Weather Girl(39)
Bright sides: I know I was lucky. I know it could have been so much worse.
But it’s also really fucking painful.
The tech takes me back to the exam room, where Russell’s sitting in a hard plastic chair, one leg bouncing up and down. His hair is mussed, like maybe he’s been raking a hand through it. Earlier, when a nurse first brought me back and asked if I was currently taking any medications, I stammered out an, “Oh. Um,” and he said, “I’ll wait outside until you need me, okay?” If I ever had doubts about him being a certified Good Person, that would have confirmed it.
I gestured for him to go back in when I went for X-rays, and now he jumps to his feet as soon as I reenter, the tech letting us know that the doctor will be in shortly.
“Hey,” Russell says softly. “Everything go okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard to keep the emotions at bay. My makeup is probably smudged all down my face. The exam room is too cold, my sweater too thin. I have to pee but I’m afraid I won’t be able to manage it by myself. I can’t even hold my left arm up without using my right.
“I’m so sorry about all of this.” It’s at least the tenth time he’s said it. “Are you shivering?”
“Maybe a little.”
He takes off his corduroy jacket and drapes it across my shoulders, and it’s much too big for me but it smells like his citrus-cedar soap, a welcome contrast to the clinical hospital smell.
“Thank you.” I grab it with my right hand, tugging it tighter around me. Even the slightest movement bumps my left arm and makes me wince.
The doctor comes back in, her name stitched above the pocket of her white coat. Dr. Jacobs. “It’s just as I thought,” she says, sliding onto a stool next to her computer and pulling up my X-rays. “Your elbow is fractured.”
“How long until it heals?”
“Could be six weeks, could be twelve. We don’t have a good way of knowing the time frame.” She swipes over to another image. They all look like the blurry bones of a ghost to me. “It looks like you also bruised a rib, which we unfortunately can’t do much for—just painkillers, rest, and ice.”
“That would explain why it hurts to breathe,” I say with a forced laugh. “And to laugh, though I guess I haven’t been doing much of that in the past hour.”
She tells me to see an orthopedic doctor when I get back to Seattle, that it doesn’t look like I’ll need surgery but they’ll probably want me in weekly physical therapy. She unwraps a navy sling from a plastic package and helps me secure my arm, indicating my hand and forearm should be resting above my elbow. Then she gives me a prescription for pain relievers, my X-ray on a CD, and a whole bunch of paperwork.
* * *
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MY FIRST THOUGHT when we make it back to my hotel room is that I wish I’d done a better job cleaning up. I’m amazed by how much mess I’ve created in half a day from items packed solely for a long weekend, but I can’t bring myself to care about the bra hanging off the back of a chair.
“I can’t believe I did something so careless. So stupid.” I kick off my boots and collapse on the bed, draping my uninjured hand across my face.
Russell gestures to the bed next to me, as though asking if it’s okay for him to sit down. I give him a nod. “You’re not stupid. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.” Gently, he grazes the arm I have across my face with a few fingertips, and I feel my skin prick with goose bumps.
“I know, I just . . . didn’t exactly imagine this weekend playing out this way.”
“At least now you know carrot cake M&M’s exist.” He reaches for a bag at his feet and empties it onto the bed next to us. Needless to say, we missed the team dinner, though Torrance and Seth are about the furthest thing from my mind at this point. The lodge’s kitchen is closed, and I told him I wasn’t hungry enough to order food, but he stopped at the vending machine while we waited for the elevator. And now my grumbling stomach is grateful he did. “Personally, I’m not sure how much longer I could have gone on without that knowledge.”
“Ugh, don’t make me laugh. It’s too painful. I need Serious Russell.”
He schools his face into a serious expression, eyes unblinking behind his glasses. “There are four major golf championships in the world that take place between April and July. The most prestigious is the Masters Tournament, which is hosted by the Augusta National Golf Club in Georgia.”
“Yes. More of that. That’s perfect.” I scoot higher on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position with my arm in a sling. Spoiler: there is none. “Do you mind grabbing my phone for me? It’s all the way over there.” I gesture to where I set my bag on the desk, which right now feels very far away.
He retrieves it, handing it to me without so much as glancing at the screen. God, he’s just so polite, and maybe my standards are way down in the gutter, but still. It makes me wonder what it would take to unstitch him. To mess up his hair and rumple his jacket.
I thank him and unlock my phone. A text from Torrance, asking how I am. I fumble with the keyboard for a while before giving up and sending a voice text, filling her in on the past couple hours.
“Is there anything else I can get you or do for you? Really, just say the word.”