-oh,” the nurse said. “Okay, these jeans won’t work. However, I think I can open the right leg in the seam a little bit, so you can stitch it back up later, when the splint has been taken off. I have a seam-ripper at the nurses’ station for just this thing! Sit tight.”

This is going to be an interesting challenge, Becca thought. A broken ankle grounding her was about the furthest thing from her plans.

When the nurse came back, Becca said, “I bet I’m going to need one of those seam-ripper things. All I brought with me was jeans.”

“You can pick one up anywhere they sell sewing supplies,” she said. “And if you don’t want to sacrifice your jeans, have your boyfriend run by Target or Wal-Mart and grab a couple of loose-fitting sweat suits. After the doctor takes the splint off to remove the stitches, he’ll give you a soft, protective boot or shoe that you can take off for bathing and dressing. No need to rip up all your jeans. Borrow a pair of your boyfriend’s socks—pull one over your splint to cover your toes. It’s winter out there, girl!”

“Right,” Becca said. “Um, exactly how am I supposed to, you know, shower?”

“Well, for the rest of this week, I recommend a sink full of water and a washcloth. That’s really the safest method. Put a towel across the toilet cover, sit down on it, wash up.”

“And my hair?” she asked with a little catch in her voice. She couldn’t believe she was about to cry, but the idea of greasy, flat, smelly hair just about brought her to her knees. She’d always been so fastidious!

“Stick your head in a deep sink and shampoo. Or, kneel beside the tub and use the tub spigot—just don’t stand on the foot. For today, want me to braid it for you?”

“I’ll do it,” she said, taking the offered comb and working it through her long hair. Little bits of mud were still coming off. When she got all the tangles out, she began to work her fingers through her hair, putting it in a quick and neat French braid.

“Wow, you’re good at that,” the nurse said. “You’re going to find that for the next few days, just washing up can wear you out. Some of that’s the effects of anesthesia. You’ve had an injury and your body is spending lots of energy trying to heal. Start with your hair—it doesn’t have to be shampooed every day. Rest a bit, then tackle the sponge bath. Next week, try a bath, hanging your right leg out of the tub. I know you probably prefer a shower but balancing on one leg to keep weight off your injured ankle is not only going to be difficult, it’s risky. Plus, your leg needs to stay completely dry.”

“And if I want to take a shower?”

“You can pull a small trash bag over the splint and tape it to your leg with surgical tape. Or you can wrap a bunch of self-adhesive saran around it. It’s amazing stuff—stick’s right to the skin. But my advice is to take a tub bath and hang your leg out. Trust me about not getting it wet.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not a good idea at all. It’ll itch and stink.”

“Really?”

“Really. This is going to feel clumsy at first, so just remember to take your time and do it in stages. Your balance is going to get better. But, Becca, if you put weight on that ankle, you could do some serious damage. Go slowly.”

“I’m used to being very active. I can’t imagine that washing my hair would make me tired,” Becca said.

“Your body is working on mending that bone. Give it a chance. You need good nutrition and rest. Be nice to yourself.” She smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “Right.”

The nurse gave her arm a stroke. “We put splints and casts on in the E.R. and send people right home all the time. You’ll be fine. And let people help. It’s okay.”

On the drive back to Virgin River from the hospital, Denny said, “I gave Jack and Preacher a call while you were getting your crutches and I think we have a plan. A good plan. I’m taking you to Preacher and Paige’s house—it’s attached to the bar, but a totally private residence. You’ll be comfortable there. You can lie down in their room if you feel like sleeping and I’ll be around to make sure you have anything you need. I know you don’t want to be left all alone all day and you also don’t want to be locked in a room with me all day—but at least you’ll be right next to Jack’s in case you feel like company. You know, like your brother and Troy and Dirk. Plus, at Preacher’s you’ll have a little privacy and a TV for when you feel like being left alone. Chris, their seven-year-old, is in school and Dana, their two-year-old, stays real close to Paige and Preacher. You can put your foot up and I’ll bring you meals from the kitchen. Or, if you want to come to the bar, we can put your right foot up on a chair—your choice.”

“But, Denny, I don’t even know them!” she said.

