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“Oh, sure,” I said. “Last month, we had a motorcycle accident where the guy’s leg was ripped off just above the knee.”
“I was here that night!” Del said. “That was a big deal.”
“Yeah. I had to go into the woods, looking for the leg in case they could reattach it.”
Del took out the stapler. “I bet that wasn’t on the job description. ‘Must hunt down severed limbs at night.’”
I laughed. “Not exactly, no. But I did find it.” She clicked the first staple in, and I felt pressure, but no pain.
“I remember seeing that leg lying in the tray. Very hairy.”
“That’s the one. Do you know if they reattached it?”
“Well, you know the rules about patient confidentiality, but let’s just say it was a positive result. Marathon not out of the question.” She smiled. “Thanks to you.”
“Well. If I didn’t find it, someone else would have.”
“But you did find it. I bet that guy will think of you every day of his life now.” Her kind words caused my eyes to tear. The contrast between Judith’s refusal to listen to my job stories and Delilah’s immediate, positive response felt like a knife in the ribs.
“You okay?” Delilah asked, frowning at my tears. “I’m sorry if the staples hurt. The lidocaine usually does the job, but—”
“No, no…it’s not…I broke up with my girlfriend, that’s all. Well. I’m about to.”
“Oh.” She sat back a minute. “I’m sorry. That must be tough.”
I looked away. “No, it’s been coming for a couple of months.”
“Even when it’s for the best, it can be hard.” She leaned forward again, bringing in that nice citrusy smell, and clicked the stapler twice more. “I always thought we as humans should come up with a better way of breaking up. Like, we should have a code word or something, so we wouldn’t have to talk about all the reasons. Because I think the other person knows, right? It never comes out of nowhere. You could just say ‘cinnamon,’ and boom. Breakup complete.”
“That sounds good to me. And my significant other would probably love it.”
She smiled and checked her work, then wiped the area with alcohol and taped some gauze over the staples. “Very bad-ass,” she said. “I’m gonna check with the doc and see if we want to get you into CAT scan, but I don’t think you’ll need it. Anything else I can do for you right now?”
“Um…could you cut off my pants?”
Her laugh was warm and genuine. “Absolutely.” She opened the cupboard and took out a pair of surgical scissors. “Love the blanket, by the way.”
“Unicorns are my favorite.” I pulled up the fleece so she could get at the pleather. As she snipped, the pants finally lost their python grip on me. I wiggled my feet happily.
“You’re free,” Del said. “I’ll get you some scrubs to ear.. Unless you want to go home without pants.” She winked.
“Not this time,” I said. “It’s a tiny bit cold out there, so scrubs would be great. Thank you.”
“Be right back.” I watched as she left, her ponytail swinging. Most people were really nice, I’d found. Especially in situations when a person needed help. Being on the lesser end of that equation tonight, I was glad Del was looking after me. Another person might have made me feel stupid. Or ignored me. I checked my phone. Still nothing from Judith. Unbelievable.
A minute later, Del came back, her arms full. “Got a nice warm blanket here, in case the unicorns aren’t enough.” She moved Hannah’s fleece and tucked the warm, white blanket around me, then put the unicorn blanket on top, tucking it firmly against me.
“Oh, that’s heaven.” I hadn’t realized my legs had gotten cold until the warm blanket was against my skin.
“Just one of the many services we offer here. Here are the scrubs for when we send you home. We just had a car accident, so I’m afraid you might have to wait to hear about the CAT scan.”
“No worries. This is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks.”
“Excellent. Back in a bit. Oh, and hey. It’s snowing. We might have a white Christmas after all.” Another smile, and she was gone.
Sometimes, being taken care of by a kind stranger was better than anything. I wasn’t lying about feeling relaxed. Yes, the vodka in the candy cane martini had an effect, but mostly, the feeling of being just hurt enough to get a pass. The past month, I’d worked nine overtime shifts for all the guys who had kids (Denise and I were both childless) and holiday stuff to do. On the personal end, my life had been full of shopping, decorating, baking with Gram at her house, having more than the usual outings with friends and my mom, nights spent decorating my apartment for my cat and me, wrapping gifts and watching Love, Actually as often as possible. I loved the holidays, but they were a lot.
My phone rang. Mom. “Hi,” I said. “I’m fine. Just a couple of staples.”
