Well, perhaps not nothing—hypertension combined with stress. But of course, Phillip thought he was having a heart attack. It’s controlled with medication now. I didn’t want to worry you—you were going through a rather difficult patch then.”
Meg bit back an angry response. She wanted to say that her mother should have told her, before they knew how serious it might be, but another part of her was relieved that she hadn’t had to deal with one more problem, not at a time when everything else had seemed to be falling apart—and that relief made her feel guilty. Yet another part was hurt that her mother hadn’t asked for her help, or at least her comfort. In the end she said nothing.
An hour passed, and a big chunk of the next one. Finally Bree emerged from a door, her lower arm now encased in a brightly colored fiberglass cast. Meg and her mother stood up. “So it was broken?” Meg asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Not too bad, just a simple fracture, except I’ve got to wear this thing”—Bree waved her fluorescent arm—“for at least six weeks, and I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting. I told the guy I needed to pick apples and he laughed at me.”
“Bree, you’re going to follow his instructions if I have to chain you to the barn. Did he give you any prescriptions?”
Bree fished a bottle out of her pocket. “He gave me some pain pills, not a lot, and a prescription if I think I need more. Can we get out of here now?”
“If there’s no more paperwork to do.” Meg checked with the harried nurse at the desk and was waved away.
Back in the car, Bree slumped in her seat. Without looking at Meg, she said, “I’m sorry.”
Meg concentrated on avoiding Holyoke’s rush-hour drivers. “Why? Did you do something stupid?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Maybe I reached too far for one last apple. The ladder tipped.”
Her heart sank when she realized there was one more complication: Bree’s injury left them one hand short, literally. Was it possible to manage without her, or would Meg need to find another body to fill in? This was the peak of the picking season, and it was likely that everyone was already committed. How much would Bree be able to do? No heavy lifting: that eliminated most of the direct apple handling. Making deliveries? Obviously not. What about driving the tractor to haul the apples down the hill? Meg’s worries kept her silent for the full trip home. It was getting dark when they finally pulled into the driveway.
The pickers had vanished, but Raynard was waiting in the drive, leaning against his battered pickup truck. He straightened up politely and removed his well-worn baseball cap when the three women clambered out of Meg’s car. Bree was the first to confront him. “Yes, it was broken—does that make you happy?”
“Ah, Briona, don’t be mad at me. You have a problem, you fix it. You don’t just pretend it’s going to go away. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Bree said sullenly.
“And don’t you be trying to do too much either. We’ll get things done.”
Meg spoke up. “I’m glad to hear that, Raynard. I can help out if you need me.”
“It will be fine, you’ll see. Guess I’ll be going—just wanted to be sure our Bree was all right. Night, ladies.”
Meg turned to unlock the kitchen door, and let her mother and Bree pass through before her. Lolly greeted them loudly, complaining about the disruption of her routine. “All right, I know—it’s dinnertime. We’ve been kind of busy.” Meg turned to her mother. “Let me feed Lolly and I can take you back to Rachel’s. Bree, why don’t you go lie down for a while? I’ll put dinner together when I get back.”
Meg could have sworn she saw a brief flash of disappointment cross her mother’s face before she replied, “No rush, dear. Whenever you’re ready.”
Bree said, “I’ll just grab something and crash. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, if you’re all right.”
“I’m
Meg bit back an angry response. She wanted to say that her mother should have told her, before they knew how serious it might be, but another part of her was relieved that she hadn’t had to deal with one more problem, not at a time when everything else had seemed to be falling apart—and that relief made her feel guilty. Yet another part was hurt that her mother hadn’t asked for her help, or at least her comfort. In the end she said nothing.
An hour passed, and a big chunk of the next one. Finally Bree emerged from a door, her lower arm now encased in a brightly colored fiberglass cast. Meg and her mother stood up. “So it was broken?” Meg asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Not too bad, just a simple fracture, except I’ve got to wear this thing”—Bree waved her fluorescent arm—“for at least six weeks, and I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting. I told the guy I needed to pick apples and he laughed at me.”
“Bree, you’re going to follow his instructions if I have to chain you to the barn. Did he give you any prescriptions?”
Bree fished a bottle out of her pocket. “He gave me some pain pills, not a lot, and a prescription if I think I need more. Can we get out of here now?”
“If there’s no more paperwork to do.” Meg checked with the harried nurse at the desk and was waved away.
Back in the car, Bree slumped in her seat. Without looking at Meg, she said, “I’m sorry.”
Meg concentrated on avoiding Holyoke’s rush-hour drivers. “Why? Did you do something stupid?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Maybe I reached too far for one last apple. The ladder tipped.”
Her heart sank when she realized there was one more complication: Bree’s injury left them one hand short, literally. Was it possible to manage without her, or would Meg need to find another body to fill in? This was the peak of the picking season, and it was likely that everyone was already committed. How much would Bree be able to do? No heavy lifting: that eliminated most of the direct apple handling. Making deliveries? Obviously not. What about driving the tractor to haul the apples down the hill? Meg’s worries kept her silent for the full trip home. It was getting dark when they finally pulled into the driveway.
The pickers had vanished, but Raynard was waiting in the drive, leaning against his battered pickup truck. He straightened up politely and removed his well-worn baseball cap when the three women clambered out of Meg’s car. Bree was the first to confront him. “Yes, it was broken—does that make you happy?”
“Ah, Briona, don’t be mad at me. You have a problem, you fix it. You don’t just pretend it’s going to go away. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Bree said sullenly.
“And don’t you be trying to do too much either. We’ll get things done.”
Meg spoke up. “I’m glad to hear that, Raynard. I can help out if you need me.”
“It will be fine, you’ll see. Guess I’ll be going—just wanted to be sure our Bree was all right. Night, ladies.”
Meg turned to unlock the kitchen door, and let her mother and Bree pass through before her. Lolly greeted them loudly, complaining about the disruption of her routine. “All right, I know—it’s dinnertime. We’ve been kind of busy.” Meg turned to her mother. “Let me feed Lolly and I can take you back to Rachel’s. Bree, why don’t you go lie down for a while? I’ll put dinner together when I get back.”
Meg could have sworn she saw a brief flash of disappointment cross her mother’s face before she replied, “No rush, dear. Whenever you’re ready.”
Bree said, “I’ll just grab something and crash. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, if you’re all right.”
“I’m
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