It’s dark out now, but solar lights have come on to shine the way over the bridge. I’m pleased that I’m managing the heels better than expected although I do take the walk slowly. I hear voices when I reach his door. It’s open, and I’m about to step in when I see that he’s not alone.
A young woman, near our age, is sitting on the floor in front of him while he leans back on the sofa. His pant leg is rolled up, and she’s holding a hand to his calf.
“Well, ow! Shit! That hurts!” He throws his hands into his hair.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She keeps her hand pressed to him but apologetically looks up. “We just need to make sure it’s clean. I’m really sorry.” Her voice is soft and even, a bit motherly.
I don’t know why I don’t come out from the shadows I’m in, but I stand still.
“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m glad that I saw you limping when you came back, or you might have just walked around with gravel and dirt in this. It’s a pretty bad cut. That motorcycle is a bad idea. Are you sure you won’t let me drive you to the hospital?”
“It’s okay, darlin’. I’m fine.” But he winces a bit.
“I’m just going to coat it in antibacterial ointment now and then bandage it up.”
“Thanks, Mollie. You’re real sweet.”
She drops her head and focuses on his leg, but I can see her cheeks turning pink. Tenderly, she takes a handful of gauze from him, and I can see the significant scrape he’s given himself.
I knock on the open door and step in. “Hey,” I say tentatively. “You all right?”
“Blythe!” Sabin sits up. “Shit, is it that late already? Sorry. Minor bang up.”
I take a seat next to him and peer down. “That’s a rather bloody mess.”
He’s got a nasty deep scrape that runs most of the length of his calf.
“It’s nothing. Blythe, this is Mollie, Pearce’s daughter. Mollie, this is my friend Blythe.”
I smile at her. “Hi. Thanks for patching him up.”
Mollie smiles shyly at me. “Hi. No problem.” Her light-brown bangs hang over her eyes.
She’s pretty, I notice—petite, simple blunt haircut, no makeup, T-shirt, and cargo pants. Sabin was right when he mentioned she wasn’t really his type, but I can’t help noticing that she seems nervous and a bit flustered. Her hand shakes a bit when she tears open a few large bandages and applies the ointment to his leg, but she does a very good job of securing the gauze with white hospital tape.
“So, you wiped out on that stupid bike, huh?” I can’t keep the scolding tone out of my voice.
He waves a hand. “Whatever.”
Mollie packs away the supplies she brought into a tote bag. “I’m sure he was going too fast,” she says quietly. “It’s not safe.”
“Where did this happen? On the highway?” I ask, alarmed.
Sabin shakes his head. “Just…you know, up the road. It’s fine. I just took a turn too fast. Don’t overreact.”
“His arm is cut, too,” Mollie adds. “Not as bad. But it’s still cut.”
I grab his arm and pull up the sleeve. Another large bandage is wrapped around his upper arm. “God, Sabin!”
“Relax! And we have to leave, B. I go on at eleven.”
“Are you sure you still want to do this? You just had a motorcycle accident. And Mollie’s right. You should probably go to the hospital.”
“What? This is nothing, kid.” He stands up and does some exaggerated knee bends. “See? Check me out! All in working order.”
Mollie stands awkwardly and looks at her feet. “Okay. Well, good night,” she says. “Please don’t ride so fast. It’s dangerous,” she speaks so softly that I can hardly hear her, but her tone is kind and concerned. She starts for the door.
