Passing through Perfect (Wyattsville #3)(54)

It seemed a long forty-five minutes before Doctor Willard arrived. When he got there he came in, kissed Carmella on the cheek, then spent a half-hour examining Paul. Pulling the chair closer to the bed he waved a penlight back and forth in front of the boy’s face, telling him to follow the light. With a skilled touch, he felt up and down both legs and arms. Paul winced when he touched the left arm.

The doctor nodded. “This one’s definitely broken, and I think you might’ve suffered a concussion. Feeling any dizziness? Nausea?”

“No,” Paul answered, “but if I try to straighten my leg it’s really painful.”

The doctor nodded again. “Fractured knee, I suspect.”

Hovering over the doctor’s shoulder, Carmella asked, “Does that mean surgery?”

“I don’t think so,” Willard answered. “The arm feels like a clean break and the knee can heal itself, given time and rest. Of course,” he added, “you’ll have to check on him a few times tonight because of that concussion. I think he’s past the danger point, but we can’t be too careful.”

“Oh, dear God,” Carmella murmured.

The doctor stood and put his hand on her shoulder. “It’s nothing to fret about, Carmella, I’m just being cautious.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

“No, but you can bring Paul down to the hospital in the morning. I need an X-ray of that arm and leg.” He wrapped Paul’s arm with a temporary splint and put it in a sling. “Once I see the X-ray, I can put a cast on the arm.”

Doctor Willard gave Paul a shot for the pain, then packed up his bag.

“A light diet tonight, nothing heavy,” he warned.





By the time Carmella returned to the dining room, Benjamin and Isaac were just finishing up.

“Good,” she said, “I’m glad to see you’ve eaten.” Before she sat, she walked around the table and came up beside Benjamin. She placed her hand on his arm and said, “Thank you for saving my boy. I’m forever indebted.”

“You don’t owe me nothing,” Benjamin answered. “I did what anybody would’ve done. It’s pure luck I happened to be there.”

“Oh, it’s not luck,” Carmella replied. “It’s a master plan. God puts people where He wants them to be.” She leaned into the words and spoke with an air of confidentiality.

“You see,” she said, “He put Paul in the grocery store to save Sidney, and He put you on that road to save Paul. It may not be obvious at first,” she smiled, “but we’re all linked together in one big master plan.”

“Oh, I don’t think…” Benjamin was going to explain how he would have actually been closer to Baltimore if not for the rain, slick roads, and an old engine that kept overheating, but he never got the chance.

Sidney raised his hand. “Don’t bother,” he said in a way that indicated he’d been down this road before. “Once Carmella’s made up her mind, there’s no sense arguing.”





Instead of settling into a chair, she scuttled into the kitchen and came back with a steaming pot of coffee and a plate piled high with cookies.

The fragrance of the coffee reminded Benjamin of Delia, and he tried to hold on to the thought. As Carmella stood beside him to fill his cup, for one split second he could imagine she was Delia. He looked up. With her pink skin and light eyes she was as different from Delia as the rose is from the wildflower, but despite the differences there was a familiar sameness.

“The smell a’ that coffee sure brings some sweet memories,” he said sadly.

It was near eleven when he finally stood to leave. “Is there a river or creek anywhere near here?” Benjamin asked.

“Creek?” Sidney questioned. “What for?”

“Isaac likes to fish. It’s too late tonight, but in the morning he could—”

Carmella frowned. “You’re planning to camp outside? A boy his age shouldn’t be sleeping on the cold wet ground.”

“It ain’t like—” Benjamin was going to tell how Isaac slept in the cab of the truck, but Carmella didn’t leave much space between saying one thing and another.

“That’s downright foolish,” she said, “especially since we have a perfectly good bedroom sitting empty upstairs.”

This was a situation Benjamin had never before encountered, and it left him at a loss for words. He stumbled through some flimsy excuses for leaving, but when she continued to insist he finally said, “Miss Carmella, it’s real kind of you to ask, but us sleeping here wouldn’t be proper.”

“Proper?” Carmella argued. “Who’s to say what’s proper?”

“I ain’t looking to speak out of turn,” Benjamin replied, “and I ain’t never met your neighbors, but it could be they won’t take kindly to you having colored folks in your house.”

“They have no say of what I do in my own house!” Carmella said defiantly. “You didn’t stop to look at the color of my boy’s skin before you pulled him out of that car; what makes you think I care what color yours is now?”

Benjamin just stood there with a blank expression on his face.