“No. Well, yes. I’m wearing this and taking what I was going to wear because my aunt sent me numerous texts and told me they’d sort out everything at the church.” She rolls her eyes. “Whatever that means.”
I shrug because I know less than she does. “Don’t ask me.”
She steps over to her father. “See you later?” She waits for his nod. “I set your suit out and picked out a tie for you, the one Mom bought you for Christmas that year.”
“Right.” He bends and kisses her cheek. “She would have loved being around for this circus.”
Matilda giggles. “Yeah, she would have been all in with Aunt Annabelle.”
Buck’s got a smile on his face, but it’s forced, I can tell. “Yeah.”
On our way to the car, I notice she’s still limping. “Your ankle okay?”
“It’s fine.” I’d taken the garment bag and the small satchel she had with her at the door. Placing that into the back end of my rental, I watch her slide into the car gingerly. “Your ribs still sore?” I ask, sliding into my seat.
“I’m fine. I took more acetaminophen and have the bottle in my bag.”
“Did you wrap your ankle?”
She glances over at me. “I’m wearing a dress.”
“They come in different colors. What color is your dress?”
She starts to giggle, one that starts with a snort. I realize I’ve said the wrong thing. “Vicky would kill me if I had a wrap on my leg the same color as my dress.” Then she laughs more. The sound of it makes me smile, then chuckle myself.
“What color is your dress?”
“Red. I bought one the same color as the bridesmaids. Vicky insisted I match.”
Pulling out into the street, I make my way to the main intersection. The church is in the heart of Chicago. Being a Saturday, the traffic shouldn’t be too bad.
“I look terrible in red.”
I glance over at her. “I doubt that.”
“Red hair and red clothes don’t mix.”
I shrug. “Well, after today, you never have to wear it again.”
“True.”
Since we’re early, I pull up to a pharmacy a few blocks from Matilda’s place. “Let me run in and see if they have a wrap that won’t make Vicky pissed.”
“No.” She shakes her head, and her curls swish around, skimming her shoulders. “She won’t be happy about it.”
“Too bad.” It takes me several minutes to find the aisle with the first aid wraps. The selection they have is surprisingly good. I spot a red option but look past that and find one that looks similar to Matilda’s flesh tone. At the car, I move to the passenger side and open the door. “Swing your bum ankle out here.”
She does as I ask. I lift the leg of her jeans and see her ankle is more swollen this morning than it was last night. When I place my hand on it, she flinches. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.”
Slipping off her Converse, I unpackage the wrap and begin to wind it tightly around her ankle. When I'm done, I hand her the shoe. “I’ll let you do that.” She’s moving her foot around a little bit. “Better?”
“Yeah.”
“You can take it off before the ceremony. Then I’ll wrap it back up at the reception.” I pull out a second wrap. “I bought an extra one.”
“It’s red.” She laughs. “No way will that fly.”
