2

Rachel’s X-rays revealed a narrow black crack along one of her ankle bones. Her doctor referred to this as a lateral malleolus fracture, but she was hardly listening. Her ankle was broken, and life as she knew it was over.

On the ride home from the hospital, Rachel sat silently in the passenger’s seat, clutching her hospital paperwork and fretting. A broken ankle was bad news at the best of times, but this was beyond ridiculous. A broken ankle at the tail-end of the school year. And she and Ann were moving in three weeks. Their house was currently a disaster zone.

Her phone vibrated as a text came through. Lee.

don’t see yr car at school. r u here? or did memento get u?

Rachel groaned as she envisioned Lee’s reaction to the news that she had broken her ankle while exercising. Perhaps there was a way that she could just not tell him.

Don’t joke about murder. She texted back. Serial killers are a serious problem. But I’m OK. Sort of. Long story. Talk to you tomorrow.

“Is that Lynn?” Ann asked, rolling through the stop at an empty four-way intersection.

“Lee.”

“That boy.” Ann shook her head, tsking.

Rachel nodded. That boy. Those two words summed up Lee quite well.

“So,” Ann said. “I’m starving. Breakfast at Stu’s?”

Rachel’s stomach gave a gurgle of agreement, but some things took priority even over Stu’s breakfast burritos. “Can we get this prescription filled?” She smoothed out the papers she’d been clutching, pulling out one of the sheets and skimming it. “Hydrocodone, one tablet every four to six hours for pain.” She looked up. “They were going to give me oxycontin until I told them what happened that one time.” Rachel had once been prescribed oxycontin after surgery and had entertained everyone in the recovery room with detailed accounts of what the walls were saying.

“Hydrocodone probably won’t make you high,” Ann mused. “Too bad.”

“At least that would have made this situation a little more entertaining. Hydrocodone will probably just turn me into a zombie.”

“Poor you.” Ann put on her blinker and turned onto the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway. “You’re going to be injured and boring.”

“At least you’ll be there to take care of me,” Rachel said. “I’m sorry you had to miss your rides this morning. I mean it.”

“It’s fine. I can reschedule them. The horses aren’t going anywhere. But about tonight. I won’t be home. You’ll be on your own.”

“What?” Rachel goggled at Ann. The idea that her sister wouldn’t be there to take care of her had never occurred to her. This really was the most unmitigated disaster.

“Charlie has laminitis,” Ann explained, “and I told Margaret I’d stay at the barn overnight to ice his hooves.”

“Ice his…” For a moment, Rachel felt bereft of speech. Just for a moment. “Ann!” she trumpeted. “How could you?”

Even with her crutches, Rachel’s pain was such that she couldn’t imagine doing anything more complicated than lying on the couch and moaning until the next morning. How was she going to shower? Make dinner? Brew coffee? There was no way she’d be able to manage on her own. This was tragedy on par with anything Shakespeare had ever written; only that unlike in Shakespeare, there wasn’t the promise of comic relief.

Ann didn’t seem the least bit guilty about staying at the barn overnight instead of staying home to take care of Rachel. “When I agreed to take care of Charlie,” she said in a reasonable tone, “I had no idea that you were planning to injure yourself on the agility ladder, now did I?”

“Planning to injure myself?” Rachel squawked.

“Besides, unlike a sick horse, you have the ability to care for yourself.”

“So you’re saying that if I had laminitis, you’d stay and take care of me? How kind,” Rachel said. “How very kind and thoughtful.” She knew she’d taken a detour into the ludicrous at some point, but now that she was there, she seemed unable to stop.

“If you had hooves, yes. I would stay home and take care of your laminitis. But if I don’t change the ice regularly tonight, Charlie could founder. And if he founders, he’ll definitely have to be put down. You don’t want a perfectly good horse to die because you tripped over a set of straps and plastic stripping this morning, do you?” Ann leveled a look at Rachel.

“No.” Rachel said in a small voice. “I don’t want Charlie to die.”

“Besides that, Margaret is paying me. Would I be getting paid to change the ice on your leg?”

“No. I’m not going to pay you to change the ice on my leg.”

“All right, then.”

“But what if the Memento Killer breaks in and strangles me with my own curtains or something?”

Ann rolled her eyes, but eased up on the gas as they went over the speedbump on their way into the pharmacy parking lot. “Then I’ll tell Mom you loved her.”