Page 3 of George’s Big Day

“That’s unnecessary. This is fiberglass, that’s why it’s blue.”

After a moment he said, “None of that made sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re saying I was supposed to know it’s fiberglass because it’s blue?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said like I was nuts.

“You’re placating me.”

His grin was adorable. “I am. Yes. Now tell me from the beginning.”

I pointed at the cast on my leg. “This is fiberglass. It’s much lighter weight than plaster, and it can get wet. Also, it comes in all these groovy colors.”

He nodded. “You were misinformed, my love.”

“How?”

“The shell is okay to get wet, but think about the inside and––”

“No. It has a waterproof liner.”

“Fancy.”

“I’m a sniper. You think those come along every day?” I was indignant.

Quick chuckle. “My mistake.”

“That’s right.”

“But still, liner or not, extra fancy fiberglass or not, water in between your skin and the cast will be irritating, so we’re going to wrap it.”

“Whatever you want.” I gave up. “You’re the doctor.”

“Thank you. Now how long will you be on the crutches?”

“Apparently in two weeks”—which would make a month total, but he didn’t need to know that—“I will transition into one of those air-cast walking boots, and the doctor who fixed me up didn’t say how long I’d have to wear that.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Do you have paperwork I can look at?”

“How do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb.”

“Pardon me?” I hedged.

“I want to see what was done. I want to read it.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know if you have to go to physical therapy? And why a cast and the boot? I want to see what exactly you broke.”

“I broke my ankle,” I said matter-of-factly, pointing at the cast.

“Don’t be funny.”