The next time June surfaced, she was aware of steady beeping sounds and the antiseptic smell that could only mean a hospital. Someone was holding her hand, their thumb moving in gentle circles across her knuckles.
“Carmen?” June’s voice came out as a croak.
“I’m here.” Carmen’s face appeared in her field of vision, looking tired and worried. “How are you feeling?”
June took inventory of her body. Her head felt like it was wrapped in cotton, and every breath sent sharp pains throughher left side. Her thigh throbbed under what felt like bandages, and her left wrist was immobilized in some kind of brace.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” June managed.
“Close. It was a 2018 Honda Accord driven by a twenty-three-year-old kid who thought he could handle his liquor better than he actually could.” Carmen’s voice carried the edge it always got when she talked about preventable accidents. “His blood alcohol was twice the legal limit.”
“Is he—?” June’s parental instincts kicked in as worry for the young man sliced through her.
“He’s fine. Not a scratch on him. Even though the front part of his car was totaled when it hit the rear of yours.” Carmen’s jaw tightened. “Sometimes the universe has a twisted sense of justice.”
“I’m glad he’s okay.” June closed her eyes, trying to piece together what had happened. She remembered leaving the office, the drive through Miami, and stopping at the red light. Then nothing until waking up in the ambulance.
“How long have I been here?” She was battling to open her eyes and focus.
“About six hours. It’s almost morning.” Carmen squeezed her hand. “The doctors had to do surgery on your spleen. There was some internal bleeding, but they got it stopped. You’ve got three broken ribs, a concussion, twelve stitches in your thigh, and a sprained wrist.”
“Surgery?” June tried to sit up, but Carmen’s hand on her shoulder kept her flat.
“You’re going to be fine,” Carmen said firmly. “But you’re going to need time to heal. Real time, June. Not your version of time where you go back to work in three days with broken ribs.”
June wanted to argue. She had a huge case, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. She drifted off again, waking periodically over the next few days to find Carmen or various medical professionals checking on her. The pain medication kept her floating in a hazy bubble where time seemed meaningless.
It wasn’t until she was more alert that the full implications of her injuries began to sink in.
“Three months?” June stared at Dr. Restrepo in disbelief. “You want me to take three months off work?”
“Mrs. Carter, you had major abdominal surgery,” the doctor said patiently. “Your body needs time to heal properly. If you push too hard too fast, you risk complications that could sideline you for even longer.”
“But I feel fine,” June protested, though even sitting up in the hospital bed made her ribs ache.
“You feel fine because you’re on pain medication,” Dr. Restrepo pointed out. “Once you’re home and trying to function normally, you’ll discover muscles you forgot you had. Trust me on this.”
June looked to Carmen for support, but her sister’s expression was implacable. “Don’t even think about arguing with me on this one,” Carmen said. “I’ve seen too many people try to rush back from injuries like this. You’re taking the time you need to heal properly.”
Three weeks later, June was climbing the walls of her Coral Gables home. She’d read every book on her nightstand, caughtup on eighteen months’ worth of legal journals, and reorganized her home office twice. The enforced inactivity was driving her slowly insane.
“I could do some work from home,” she suggested to Carmen over lunch. “Just light research, nothing strenuous.”
“Absolutely not.” Carmen didn’t even look up from her salad. “Your brain needs rest as much as your body does. Concussions are tricky things.”
“My brain is fine. I’m going crazy sitting around here doing nothing,” June hissed through gritted teeth.
“Good. Crazy is healthy. Means your body is healing.” Carmen finally looked at her, studying June’s face. “You know what you need?”
“Besides getting back to work?” June’s look was hopeful.
“A change of scenery. When was the last time you took a real vacation?” Carmen watched her sister intently.
“You know I take Christmas off to be with Willa and the kids,” June answered.
“I’m not talking about five days here or there,” Carmen told her. “I’m talking about a real vacation.”
June’s brow furrowed as she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken a few full weeks off. “I don’t take vacations. You know that.”
