Something moved across her features, not concern, not softness. It was the arithmetic of a woman measuring whether this complication could unravel what she'd spent months building. "Oh my god," she said, one hand rising to her mouth.
"Okay, do not move. I am calling an ambulance." "No," I gasped.
"No ambulance, too expensive. Just get me to the urgent care down the block. Please, Ingrid." A pause. Her gaze drifted to her nails, then returned.
A long exhale. The sound of someone accepting an inconvenience they can't escape. Fine, she said, but if you bleed on my seats, Declan will hear about it. She hauled me upright, and I let my full weight collapse against her side every step, accompanied by a small, involuntary sound from me. The performance never slipped.
We covered the ride to the urgent care center in complete silence. Ingrid was on her phone the whole way, reporting to Declan. No question about it. Once we arrived, she settled me into a wheelchair and pushed me toward the front desk. "He slipped in the shower," she told the woman behind the counter.
"He thinks it might be his hip. I need to move the car. I'll be right back." That was the gap I'd been waiting for. Ingrid went through the automatic doors and the room was mine.
I scanned the waiting area. Stationed near the triage desk was a nurse who moved with the unhurried steadiness of someone who had logged a great many hard shifts. Her badge said Darlene. I rolled my chair toward her. I let my hands tremble.
I let my jaw go slack. Excuse me, ma'am, I said. Keeping my voice low, she looked down at me. "Yes, sweetie. What do you need?"
"Are you in pain?" I nodded, allowing a film of moisture to rise in my eyes. "Yes, but that's not why I'm asking."
I leaned closer. My son took my phone away, told her that. My voice began to fray at the edges. "I am too old to be trusted with one," I said.