“That doesn’t matter. It was Preacher’s idea. In the evenings, I’ll take you back to my room. Those stairs—you’re not ready to be going up and down those stairs, so I’ll carry you up there. Jack is loaning me a nice big blow-up mattress. I’ll sleep there with you at night so if you need anything, I’ll be right there. Like if you need a drink of water or help getting to the bathroom…”

“Oh. My. God,” she muttered.

Denny laughed at her. “I’ll be sure to close the door. Come on, Becca, I’m not going to embarrass you. Would you rather have Big Richie help you to the bathroom?”

“Really, I want to die right now.”

He laughed again. “You’ll be fine. It’ll take you about five minutes to feel at home with Paige and Preacher.”

I want my mother, she thought with an internal cry.

Her relationship with her mother was great, really. Her mother comforted her when she was down, praised her when she did well, laughed with her in happy times…and had an opinion about everything. Like most mothers and daughters, when it was good, it was very good and when it was bad it was horrid. For the past couple of years, Beverly’s opinion was that Denny wasn’t worth the tears and Doug had saved her life. Before that whole breakup with Denny, Beverly had loved him. He was Rich’s best friend and Becca’s boyfriend—double the pleasure. But then…

“I don’t like that you’re not telling your parents about me being here,” Denny said. “Particularly your mother. I know she’s probably pissed off at me, but you should still be honest with her.”

Becca’s head snapped around to look at him. Was he now reading her mind?

“But it’s not up to me,” he said. “We can take care of you.”

“We?” she asked.

“Me. Mostly me. But there’s also Jack and his wife, Mel—she’s the local nurse practitioner and town midwife. There’s Paige and Preacher, my boss, Jillian, and her sister, Kelly. Lots of real nice people who want to help out if they can.” He glanced over at her. “These people are my family, Becca.”

“But you haven’t even been here that long.”

“About a year. Becca, did they give you some pain pills or something?”

“Uh-huh, I had one just before we left the hospital. You’d be surprised how much my leg hurts, too, but the doctor said it’s going to let up. Listen, I get that you’re trying real hard but the thing that worries me…if you’re going to be all pissy and angry with me, I’d rather just make Rich stay with me….”

“Believe me, Becca, I learned my lesson on that. Besides,” he said softly, “I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to help.”

Contents

Five

To Becca’s surprise, there was a welcoming party at Jack’s. Jack and Preacher were there, of course, but Becca hadn’t expected their wives. She recognized Paige from her first night at the bar and knew the other woman must be Mel, Jack’s wife, because Jack had his arm around her. And Rich, Dirk and Troy were there, too.

Denny carried her into the bar. Rich immediately separated himself from the group and said, “Here, gimme that fat old load.” Holding his hands out for Becca, he added, “Just one of the guys, huh, Becca?”

Mel said to Paige, “Isn’t it amazing how you can always pick out the brother?”

Denny obliged, transferring her into Rich’s capable, if rude, arms. “I’ll go get the crutches.”

“Thanks a lot, Rich,” she said. “You’re so sensitive and gentle.”

He hefted her in his arms and said to Jack, “Where do you want this.”

Becca whacked him in the head.

Mel came forward and put out her hand. “Hi, Becca, I’m Mel Sheridan. Please don’t worry about a thing—we’ve got you covered. Denny’s a good friend and his friends are our friends. Would you like to sit in the bar for a while, maybe have a sandwich and soda? Or are you ready for a little privacy and rest?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “One thing I should do is make a phone call, and my cell doesn’t seem to work here.”

“Very few people can get good cell coverage in the mountains,” Paige Middleton said. “But calling home is not a problem—we have unlimited long distance. You can make a call from my house anytime. Want to start right now?”

“Yes,” she said. “Richard, follow Mrs. Middleton!”

Paige led them through the kitchen and right into her living room. She patted the sofa. The cordless phone was beside it on the table. Rich put her down. “You all right?” he asked her.

“You care?”

“Well, sure, Becca. But you totally screwed up duck hunting.”

“Bite me.”

Paige cleared her throat. “I have a boy and a girl—is this what I have to look forward to? Never mind. Can I get you something to drink? A soda? Water?”