Friday afternoon, I pulled up to Pine Ridge Elementary right as the final bell rang. Kids flooded out of the building like colorful, shrieking birds escaping a cage they'd been trapped in all day. I spotted them immediately through the crowd: Sarah holding her backpack with both hands, standing protectively beside Emma, who was balanced carefully on her aluminum crutches.
The sight of those crutches sent a fresh wave of guilt washing through me. She was hurt because of me. Because I'd asked her to face a mountain she wasn't ready for. Because I'd wanted her in my world without fully considering the cost.
I got out of the truck and walked toward them across the parking lot. Emma's smile was tired but genuine when she saw me approaching.
"You really didn't have to do this," she said. The same thing she'd said every single time I did something nice for her.
"A promise is a promise." The rote answer came automatically. But today, looking at the dark smudges under hereyes, the careful way she held herself, the truth pushed its way out before I could stop it. "And I want to."
Her smile softened noticeably. Something warm flickered in those tired hazel eyes, something that made the admission worth the vulnerability it cost me.
"How was the day?" I asked, helping her navigate the front steps of the school. Slow, careful work, each step deliberate.
"Long," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "Sitting all day is surprisingly exhausting. Who knew? And teaching from a chair is like trying to herd cats from a canoe."
"Cats and canoes don't mix well."
"Neither do second-graders and sitting still, as it turns out." She laughed softly, the sound tired but real. "But they were genuinely sweet about it. Tommy drew me a get-well picture of a frog with a bandaged leg."
"A frog?"
"He's very committed to frogs. It's basically his entire personality at this point."
"Interesting choice of spirit animal."
"I think it suits him, honestly. He's got that wide-eyed, ready-to-leap energy."
I got her settled carefully in the passenger seat and stowed the crutches in the back with Sarah. As I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine, Sarah leaned forward eagerly between the seats.
"I was the messenger today, Uncle C. Ms. Reed couldn't get up from her chair, so I brought her everything she needed."
"Everything?"
"Pencils. Papers. The big stapler from her desk. Her water bottle. The red pen for grading." Sarah ticked each item off on her small fingers with great seriousness. "I am a good assistant."
"She was absolutely invaluable," Emma confirmed, twisting slightly to smile at Sarah. "I genuinely couldn't have survived the day without her assistance."
Sarah beamed with obvious pride, practically glowing. I caught Emma's eye in the rearview mirror, and she gave me a small, grateful smile that did something complicated and warm to my chest.
"Sounds like you earned your keep today, kiddo," I said.
"I did. I was very professional."
"Very professional," Emma agreed solemnly.
The drive continued in comfortable quiet after that, the autumn scenery blurring past the windows in golds and deep russets. The leaves were really turning now, the mountains putting on their annual show. As we neared the turn-off for Emma's cabin, I realized with sudden concern that I hadn't planned for dinner.
Emma, injured and alone, trying to hobble around her small kitchen on crutches didn't sit right with me.
"Mind if we stop at the market?" I asked, glancing over at her. "Need to grab a couple of things."
"Of course not. Take your time."
The Pine Ridge General Store was its usual cramped, cluttered self. Narrow aisles packed with everything from fishing lures to canned goods to questionable produce. I told Emma and Sarah to wait in the truck. No sense in her maneuvering crutches through those narrow aisles full of potential disasters and gossiping locals.
I went in on autopilot, heading straight for the aisle I knew best. My cooking philosophy had always been brutally simple: calorie efficiency with minimal cleanup. Maximum survival value, minimum effort required. I grabbed my usual supplies, a six-pack of instant noodle cups in assorted flavors. Just addboiling water. Dinner of champions. Or at least, dinner of men who'd never evolved past college dormitory cuisine.
Mrs. Patterson at the register gave me her usual knowing look. "Just the noodles today, Cole?"
