Rose throws her hands up. “God, I’m the old lady in the infomercial.”
The sound of clicking on a keyboard comes through the phone. “Okay. Does it appear that she’s broken anything?”
“Woman down!” Rose cries. “I need some help here!”
“Her left foot looks pretty swollen,” I say into the phone. “I’m scared to try to move her.”
“It’s best not to move her as long she’s stable.”Stable? I definitely wouldn’t say that. “Let EMS take a look at her first. Where did she fall?”
“In the kitchen,” I answer. “She slipped on some butter.”
“I always knew food would be my downfall, but I never thought it would happen like this.” The blue vein in Rose’s forehead throbs, and she covers her face with her hands.
The dispatcher must hear her because I swear he stifles a chuckle.“All right. I just need to get a little more information from you.”
I give him our names and my address before disconnecting the call. “They’re on the way.”
“This is all your fault, you know,” she hisses. “You brought this plague upon our house when you suggested staging a fall. This is karma.”
I don’t remind her thatshewas the one who’d planted that idea in my head to begin with.
Less than ten minutes later, the sound of sirens in the distance grow closer. Rose is sprawled on the floor between the kitchen island and the stove with her arms splayed out.
I run to the window in the living room to peek outside, and my heart lurches into my throat when the source of the sirens comes into view.
“Rose!” I snap the curtains shut and hurry back to the kitchen. “I think the whole damn fire department’s here. There’s two fire trucksandan ambulance. And the fire marshal!”
“Dear God,” Rose wails. “How do I look?”
A pounding on the door startles us both.
“Shit!” I shake out my hands and rush back to the door, flinging it open. There on the front stoop is the fire marshal flanked by two other firefighters in their department-issued T-shirts—one of whom is Oliver.
“Hi. She’s in the?—”
A strangled moan worthy of the Ghost of Christmas Past filters in from the kitchen.
“Please,” I say. “Follow me.”
I lead them to the kitchen where Rose is flopping around like a fish that’s washed ashore.
“Help me,” she cries out in a voice that falls somewhere between a squawk and a breathy Marilyn Monroe. “Please! Help!”
I clamp my lips together to stifle the nervous laughter bubbling in my throat and instead focus on Oliver, who’s surveying the scene.
“It seems you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a pickle.” The fire marshal kneels beside her, and Rose responds with a groan as she writhes around on the floor.
“I’m like a cow that’s been tipped over,” she says, touching the back of her hand to her forehead, like a damsel in distress.
“Don’t worry. We’ll get you right side up in no time.” The fire marshal pats her on the shoulder and turns to look at Oliver. “You want to take the lead on this one, new guy?”
“I’d be honored,” Oliver drawls.
“I'll send everyone back to the station and wait outside for you fellas. I don’t think you need everybody for this one,” the fire marshal says, giving me a nod before leaving the kitchen.
“Young man,” Rose says, reaching for Oliver’s hand and holding on for dear life when he crouches beside her.
“Yes ma’am?”
