“Just above freezing. Maybe two degrees?”
“These are fleece-lined, I think I’ll be okay.” She tugs them on, then glances back at me. “You didn’t close your eyes.”
“I can see you naked with my eyes closed, too. I’ve got a whole collection of Rory highlights.” I snag the green flannel shirt off the bed. It smells like her, warm and sweet, so I pull it on over my t-shirt. “Reclaimed.”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you ready to go over to the tree lot?”
“Yep.”
“Then go.” She crosses her arms over her tank top-clad chest. “I don’t need an audience for putting on a bra and finding a sweater.”
But the audience would really enjoy that. Except I can’t tell her that. “All right, you win. See you out there.”
By mid-morning, the tree farm is already packed with families. I’m lazily doing laps of the skating trail, which is cooler than the sunny lot, where the snow from yesterday has already melted. No white Christmas for Pine Harbour after all.
But on the trail, where the sun can’t really break through the dense trees and the ice stays frozen, there’s a certain Polar Whimsy in the air.
Kids are wearing oversized elf hats on their helmets and parents are dancing to songs that would be right at home on Rory’s playlist.
A group of teenagers blows past me, laughing and showing off. I recognize a few of them. They’re good kids, just excited about the holidays.
I round the first curve into the forest when I hear the distinctive sound of blades catching wrong, followed by an ominous thud, a body landing hard on the ice.
Panicked voices immediately follow. “Oh shit, oh shit!”
I pump my legs hard, shooting around the bend to find a teenage girl sprawled on the ice. Her friends are clustered around her, their faces all tight with fear.
Shit. Injuries are a fact of life, and skaters need to sign a waiver, but still. Fuck. Bad vibes on Christmas Eve.
I’m on the radio as I stop next to them. “This is Garrett at Turn One, standby for an incident report.”
Then I drop to my knees beside her.
She’s conscious, but looks dazed, blinking up at me with unfocused eyes.
“Hey there,” I say gently. “What’s your name?”
“Emma,” she whispers.
“Hi, Emma. I’m Garrett. Don’t try to move yet, okay? Can you tell me what hurts?”
“My arm.” Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. “I can’t move it without—ow.”
My radio crackles. It’s Rory.“Roger. Standing by.”
I smile reassuringly at Emma. “We’re going to get you some help, then. Did you know that there’s a doctor who moonlights here doing Christmas tree sales?”
She doesn’t laugh, but her friends do.
“I’m serious.” I look at her most anxious looking friend. Kids like him need a task in an emergency. Sure, I have the radio, but I might as well let him help. “Can you go backwards on the trail—you won’t get in trouble, I promise—and meet Dr. Minelli there and show her where we are?”
He takes off like a shot.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I hop on the radio again. “Roar, meet a kid at the skate hut. Bring the first aid kit. I think you’ll need a sling.”
I turn back to Emma. “You’re going to be in very good hands soon. How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three.”
