In the last minute, three patients have walked in. I see a whole lot of blood pouring out of a leg, another person covering their eye, and the third person coughing up a storm. “Someone grab a mask for him. I’ll handle the blood,” I tell Clara.
* * *
“They went a little overboard this year, don’t you think?” I ask the ladies as we walk under the twenty-foot banner filled with the words, “Blytheville Ice Cream Festival.”
“It’s been this way for years, Austin. This festival isn’t just for kids anymore. You’ve been missing out for how many years now?” Daisy asks.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s been a while. I just don’t remember it being anything like this,” I tell them. I’ve avoided this festival for years because the last time I came here, I was with Pop, and each year since then, a few beers and TV has sounded like a better way to spend my night.
Daisy grabs a flyer from a stand as we walk by, and she studies it for a moment before I see excitement lighting up her eyes. “There are over fifty different vendors with unique flavors.”
“Now you’re talking. Where’s the ticket booth?” I ask.
“Right over there,” Clara says, placing her hand on my back and pointing off to the corner. Clara doesn’t typically make physical contact with me, not that it means anything, but she’s been careful about ever getting too close. It’s been obvious to the point where I’ve noticed awkwardness here and there. Giving her a hug last week was not the norm for us, but I knew she needed it. Maybe it’s just because we’re outside of work.
I head over to the ticket booth and purchase three all-inclusive tickets for us. When I turn back around, I find the two of them are studying the map layout. “You ladies are serious about this, huh? You got a game plan goin’ on? Let’s just start at the beginning and work our way around,” I tell them.
“Oh, but look! Bacon and Caramel. Oh my gosh, I need that,” Daisy says, running off to one of the booths in the middle of the aisle we’re in. So much for starting at the beginning.
Since there are so many vendors, the lines aren’t so bad, thankfully. We get our small, shot-sized cup of ice cream to try, and I instantly consider purchasing caramel instead of maple syrup next time I decide to make a plate of bacon. Way better combination.
“This is gross,” I hear from behind us.
“How can anything with bacon and caramel be gross? Don’t you like maple syrup with your breakfast?” I question, turning around, feeling the need to defend the poor bacon.
I knew it. Scarlett and Brendan. “Oh my God,” Scarlett says, turning her back toward me.
“I have that effect on people. Don’t worry,” I tell Brendan.
“Scarlett, quit being rude,” Brendan tells her.
“Oh goodness. How are you feeling Scarlett?” Daisy asks.
“I’m good,” Scarlett says, still keeping her back toward us.
Brendan grabs her good hand and spins her around. “Knock it off,” he tells her.
Even under the dim, orange glowing lights, I can see her face is red. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“No,” Brendan says. “Hey, I have an idea, why don’t you two go talk over there. Then maybe Scarlett can quit feeling like a moron after remembering some of the lovely things she said to you after surgery.” Oh, that’s what this is all about. That’s awesome.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Scarlett says.
“Sure it is,” I tell her. “Let’s go see what that honey and gravy ice cream is all about.” She snarls, but I grab her hand and take her away from the others. Someone is clapping furiously behind me, and for some reason, I don’t think it’s either of the girls, which makes me laugh a little.
Scarlett doesn’t say a word until we’re way out of earshot of the others. “I don’t know what I said to you last week, but I know it was completely out of line and out of my control. I’ve had bits and pieces of memories and none of them are good,” she explains, speaking almost faster than I can keep up with.
“First,” I start with, giving her a smile to comfort her. “How is the wrist?”
“It’s feeling much better now,” she says.
“Were you able to start work last week?”
“A couple of days later than expected, but yes.” She sweeps her hair off her forehead. “Look, can I ask you to forget whatever I said to you after I woke up from surgery?”
“You can ask,” I tell her.
She cocks her head to the side. “Seriously, I’m wicked embarrassed by whatever else I said that I may not be recalling.”
