“Her back is not broken, but her leg might be,” I decide, because I have to do something. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“We shouldn’t move her,” Basher argues.
“I can move myself. If you’d just give me a hand…”
“She can’t sit in the snow.” I help Sophie to her feet, wondering if I really shouldn’t move her. She seems okay… and she can’t stay here on the ground. Already the cold has seeped through the knees of my jeans.
I keep an arm around her waist as she gingerly puts weight on her leg. “I can’t,” she gasps.
I swing her into my arms, and she gasps again. “You don’t have to carry me.”
“I think I do. Bash, get the car door. Front seat.”
“She needs to lie down,” Basher frets but does what I ask.
Maybe she does need to be in the backseat, but I have a strong and somewhat violent urge to keep Sophie near me.
I hit her. I could have…
No, I couldn’t have. I would have stopped in time.
I would have.
The hospital in Battle Harbour is normal-looking, if on the small size. But it might not have the care that Sophie needs. “We should get Gunnar to fly her to Saint John’s,” I say as I pull up.
“Is there a helicopter we can use?” Basher wants to know. He’s out of the car as soon as I stop, pulling open the door.
“I don’t need a helicopter.” Sophie tries for a smile and almost makes it. “I’m fine. It’s just—”
“You could have internal injuries.”
“We’ll get her checked out,” Basher promises. “She’ll be fine.”
I don’t know if he says that for me, or himself.
I scoop Sophie into my arms and carry her into the hospital.
5
Sophie
Ibrokemyfoot.
It could have been worse: I might have broken my ankle or my knee or hip, so to have snapped two proximal phalanxes in my first two digits, as well as the middle phalanx in my second toe, that it was only my foot seems like a blessing.
But when you look at how my foot has never done anything wrong—no plantar fasciitis, corns, or even an ingrown toenail, and lets me wear whatever shoes I like without protest, it seems kind of unfair.
The doctors worried that I might need surgery to repair my toes, but after much prodding and pushing, they decided that three of my toes were to be taped together to heal on their own.
The weight of the blanket is too much for my poor toes, and my foot lies on the bed uncovered and cold, bruises blooming vivid shades of purple and blue.
I can’t stop staring at it because it’s such an overreaction for such a little injury.
Toes. They break.
It could have been a lot worse.
There are also various bumps and bruises on my body, some of which I don’t find until the next day, and a possible concussion in case I hit my head when I went down. I can’t say if it’s probable or possible, since I don’t actually remember going down. They want to run more tests to make sure.
