“It’s my stupid toe.” She throws herself backward onto the seat, clearly more affected by toe trauma than an actual broken foot.
“Wanna scoot backward so I can close the door and get you to a doctor?”
She grips the bench and gingerly moves her body away from the door far enough to extend her leg without it sticking out too far. She’s quiet on the way to the hospital, just grunting whenever I turn a corner, and I assume she’s doing her best to manage pain.
I pull up to the curb of the emergency room, but nobody treats us as if this is an emergency. I find a wheelchair myself, lower Claire down, and roll her inside for registration before leaving to move my truck. When I return, she’s been wheeled back to a private room, but there’s nobody attending her. She’s staring at a muted television with glassy eyes.
“They gave me painkillers,” she says.
“Huh.” I sit down next to the bed. If she can’t manage the pain without meds, or if she can’t walk, she won’t be able to work trips. She might have to call out.
“I need to call Wyatt,” Claire says.
“Okay.” Of course. He’s the one who should be taking care of her. I’m just a stand-in. “Do you want me to step outside or ...”
She drops her phone, which clatters to the ground, then flops her whole body onto one side to look at me. “Will you dial please?” How much painkiller did they give her?
“Sure.” I retrieve her phone from the linoleum floor and hold it to my mouth like a microphone. “Call Wyatt.”
I hear one ring over the line and offer the device to Claire.
She tips her head back and closes her eyes. “Will you turn on the speaker please?”
Tapping the Speaker icon, I set her phone beside her on the bed and sit across from her.
“Hey, babe. What’s up? I’m heading into a meeting.”
“Wyatt.” Claire’s eyes remain closed, but a small smile spreads across her face. “I’m in a room. The emergency room.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
She says something, but her voice fades away and I can’t make it out.
Oh boy. I scratch my head. “Wyatt?” I interject. “This is Nathan Stuart. I’m a pilot who’s flown with Claire a couple times, and I live down the street. She fell on her way home and called me for help. It looks as though her big toe has swelled up, so I brought her to the hospital. I’m not sure what drugs they gave her while I was parking, but it appears to be the good stuff.”
He’s silent for a moment. “Am I on speaker?” he asks.
“Yes.” Apparently he doesn’t want to hear it from me.
“Claire?”
Her head jerks upright. “Wyatt!” It drifts back down to the pillow.
“She wanted to call you,” I explain, feeling much more in the middle than I ever should have been.
He clears his throat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thank you for letting her run with your dog. Though it doesn’t sound like she’ll be doing that again for a while.”
I chuckle derisively. “Which she won’t be happy about.”
“No, she won’t.”
This is the guy I judged for not being here for Claire. But really, what choice does he have? He has a normal job. Our careers as flight crew are a lot for anyone to adapt to. I know because it was challenging when trying to adapt with Joey.
Is Wyatt that much different than I had been? If he’s feeling threatened by my presence, he has good reason. I’m attracted to his girlfriend and have arrogantly assumed I’d be a better fit as a boyfriend.
