Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(45)

"I...don't have a bike," Winter said with what sounded like regret.

"Not to worry, I have an extra one in the garage. Actually, it belonged to Hannah." I figured Winter wouldn't mind borrowing Hannah's old bicycle.

"Okay, why not? But I have to warn you it's been years since I got on a bike."

"You'll pick it up right away," I assured her. "It really is true that once you've learned you never forget."

"That's good to know."

Already I was looking forward to the weekend.

We chatted for a few more minutes and then just before I was ready to hang up Winter said, "I'm glad you called."

"I am, too," I said and I meant it. Wherever our relationship went--whether we became close friends or casual ones, whether we experimented with romance or eventually fell in love--I was prepared to accept.

What would be would be.

Chapter Seventeen

"I have to wear a helmet?" Winter asked. "It's the law in King County," I explained. She seemed uncertain about every aspect of this venture. I was beginning to think taking out the bikes hadn't been such a great idea, after all. Winter had dressed in a matching pants outfit, and I worried that her cuff would get caught in the chain. By the time I noticed, it was too late to suggest she change clothes. I found a couple of metal pant clips and used them to secure the loose material, a concession to safety if not fashion. Her rhinestone-studded flip-flops weren't ideal for bike riding, either. I still had a pair of Hannah's biking shoes and recommended she wear those. Their feet seemed to be about the same size. Since Winter hadn't cycled in years, I worked with her for several minutes until I was confident she wouldn't have a problem. Then we both climbed on our bikes and rode up and down the block before we set out beyond the neighborhood.

"How are you doing?" I called back to her.

"Great."

Her reply sounded tentative, so I made another circuit of the block, riding slowly. Hannah had been a competent cyclist, but it was unfair to compare Winter to her. I'd need to remind myself of that. I appreciated Winter's willingness to at least try. My hope was that in time she'd come to enjoy biking, which I loved.

I was surprised to realize how long it'd been since I'd last taken out my bike. Hannah and I had often talked about riding in the STP, the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Race held every July. It's a two-day event and we'd been gearing up for the ride when Hannah was diagnosed. She'd wanted me to participate, but I'd refused. It wouldn't have been any fun without her.

Ritchie rode a stationary bike at the gym, but I couldn't imagine him out on the streets in a serious ride. Not because he lacked athletic ability, but because he couldn't care less about cycling. Baseball was his sport and he was a rabid Seattle Mariners fan. He watched or attended every game the team played, memorized the stats and was a font of useless information. Useless, that was, in my opinion, although I'd never say that to Ritchie's face.

Absorbed in my own thoughts, I hadn't noticed that I'd gotten quite far ahead of Winter. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her wobbling dangerously. I turned my bicycle, intent on rejoining her. Winter saw me turn and for whatever reason decided to stop.

I could see her start to fall, but I was unable to help. She couldn't get her foot released fast enough and as a result she crashed onto her side, the bicycle on top of her. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but I'm sure it didn't feel that way to Winter.

She cried out as she landed with a thud.

"Winter!" I pedaled to her side and was off my bike in a matter of seconds. Just as I'd feared, despite the clip, her pant cuff had gotten caught in the chain and had torn. I pulled away the bicycle and rested it against a tree, then did a quick visual exam. The skin on her elbow had been scraped and was bleeding, as was her knee, which appeared to be the worst of her injuries.

"Don't touch me!" She tensed as I bent down to examine her more thoroughly.

"I won't," I promised, looking in both directions to make sure no cars were coming.

Winter closed her eyes and released a shaky breath. "Does anything feel broken?" I asked, quickly transitioning into doctor mode.

"No...nothing."

"Keep still for a moment. Concentrate. Where's the pain?" "My elbow and knee--nothing's broken. I'm sure of it." She struggled into a sitting position. When I tried to help, she shook her head, telling me she wanted to do this on her own.

She sat up slowly and, bending her arm, studied her elbow first. Then she stared down at her knee. I knew it must hurt. It wasn't as if we were kids and could easily recover from a fall. As adults we land a lot harder.

"Do you feel dizzy?" I asked, afraid she might have bumped her head. She was wearing Hannah's old helmet, but I had to ask.

"No."

"Light-headed?"

"No. The helmet saved me, I think."

"That's why we're supposed to use them." I've dealt with too many preventable head injuries in children who hadn't been wearing helmets.

Winter grinned. "You're not one of those men who take delight in saying I told you so, are you?"

I grinned back. "Every man lives for the opportunity." "That's what I thought," she said, coming awkwardly to a stand.