Page 39 of Meet Me on Greenwood

The picture frame he’d been holding onto began to crack and then shatter.

"Shit!" he yelled flinging it across the room.

"Houston!" Lettie called, coming to help. His hand was soaked in blood as Lettie wrapped it in a towel.

"No," I said, hobbling up from the couch. "Do not compress it yet. We will lose the glass fragments in his hands," I said grabbing his hand to look at it.

"It is nothing," he said trying to pull away. "Sit down before you hurt yourself again."

"You could permanently damage the tendons if you don’t tend to this," I said ignoring him.

Blood streamed freely down his palm.

I took his wrist firmly, elevating the hand to the light. "There are embedded fragments. If you wrap it blindly, you will drive the glass deeper into the soft tissue."

"It is nothing," he muttered, attempting to pull away. "I can stitch it myself."

"It is not nothing," I replied evenly. "A laceration of this depth could impair your flexor tendons. The damage could affect your mobility permanently."

His eyes widened in surprise. "How do you—"

"Can you flex your fingers for me? Slowly."

He hesitated.

"Slowly," I repeated, voice calm but immovable.

When he complied, I watched the movement carefully. He winced in pain.

"You have good movement," I continued, thankful for my emergency room rotation in medical school. "I’ll need something to pull the glass out with."

"I’ll get his medical bag," Lettie said.

"Sit," I instructed.

He looked ready to argue, but did so reluctantly. I opened the bag and found his smallest pair of forceps. "We need the boiling water from the tea to sterilize," I said to Lettie.

Lettie brought over a pot of water while I laid Houston’s hand across my lap.

"Are you sure you know what you are doing?" he asked.

"Hush," I said, before taking the sterilized forceps to the biggest shard in his palm.

"Ah!" he said as I pulled it out quickly, laying it on a napkin.

My mouth twitched. "Do we need to get something for you to bite down on, Doctor?"

He swallowed as I pulled the next piece out. "No. That is quite alright."

Once I was satisfied that I’d extracted all the shards, I reached for the basin. "Lettie, pour slowly."

Warm sterile water streamed over the wound. Diluted blood ran pink into the bowl.

Houston shifted, he didn’t complain. I angled his palm, letting the water flood the lacerations. When the irrigation was complete, I blotted the area with sterile gauze and lifted his hand closer to the lamplight.

"Flex again."

He complied, slower this time.