“Ooh, got a right good gash on your head, there, lass.”
“Ah, is that what the throbbing is? Thought I hit the Jameson a bit too hard last night.” Fran smiles wanly, and even injured and in pain, she’s bloody beautiful.
She looks up quickly at me and winces from the sudden movement. “No need to growl, Tate, you did enough of that on the way back.”
I didn’t even know I was bloody growling. Did I?
I grunt in reply, as the doctor examines her. A moment later, he sits back and shakes his head. “You’re awfully lucky it wasn’t worse, lass,” he says gently. “An inch or so to the left and you’d have injured an eye, likely beyond repair.”
Her jaw drops, and she looks down at her hand. “And my arm?”
“Doesn’t look broken, but it would be best if we had an x-ray. I don’t have the proper equipment here. I’ll put a brace on to keep it steady, but you’ll need that seen with a specialist first thing tomorrow and time off, days or even weeks.”
She winces. “I have to work tomorrow,” she says with a sigh. “I have no vacation time left. If I don’t get to work…” Her voice trails off. She works at the little bookstore in town, in Inverness Centre.
“Sorry, lassie,” he says, shaking his head. “You have to. You could risk something so much worse if this isn’t properly treated.”
He hands her a few white pills. “Here, take these. It’ll help with the pain.”
Fran sighs, pops the pills, then drinks down a glass of water. He continues inspecting her with a frown, meticulous and thorough. We hired him because he’s the best there is.
“Why so long for a head injury?” Fran asks.
“Head injuries are bloody dangerous,” I tell her. “Don’t you know what could’ve happened? You could’ve gotten fuckin’ brain damage, or worse.”
Islan rolls her eyes but Fran just blinks at me in surprise. The doctor continues his examination when a knock sounds at the door.
“Come in," I say. Mum comes in carrying a plate, laden with soup, bread, and a steaming pot of tea. It's well past dinner time, but it's in her nature to feed people when they're injured. Says it helps with recovery and all that.
"How are you doing, lass?”
“Oh, I’ll be better soon,” Fran says with a self-deprecating laugh. “How’s Bryn?”
“Bryn walked away without a scratch.”
“Thank God for that,” I mutter, and Fran gives me a curious look.
“Just that Mac would lose his bloody mind.”
“Aye, he would,” Islan says. “It’s the way you all are, isn’t it?”
I don’t reply. It is how we all are, but I can’t quite place the look on Fran’s face.
The doctor takes his leave, with strict orders she rest and allow people to help her, followed by Leith and Mum. The other girls have gone off to take care of the children and Bryn, perhaps sensing that Fran doesn’t want a lot of visitors right now. She’s in so much pain, even the bright lights seem to hurt her eyes.
It’s just me, Islan, and Fran now.
I should go. I have work to do. Her best friends are right here, in this very house. Surely they can make sure she’s alright. I’ve got a pressing job Leith wants me to tend to, but I can’t seem to make myself do it.
“We’ll get you situated here for the night,” Islan says. “Not the best accommodations, but I do think it’ll be best for you, give you a little privacy. There’s a toilet nearby the kitchen, and you won’t have to walk upstairs.”
“And it’ll be easy enough to get you to the car to go to get your x-ray in the morning,” I say.
She frowns. “Might be a little hard to drive like this?—”
“Of course you bloody well can’t drive,” I snap.
She blinks, then her cheeks flush a little pink. “Excuse me?”
