Page 4 of Just Ten Seconds

The girl cries out again in a wet whimper, so he lowers his head back down to her, placing a kiss on her forehead. Her little nose is bright red from sobbing, and her eyes haven’t opened as she squints in agony.

My body shifts with a yearning for these two as if they were my own. I open my mouth to apologize for not being able to help them, but I can’t.

“Jackie, get the first aid kit,” I say over my shoulder.

“Mara”—Nick walks in front of me and thumbs toward the other patrons in the café—“I don’t want to kick a kid out, but—”

“You know I can’t leave a child in pain.” My words are stern.

He knows me. He knows this is bigger than any rational argument he can make about keeping the floor of a diner spotless.

He looks down with an exasperated yet agreeable breath. “Can you at least bring her outside?”

Out the window, the dark clouds are rolling in. Small drops of rain tap the floor-to-ceiling glass.

“No.” I push him to the side, approaching the father and child. “Sit here,” I say to them as I pull a chair from a vacant table and place it by the door.

Nick doesn’t say another word as he walks back to the kitchen with a grumble to get to work.

After everything Nick and Jackie have done for me since I moved to this town, I hate going against their wishes. Actually, it’s the first time I’ve uttered a disagreeable word to either of them.

I sigh heavily as I turn back to the man and encourage him to sit. He does, and I get a good look at the girl’s leg. The large gash in the torn skin is red and pulsing with an oozing yellow substance. There’s gravel sitting in the cut that needs to be cleaned out.

Jackie appears next to me with the first aid kit. I take it from her and open it up as she rests a hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll cover your tables. You’re gonna be okay?”

I nod and take a knee, turning to the girl. With a soft touch, I rub her shoulder and ask, “What’s your name?”

She sniffles loudly. “Amanda.”

I smile as I open an alcohol packet. “It’s nice to meet you, Amanda. I’m Mara. I’m going to clean your boo-boo, and it’s going to tickle a little. Is that okay?”

She gives me a nod before whimpering and burying her face deeper into her father’s neck. I start to clean her cut, but she pulls her leg away with a startled yank and cries loudly. With light pressure, I gently hold her in place as I push the gravel away and spray peroxide onto the wound, making it bubble with foam.

The injury is bad, but it won’t need stitches, I don’t think. Just time to heal.

I notice her clutching her arm up to her chest. It’s discolored and limp. It could be the angle I’m looking at it, but it appears to have a slight bend.

“Amanda, sweetie, can you show me your arm?” I ask.

She shakes her head and pulls it closer to her body, which only makes her cry more.

I look at her father and speak quietly, “I think it’s broken.”

His eyes shut for a moment, as if he’s cursing himself. If there’s one thing I can relate to, it’s the feeling of blaming yourself for other people’s misfortune. I’m quite brilliant at it actually. I get the feeling he is too.

I put more peroxide on the cut, and Amanda cries as tears fall down her face. I hear a patron call out, asking if she is okay. I assure him she is even though my heart begins to break.

“What about a pediatric urgent care?” I suggest to the man. “A new one just opened about a mile down the road. They’ll be able to take X-rays.”

His chest rises with a nod. This idea seems to appease him. “We’re on our bikes. I don’t have a car.”

“I’ll take you.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, a hint of a smile appears on his face. It’s barely there, and yet just the slightest rise of his full lips makes a dimple appear on the side of his cheek—not that it’s the time or place to be appreciating smiles.

I look behind me and ask Jackie, who is passing by with plates of food, “Will you cover for me?”