“That isn’t infection,” I say. “Just a side effect of being mauled by a goddamn alligator like I’m a born and raised Floridian.”
“No,” Dr. Jenn says. “We Floridians know how to avoid gators.”
“You’ll have to give me some pointers next time I return to this state, which will be fucking never.”
She gives me an amused look but shakes her head. “What pain?”
“It’s like an... intense, sharp pain. Just goes up my arm and into my shoulder.”
“He said it feels like being shocked,” Jamie adds, taking the moment to come closer, giving up the ghost of pretending he doesn’t want to be a helicopter boyfriend.
Dr. Jenn looks at my hand. She touches the tip of her finger to the tips of my still index and middle fingers. “Feel anything here?”
“No.” I haven’t felt anything from those fingers except pain. Only it isn’t pain in the fingers so much as my arm and brain telling me there’s pain there.
“Sounds like nerve damage,” she says. “Probably from the trauma. Do you feel any burning or tingling here?” She points to the stitched-up wound between my middle and ring fingers.
“Only when I move them.” I show her what I mean, wincing as my index and middle fingers stay still and the pinkie and ring fingers barely flex. It’s weird to see those fingers not moving. Like they should—my brain is telling them to—but they just hang there.
Dr. Jenn sighs. “There isn’t a lot we can do. Nerve repair was tricky even before the bug, but it’s impossible now. The pain could go away on its own, or you’ll learn to live with it. When youcanmove without pain, you should try to move the fingers yourself. Sometimes injuries like this can cause post-traumatic arthritis.”
“Arthritis?” I look over to Jamie. “We need to get a lawn so I can sit on the porch and yell at kids to stay off it.”
Dr. Jenn opens her bag and takes out a metal tin. “Sap. We don’t have antibiotic ointment, but pine sap has antiseptic qualities. It’s alittle old, so maybe put it by the fire to loosen it up before you apply it for the night. But make sure it’s not too hot.”
“I’ll just stick my fingers in and see how it feels,” I say.
She frowns, not enjoying my joke, and leaves to check on the others who are injured. Jamie takes the tin from me and puts it by our small fire, then gently takes my arm to look at it.
“How bad is the pain today?”
“Four?” I say, apparently forgetting how to pronounce the wordnine. It’s still throbbing, and the nerves feel like lightning bolts are running through them. “How was shopping at the mall?”
“Good. I mean, we found the stash of food in the Bath and Body Works storeroom and also got some wonderful-smelling soap for you.”
“Saltwater Breeze?”
“Watermelon Mojito.”
“Aw, nuts.”
Jamie takes the tin from the side of the fire and twists the top off. He shakes his head and takes a wooden tongue depressor out of the small, mostly empty first aid kit we have. He stirs the sap in the tin and pulls out a long string of it, twirling the wood around in his fingers to separate it.
I hold in a sharp inhale as he places the sap against the stitched wounds, but he still sees the flinch of the fingers that remain mobile.
“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll be careful.”
“It’s fine.” I put my good hand on his knee and squeeze. But this is definitely unsexy. I lower my voice in case anyone nearby might be eavesdropping. “Well, my hand jobs are about to become a lot more creative.”
Even in the firelight I can see his cheeks flush. “You’re a righty.”
“Hey! You’re all righty, too!”
“I’m not laughing at these awful jokes just because you’re injured.”
“Whatever. I think I’m funny.”
He looks into my eyes. “Fine, I’ll admit it. I think you’re... delightfully irreverent, God help me, I don’t know why—”
