Bring Me Home for Christmas (Virgin River #16)(18)

“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.”