It’s time to get this woman into her home so I can get back to mine.
Minutes later, after shouldering through her broken door, I deposit Ellyn onto her champagne-colored couch in the living area of her home.
Ellyn tries to hide her grimace the moment her hip touches the couch. She spreads her lips into a tight smile, but I see the way her eyes water from the pain.
My frown deepens before I remove the three pillow cushions from the couch, giving her more space and reducing the pressure on her injured hip.
“Thank you,” she sighs out.
“You need some ice,” I say and spin toward the kitchen.
It’s easy to navigate in her home since the living room space flows right into the kitchen and dining area. It only takes opening a couple of the coffee colored cupboards to get what I’m after.
“What are you looking for?”
I hear her question behind me but ignore it as I fill a Ziploc bag with ice from her freezer. Then I grab the kitchen towel that hangs over the stove handle to wrap the bag up before returning to Ellyn.
“Twenty minutes on, twenty off,” I instruct as I place one of the previously discarded pillows onto Ellyn’s lap, then adjust her sprained wrist atop the cushion to place the ice on.
“The doctor said?—”
“You think some twenty-something year old knows what he’s talking about?” I shake my head. “Didn’t look a day older than my eldest grandson. And he’s only twenty-three. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.”
“Doesn’t your grandson fly multi-million-dollar military airplanes for a living?”
I blink at her. “How do you know my grandson is in the Air Force?”
“You told me.”
“I did no such thing.”
“You did. When you were griping at me when I told you I wasn’t decorating for the holidays. You said, and I quote, ‘Even my grandson, Aiden, who’s one of the best damn pilots in the Air Force, is coming home to help decorate for Christmas.’”
I glance down at the floor, ignoring the tightening in my chest at the reminder of the call I’d gotten before I heard Ellyn’s cry for help.
“I said no such thing,” I lie as I adjust her wrist to make sure the ice pack isn’t sitting too heavily on her injury.
“I have a wonderful memory,” she tells me.
“It must’ve let you down this time. Either that, or it’s making up stuff. That tends to happen in?—”
“In what?” Her voice rises an octave. “You better not say, ‘in old age.’”
“Fine then, I won’t say.” I rise to my feet.
She makes an incredulous sound with her mouth, and once again, I’m drawn to those lips.
“Men are ridi?—”
“Yeah,” I say while slapping the thighs of my worn blue jeans. “Speaking of men …” I glance around notably. “You shouldn’t be alone.” I drop my gaze back onto her. “Do you have someone here to take care of you?”
“I’m fine.”
“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”
She pauses, taking her time to pick nonexistent lint from the white T-shirt I bought her from the gift store at the hospital.
“If you must know, I live alone.”
