Wren nodded.
“Rose from the dead is more like it.” She leaned back into the pillow and closed her eyes for a second. She could seriously see going back to sleep again. “Please tell me that you called my Mamaw.”
“I tried, Wren,” Rocky said, sounding defeated. “But that’s hard to do when all I know is Mamaw Gigi. Guess what? She’s not listed under Mamaw Gigi, and there’s not a Gigi Blanchard either.”
Wren rolled her eyes.
“She’s still listed under Papaw Dale. She never changed it after he died.”
Rocky was silent for a moment. “I guess I should know that. I think I need to improve my files a little. Add a folder for employee emergency contacts.”
Rocky? Managing files? Wren laughed at the thought, and then she winced and hissed in a breath.
Riva made a sympathetic face and took her pulse.
No laughing. Not. At. All.
“Wren? You okay?”
“Yeah,” she rasped. “Just sore. Look, Rock, I gotta call my Mamaw. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, Wren. Sorry. Let me know what you need. I can pick you up later whenever you’re released. Just call.”
“Thanks, Rock. You rock.”
He laughed, as usual. Wren hung up.
“Wait. Before you call your grandma, I need to take your temp. Open up.” Riva shoved a sleeve-covered thermometer under her tongue, effectively silencing her. A moment later, she whipped it out.
“Temperature’s normal. Let’s try walking. How about a trip to the bathroom? We took your catheter out hours ago.”
Catheter?Wren shuddered.
“O-kay…”
“Just boost yourself up and swing your feet around. I’ll help you stand.” Riva lowered one of the bedrails and gripped her by the elbow.
A dull ache bore into Wren’s gut as she shifted.
“This is gonna suck.” Wren found herself holding onto the nurse for support as her feet met the floor. The dull ache sharpened as she tried to straighten up, and an unpleasant tugging burned just under her skin.
“I think I’ll walk like this,” she said, hunching forward and taking painful little shuffle steps.
“That’s it… It’ll get easier in a day or two."
Wren felt the back of her gown gape open.
“Wow, that’s a lot of tattoos,” Riva said, awe marking her voice. Wren rolled her eyes and reached back to close her gown.
Standing and walking were nothing compared to sitting down on the toilet.
“Holy shit!” It almost didn’t mortify her that she held onto Riva with white knuckles.
“Holy shit,” she whimpered again as she peed acid.
“That’ll be from the catheter,” Riva explained, nodding.
By the time she got back in the bed, Wren was exhausted. Her eye lids were closing on themselves when Riva handed over her phone.
