The Rattled Bones(49)

“I think that might be an impossible request.” Sam holds his fingers at my lower back, there to catch me if I slip. Again.

Gram meets us in the middle of the lawn. Worry distorts her face. “What has happened to ya, girl?”

I force normal into my voice, but the salt has charred my throat. “I had a little accident, but I’m fine now.” My words are deep, scratched things.

Gram tucks her shoulder under my arm and walks me to the house. Sam follows. My grandmother’s strength is as solid as the granite in the earth. Lasting, resilient. “Tell me where ya hurt. Your head? Do ya think ya have a concussion?”

“I didn’t hit my head.”

It feels as if my blood is leaving me, draining out through my feet. I lean on Gram and she lets me. My rock.

“Sam, tell me what happened.” With every step that Gram takes, me at her side, I grow smaller, lighter, weaker. So weak that maybe if I close my eyes I’ll disappear. Gram squeezes my waist, and I pull myself up, gather my strength for her.

“She got her foot caught in a line and was pulled overboard.”

I hear Gram’s heartache escape in a dull breath. And something like a mumbled prayer? “How could ya let that happen, Rilla?”

“It was an accident.”

She holds me closer. “An accident or a sign? You’re doing too much. Your head is in too many places.”

She doesn’t even know the truth of it. “I’m fine, Gram.”

“You’re as white as flour, and your eyes are swollen with bloodshot. I’d say you’re the picture of not fine.”

She and Sam walk me up the stairs. Gram at my side, Sam behind us both.

I fold onto my bed. Gram raises my feet, settles them onto my mattress. She waves Sam to work. “Get that pillow under her head, nice and easy.” Sam does. He’s gentle with my neck, lifting it softly before sliding my pillow to cradle my pounding head. My brain spikes with pain, the sharp stabs of a million headaches. I raise my hand to my forehead, pressing against the ache at my temples, around the back of my skull. “That’ll be the salt water in her system. Go to the kitchen and start a kettle with water, and don’t be slow about it.” Sam scrambles out of the room.

Gram strips off my soaked leggings and socks. She sits me up, pulls off my tee. I try to raise my arms like it doesn’t hurt, and she slides on a fleece top that feels too heavy and too perfect all at once. She turns me on my side, folds down the covers, rolls me in. Her nursing is smooth and perfected, as if we do this every day. Over the blanket, she runs her hands along my shins, my thighs, my wrists, my arms. She presses her warmth into my bones. “Ya tell me right now if ya need a hospital. If anything feels broken.”

“I just swallowed a little water. That’s all.”

“Hmmph.” She glares at my understatement.

She should. Even now water fills my ears, my nose, my chest. I feel the salt in my pores, in my every battered throb. “I’ll be okay.”

“I know ya will. I won’t lose ya, Rilla. I can’t lose more.” She looks away, trying to hide the tear at the corner of her eye. She pats my hand. “I’m gonna make ya some tea. We need to wash the salt water out of ya.”

Tea. Such a normal thing. Gram’s healing. Something I’ve always depended on. “Tea would be good.”

I close my eyes and the room falls peacefully black. I’m too grateful for the mattress under me. Breathing air. Feeling warm. Gratitude surges in me, building tears that seep out from under my closed lids. They trail down to the pillow, each one a tiny river, so small compared to the sea. Almost insignificant. But not.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I open my eyes to Sam sitting at my side. He’s pulled my desk chair near the bed. Close, but not too close. “You had us worried there,” I tell him, my voice rough.

He lets out a deep sound of relief, half laugh, half heavy sigh. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t let it happen again.”

He shakes his head, a tsk in the movement. “Getting your foot caught in the line is a rookie mistake. You wouldn’t catch me doing that; it’s like Fishing 101.”

I smile, and even that hurts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He leans forward, anchors his elbows to his knees. “Seriously, though. Don’t do that again.”

“Not planning on it.”

Gram comes in, sets a mug next to my bed. Meadowsweet and chamomile for soothing the ache in my muscles, no different than aspirin would. She tucks a hot-water bottle under my blankets. Its rubber warmth bleeds against my side. “Does that feel all right?”

“Yes, perfect.”

“Ya sure ya didn’t hit your head?”

“Surer than sure.”

She puts the back of her hand to my forehead as if the sea brought a fever. “I’m going to call Brower, see what he says about all this.” Dr. Brower Walsh is our family doctor, but Gram calls him by his first name since she’s known him since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Her words.

“He’s gonna tell you I’m fine, Gram. I’m your seal, remember?”

Gram’s eyes give me a sly smile. “That may be so, but Sam will stay with ya till I hear from Brower myself. And I’ll make soup. Beans and onions. Warm the sea right out of your bones.”