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“What? Why are you asking about that?” Pursing her lips, Jamie scrutinized me as I did with my students when I suspected them of mischief. As if I were hiding something, like drugs in my backpack. “Do you have a concussion?” She pushed my hair away from my sticky forehead. “Should I call an ambulance?”
I reached for her hand before she could take out her cell phone, which was nestled in a side pocket of her running shorts. Genius. And lucky phone. I’d never been jealous of an inanimate object before. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“There’s blood on your hand.” She spoke with considerable alarm. Her concern touched me. She was adorable. As always. “Darby, do you see the blood? Is that from your head?”
I looked down and sure enough, she was right. “It’s just a little cut.”
She placed her hands on the sides of my head, inspecting me. Her ample cleavage was on display inches from my mouth. The sports bra had a nice way of pushing them together. I shut my eyes, not wanting to be disrespectful. Although truth told, I’d already had a nice long look at every part of her. What a night that had been.
I yelped when her fingers found the cut. She scooted around the back of me to get a better look at it. With gentle fingers, she lifted my hair near the wound. “Okay, it’s not that bad. Just a little cut. No brains spilling out or anything.”
“Brains spilling out?” I felt suddenly faint.
“Here, let’s get you more comfortable.” She adjusted herself next to me. “Come here. Put your head on my lap.” Perhaps the brain injury had me loopy, but I didn’t hesitate to follow her instructions.
She sat with her back against a tree and patted her thighs. Staring up at the tree, I rested my bloody noggin with its intact brain on her lap. She had her legs stretched out, and her firm thigh muscles made a nice pillow.
“I’m not sure what to do with you,” she said, playing with the front of my hair and brushing her fingers across my forehead in equal measure but almost absentmindedly, as if her mind was elsewhere. Regardless, her fingers felt cool and silky on my warm skin.
“Your eyes match the sky,” I said. “I can see it through the branches of this tree. But you probably know that.”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t say it like that,” I said. She should own her beauty.
“Like what?
“Like you don’t know how pretty you are.”
“Oh, well, thank you. That’s very sweet. However, I am still worried you have a concussion.”
A spattering of freckles decorated her slightly turned-up nose. “I love freckles.”
Her hands went still. Above us, an orange aspen leaf floated lazily on its way toward us. “Whoa, you are acting a little weird. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“A lot of people like freckles,” I said. “You should embrace them.”
“I’m not worried about my freckles right now.” Her teeth were all white and shiny and even. “Do you know who the president is?” Beads of sweat moistened her forehead.
I blinked, unsure for a second. Then I remembered and told her.
“Okay, that’s good,” Jamie said.
“Why did you ask me about the president? Did you forget?” I wanted to laugh at my little joke but only managed a raspy guffaw.
“They always ask who the president is in movies and stuff to make sure the person doesn’t have any brain damage.”
“Again with the brains,” I said, quite content to sit like this forever.
“I think you’re fine, but maybe we should take you to urgent care?”
“No. No doctors. I can’t afford it.”
“Can you walk?” Jamie asked.
“I’m a little dizzy, if you must know.” I spoke in a posh accent, hoping to make her laugh.
She didn’t. “I’m texting Breck,” Jamie said, tugging her phone from that lucky pocket. “I want him to come look at you.”
