sorts.
How could a single slip in concentration, on the part of someone having a bad day, rob all those spells of their power? Damn it! Damn Stephan ! She wasn’t ready for it to be over. It should be years before she had to face this. Years, compressed to minutes, seconds, now gone. Gone.
The second dose of hydrocodone finally kicked in and a blessed darkness rolled over her. At some point, Denise returned, snapping on lights, talking, dumping Mona on the sofa. The little dog licked Clare’s face and whined, forcing her out of her protective slumber.
“I found out why Stephan was so distracted today.” Denise placed a bowl of soup in front of Clare. “His grandmother died last night. She was the one who convinced his dad to let him dance.”
So the person who made it possible for Stephan to dance had ended her career? Where was the fairness in that? But no. This wasn’t the end. She mustn’t think that way. Negative thoughts were powerful. She needed to be positive. Upbeat. The surgery would be a success. She would make amazing progress. You’re my miracle patient, Ms. Eliason.
“He feels awful.”
Stephan had no idea what awful felt like.
“Wasn’t it lucky the surgeon was able to fit you in right away?”
“Sure. My lucky day all around.” She stirred the soup but didn’t lift a spoonful to her mouth. “I’m really sleepy.”
“Can’t you at least eat something?”
Clare stared at the soup and nausea nudged at her. She shook her head and tried to stand.
“Let me help you.” Denise jumped up and handed her the walker.
Clare gritted her teeth and accepted the help. She’d dealt with injuries before. Except, every other time, recovery had been a matter of strict adherence to therapy instructions. This time she’d been given no such guarantees.
You’ll see, Clare. Without me, you’re nothing.
The surge of bile in the back of her throat nearly choked her.
Chapter Eight
Ballon
A jump which has a light, elastic quality like the bouncing of a ball
The phone rang as Rob was leaving his apartment, and he answered to find Denise on the other end. “Stephan screwed up a lift at rehearsal yesterday and Clare landed wrong. Ruptured her Achilles.”
He pulled in a breath, trying to wrap his mind around what Denise was saying. Failing miserably. “Why didn’t she call me? I would have come.”
“It was pretty hectic, getting her in to see the surgeon. By the time we brought her back to my place and she took a hydrocodone, she was wiped.”
“Is she okay, though?
“She needs surgery. It’s scheduled for Monday.”
“What can I do?”
“Can you maybe go see her?”
“I have class at nine, but I can go after that.”
“Good. Try to get her to eat something, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I doubt Clare will open the door. I’ll call my landlady and tell her to let you in.”
After knocking didn’t work, Rob got the landlady to open the door and stepped into an apartment filled with an eclectic mix of furniture sharing space with several bushy plants. A cat sunned itself on the only available window sill.
“Clare? It’s Rob.”
There was no sound except for the scrabble of toenails on the wood floor—Mona, moving much faster than he’d ever seen her move. She gave his hand a quick lick then trotted back the way she’d come, stopping to look at him and whining as if to say, “This way. And please hurry.” He left the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter and followed Mona down the short hall to the bedroom. Clare was lying with her arm above her head, apparently sleeping.
He spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. “Clare, love? Are you okay?”
When she didn’t move, he knelt beside the bed, and took her hand in his. “Clare?”
“Rob? Wh-what are you doing here?”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he
How could a single slip in concentration, on the part of someone having a bad day, rob all those spells of their power? Damn it! Damn Stephan ! She wasn’t ready for it to be over. It should be years before she had to face this. Years, compressed to minutes, seconds, now gone. Gone.
The second dose of hydrocodone finally kicked in and a blessed darkness rolled over her. At some point, Denise returned, snapping on lights, talking, dumping Mona on the sofa. The little dog licked Clare’s face and whined, forcing her out of her protective slumber.
“I found out why Stephan was so distracted today.” Denise placed a bowl of soup in front of Clare. “His grandmother died last night. She was the one who convinced his dad to let him dance.”
So the person who made it possible for Stephan to dance had ended her career? Where was the fairness in that? But no. This wasn’t the end. She mustn’t think that way. Negative thoughts were powerful. She needed to be positive. Upbeat. The surgery would be a success. She would make amazing progress. You’re my miracle patient, Ms. Eliason.
“He feels awful.”
Stephan had no idea what awful felt like.
“Wasn’t it lucky the surgeon was able to fit you in right away?”
“Sure. My lucky day all around.” She stirred the soup but didn’t lift a spoonful to her mouth. “I’m really sleepy.”
“Can’t you at least eat something?”
Clare stared at the soup and nausea nudged at her. She shook her head and tried to stand.
“Let me help you.” Denise jumped up and handed her the walker.
Clare gritted her teeth and accepted the help. She’d dealt with injuries before. Except, every other time, recovery had been a matter of strict adherence to therapy instructions. This time she’d been given no such guarantees.
You’ll see, Clare. Without me, you’re nothing.
The surge of bile in the back of her throat nearly choked her.
Chapter Eight
Ballon
A jump which has a light, elastic quality like the bouncing of a ball
The phone rang as Rob was leaving his apartment, and he answered to find Denise on the other end. “Stephan screwed up a lift at rehearsal yesterday and Clare landed wrong. Ruptured her Achilles.”
He pulled in a breath, trying to wrap his mind around what Denise was saying. Failing miserably. “Why didn’t she call me? I would have come.”
“It was pretty hectic, getting her in to see the surgeon. By the time we brought her back to my place and she took a hydrocodone, she was wiped.”
“Is she okay, though?
“She needs surgery. It’s scheduled for Monday.”
“What can I do?”
“Can you maybe go see her?”
“I have class at nine, but I can go after that.”
“Good. Try to get her to eat something, would you?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I doubt Clare will open the door. I’ll call my landlady and tell her to let you in.”
After knocking didn’t work, Rob got the landlady to open the door and stepped into an apartment filled with an eclectic mix of furniture sharing space with several bushy plants. A cat sunned itself on the only available window sill.
“Clare? It’s Rob.”
There was no sound except for the scrabble of toenails on the wood floor—Mona, moving much faster than he’d ever seen her move. She gave his hand a quick lick then trotted back the way she’d come, stopping to look at him and whining as if to say, “This way. And please hurry.” He left the bag of takeout on the kitchen counter and followed Mona down the short hall to the bedroom. Clare was lying with her arm above her head, apparently sleeping.
He spoke softly, not wanting to startle her. “Clare, love? Are you okay?”
When she didn’t move, he knelt beside the bed, and took her hand in his. “Clare?”
“Rob? Wh-what are you doing here?”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he
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