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“Tyler,” I yelled over the hood of the minivan as I got out. “Can you get James for me? I’m going to go get a wheelchair for Juan.”
As I met with the front desk nurse and explained the situation, I could see Tyler through the windows. He held James on his hip with one arm and helped Juan out with the other. I swear my heart did a little skip at the sight of him being the pillar of support for his family. Leaning against the side of the desk, I let out a little sigh as I gave over responsibility to Tyler’s very capable hands.
“Ma’am,” the lady checking Juan in said in a worried voice. “Are you sure you don’t want us to take a look at your neck? Maybe stitch it up for you?”
“No,” I muttered as I texted the mother of the bride to be. “I have to give a candelabra to a very worried mother-in-law first.”
“Okay,” the lady said slowly then added. “Might I suggest you go into one of the bathrooms and clean up a little? You have quite a bit of blood on you. Is there someone who can bring you some clothes? If not, the gift shop has some t-shirts for sale that you might want to consider purchasing.”
“Awww shit,” I growled as I looked down and noticed I’d ruined the top. It was Shyla’s, so it probably cost ten thousand dollars, and I’d bled all over the pretty peach and white fabric.
“Nora,” Tyler said as he came into the ER with Juan being wheeled in behind him by a nurse, “Are you okay? The girls said one of their mom’s statues attacked you.”
“No, I was trying to multi-task, and I underestimated how much a wrought iron candelabra would weigh. Speaking of which, the mother-in-law to be is on the way here to pick it up. I need to get it out of the minivan before we park it. Can you watch the kids—?”
“Nora,” he said gently, “sit down. I’ll take care of it.”
“But—”
“You watch out for the mother-in-law, but maybe call her and warn her that you look like the victim of a knife attack.”
“I do not!”
“Yeah, you kinda do,” Madison said, her little nose wrinkled in disgust. “Uncle Tyler would know. He was a police officer.”
I thought of the shocked faces of everyone who had seen me at the hospital and sighed in defeat. “Fine, let me go clean up real quick then I’ll sit down. But, really, it’s just a scratch.”
“Madi,” Tyler said, and his niece looked at him as she held James. “Hold down the fort while I park the mom-mobile. Your mom should be done getting her stitches anytime now. Viola, help Madi out with James while Nora goes to use the restroom.”
“Got it,” both girls chirped.
Moving on numb legs, I went into the unflattering light of the single person bathroom and frowned at my image in the mirror. The scrape started on my jaw by my earlobe, and the pretty fake diamond earrings I’d put in were crusted with dried blood. More blood darkened my hair, and a few strands stuck to my collarbone. I braced my hands on the edges of the sink and leaned forward, stretching my neck and wincing at the pull on the scab that was already forming. I’ve always been a quick healer, but I knew this was going to look ugly for a while.
Grabbing some paper towels, I wet them and began to carefully clean the crusted blood trails from my skin. As I worked at it, my mind kept trying to go back to dark places and even darker times, but I made myself worry about the present instead of the past. Working quicker, I accidentally rubbed too hard and the scrape started to bleed again, dripping more crimson blots onto the ruined shirt.
Unexpected tears burned my eyes, and I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset the shirt had blood on it. I mean, yeah, it was a nice designer shirt, but Shyla wouldn’t care. She had literally closets full of clothes that designers sent her for free. This shirt probably meant as much to her as a t-shirt from Target did to me. Yet, the sight of my blood on it made me feel both guilty and sad. Icky and all twisted up inside. My stomach roiled, and I felt a little lightheaded as I closed my eyes and held onto the edges of the sink.
Someone knocked on the door, but I yelled, “Just a minute.”
I worked harder on the stain, trying to get as much of the blood out as possible.
I must have been at it for a while because my endless rinsing and scrubbing was interrupted by a big male hand settling over my own. For a moment, I panicked, but the fear went away as I realized the hand over mine was calloused and scarred, tanned and work hardened in a way my ex’s hands never were. He’d been a financial adviser and abhorred having to do any manual labor.
