Small Town Rumors(34)

“They’ll be in and take you down to X-ray in a minute,” he said, and disappeared.

Immediately Cricket began to worry about the lies she’d told. If they had to anesthetize her, then would they give her enough to keep her under? She sure didn’t want to wake up before they got finished.



Jennie Sue dug around in the purse until she found Cricket’s wallet and had almost given up even finding a driver’s license when she noticed a small cloth bag. Inside she found an insurance card and all the pertinent information that the lady behind the counter needed.

She took it from Jennie Sue and said, “She will have to personally sign these papers before she is dismissed, but you can put these cards away.”

“Now can I go back there with her?”

“Only if you are family,” the woman said.

Jennie Sue opened her mouth to say that she was her friend, but then snapped it shut. One of Mabel’s old sayings—you might as well hang for a sheep as a lamb—flashed through her mind. So Jennie Sue said, “I’m her sister.”

“Then I’ll press the button so the doors will open for you,” the lady said.

“Thank you.” Jennie Sue hoped that lightning didn’t shoot out of the sky and strike her dead on her way out of the office cubicle.

A hunky male attendant was rolling Cricket down the hall in a wheelchair and into the emergency-room area. She didn’t have a bit of color in her cheeks.

“What’s the prognosis, sister?” Jennie Sue asked.

The guy stopped at a door. “I’ll go in and tell them we’re here.”

Cricket looked up with the best of her dirty looks. “I’m not—”

Jennie Sue bent down and cupped her hand over Cricket’s ear. “I had to tell them that so they’d let me come back here with you. If you blow it, you’re on your own.”

Cricket frowned and answered, “Don’t know until the doctor sees the X-rays. And—” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I appreciate you doing this for me, but we are barely friends.”

Jennie Sue’s shoulders raised in half a shrug. “After the way you’ve treated me, I’m not even sure I want to be your friend.”

“Me neither,” Cricket said. “But it seems like we’re thrown together all the time. Maybe instead of barely friends, we’re civil friends.”

“That sounds more like it.” Jennie Sue nodded.

The door opened and the guy stepped out. He glanced over at Jennie Sue. “You’ll have to wait out here, but this won’t take but a minute.”

“Yes, sir.” She sat down in a folding chair right next to the door.

Mabel used to tell Jennie Sue that everything happened for a reason, that life was like a ball of yarn. She explained that when a person got older, they could pull the loose end and look back at life and see that something that happened on a particular day had changed the course of it. Jennie Sue couldn’t think of a single reason that she had to be the one who’d been close enough to Cricket when she fell to help her.

Maybe it was to get your mind off the conversation that you had with your dad. There was no doubt it was Mabel’s voice in her head. You needed a little time to cool your heels. Remember, you do have some of that Wilshire temper even if it doesn’t show up very often.

“I don’t have my mother’s temper,” she muttered.

Be honest.

Before she could argue any more, the man pushed Cricket out of the X-ray lab and headed down the hall. “We’ll go back to the emergency room, and the doctor will be here soon to discuss the next step.”

“Is it broken?” Jennie Sue asked.

“The lab tech will read it, and then the doctor will talk to you,” he said as he got Cricket into her original cubicle and helped her up onto the narrow bed. “Need a blanket?”

“Yes, please,” Cricket moaned.

“Can you give her something for the pain?” Jennie Sue asked.

“Not right now. The doctor . . . Oh, here he is now. Ask him.”

An older man with a round face, a wide nose, and snow-white hair cut close to his head gently rolled the sheet away from Cricket’s leg. “Let’s see what we’ve got here. I checked the picture and there’s no broken bones, which means a nasty sprain that’s going to keep you off your feet for three to six weeks. For the first week, you’ll keep it propped up and only get up to go to the bathroom—on crutches.”

Cricket sucked air through her teeth several times when he pressed on the ankle. Jennie Sue grabbed her hand and held it.

Cricket tried to jerk it away, and Jennie Sue leaned down and whispered, “We’re civil friends, remember?” Did that subcategory of friends mean that the friendship ended when they left the hospital, or did she have to do more for Cricket? And how was it different from acquaintances?

Jennie Sue was still mulling over the type of friendship she wanted with Cricket when the doctor’s deep voice jerked her back to the room.

“Ice. Twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off, three times in the morning, afternoon, and evening,” he said. “Second week you can move around the house on crutches, but you can’t put the foot on the ground. I’ll see you at the end of that week and we’ll talk about a walking boot.”