She shook her head, returning her gaze to Evan. “Her arm is bandaged and that nice gentleman there”—she pointed to one of the firemen with a Scripture reference tattooed on his forearm—“said there weren’t immediate signs of a concussion. So why the need for the hospital?”
Captain shuffled his feet. “Elisa, I can’t?—”
“Good heavens, I’m right here. I can tell her myself.” Delia waved her hand between them. “Elisa, who needs a watchdog when I have you?”
Captain smirked, then looked chagrined as he ducked out of Elisa’s sharp gaze. “We’ll, uh, we’ll give you a minute.”
“You’ll give us two minutes,” Delia said, clearly coming back to herself.
The other firemen stepped back, whispering with their captain, who was still flushed.
“Delia, what’s going on?” She should be relieved Delia was her normal fiery self, but something still wasn’t right. Normally, Delia would be shrugging off the fuss and returning to her black beans.
“Honey, all this stuff they fixed was a side effect of my fall.” Delia pointed to her bandage and then gestured toward her head. “There was a reason I fell.”
“So they’re going to run some tests? Rule a few things out?” Elisa gripped her hand. “I can tag along, if you need me to.”
Delia gave her a knowing look. “Now you don’t really want to go to the hospital. I know it reminds you of your sweet mama.”
“Oh, I’ll be fine.” Elisa shook back her hair. “I became a fan of those M&Ms in the vending machine on the chemo floor—finally figured out how to get D4 to work.” She smiled, even as tears filled her eyes. Of course Delia would be more concerned about Elisa’s memories than her own current health crisis.
Delia squeezed her hand. “Maybe so, but I want you to stay right here and close up the café. Make sure everyone gets their ticket and maybe give out the rest of the donuts as apology for shutting down early.” Then she closed her eyes, as if faced with a sudden wave of pain.
Elisa sucked in her breath. “What aren’t you telling me? Why did you fall?”
Delia opened her eyes, with what looked like a mixture of embarrassment and pain shining with the lingering tears. “My leg went out on me.”
“That happens sometimes, though, right?” She hadn’t wanted to point out how often, but if she knew, then Delia must.
“I think this was the last time they’re going to let it.” Delia licked her dry lips and focused on Elisa. “I can’t keep putting off my surgery, hon.”
“Hip replacement?” Elisa swallowed hard. That would be a massive undergoing, on top of the extended recovery afterward. How would the café survive without its chef that long? But Delia’s health had to come first. “I’ll help any way I can. Just tell me what to do.”
“That part I don’t know yet. Financially, this isn’t something I can take on right now and you know how my insurance is.”
“Yes, and I also know your aversion to doctor’s offices.” This 911 expense would be a big enough headache—but hip surgery? It would be completely out of reach.
“The Lord will provide.” Delia’s voice deepened as it often did when she spoke about her relationship with God—one Elisa never could quite relate to her despite years of trying. “But do you understand what I’m telling you, honey?”
Elisa frowned.
“Ma’am, we need to go.” Evan’s firm captain voice didn’t leave room for argument this time, not even from Delia Boudreaux. He gestured to the crew to take the stretcher again and they quickly obliged.
She grasped for Delia one more time. “I don’t—what are you talking about?”
“I don’t want you to panic, and I know how much this place means to you, but Elisa…” Delia’s gaze locked with Elisa’s as they began to steer her out of the room. “I might have to sell the café.”
four
If the stress of the day wasn’t going to do him in, the lyric-less soft rock playing over the law office speakers was sure to take him out.
Noah leaned forward in the faux leather waiting room chair, resisting the urge to glance at his watch a third time as a lazy ballad blared overhead and August Bowman’s paralegal, Peggy, prattled on the phone across the lobby. Instead, he raked his fingers through his hair and stared at the worn area rug beneath his shoes.
August had asked him to be there at two o’clock, and it was already ten after. He’d give the man about five more minutes, then Noah had to get on with his day. Namely, finding the right color paint for Peter, and getting his insurance agency on the phone about the mold issue. The claims department had yet to call him back despite his repeated messages. The incident with Delia had temporarily distracted him from the bad news he’d received from Isaac, but now that he knew she was conscious and being taken care of, the weight settled back on his shoulders and made itself comfortable.
He released a tight breath. Maybe his first instincts were off, and his policy covered a surprise like this. The inn had hurricane coverage, which he’d already tapped into for the damage that occurred last summer. The problem might be in proving the mold came from that named storm. But maybe they’d have an additional stipend he didn’t know about. Maybe it wouldn’t be as detrimental as he feared.
Sure. And if wishes were crawfish, he’d have a nice bowl of gumbo about now.
