Boy, when they called it the Windy City, they were not exaggerating. I make sure my coat is zipped, my hat is on securely, my gloves are in place, and my scarf covers any exposed neck while I mentally prepare myself for the walk from my vehicle into the store. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.
It takes all my strength to push the car door open against the wintery gale. I glance at the pavement; there’s no ice, so I set one foot then the other down. I toss my purse strap over my shoulder, lower my head, and push toward the doors.
I could have stayed home—I should have stayed home. No one in their right mind runs to the grocery store for chocolate in weather like this. I tried to tell myself that Miss Alba could get it tomorrow during her bi-weekly grocery run, but my cravings grew greater as yesterday passed—I woke this morning jonesing so bad that I had to venture out.
I don’t remove my layers inside the store. I quickly grab two bags of fun-size candy bars from the candy aisle and a large sea salt and milk chocolate bar near the register. Pleased with my pillaging, I extend my debit card in my glove-covered hand then scurry back out into the cold.
The light-weight plastic bag billows loudly in the wind. Just over halfway toward my parking spot, the gale picks up. My hat flies from my head. I try to snag it with my free hand as it begins to fly away. Not paying attention to the ground, I slip on a patch of ice and fall to the pavement with my feet in the air; my right shoulder takes the brunt of the impact.
“Fuck!” I shout at the pain radiating from my shoulder up my spine to my head and neck.
I lay motionless on the cold concrete, assessing the extent of my injuries. I turn my head side to side, and, although it hurts, I’m able to move it. The same goes for my arms, so I slowly sit up, look around to see that no one witnessed my fall, then stand. I curse at the minuscule patch of ice then trudge on to my nearby car.
When I attempt to pull the driver’s door open, my right arm and shoulder protest. I messed them up good. Once I’m safe inside with the heater blasting, I remind myself I have lots of chocolate in my possession. Chocolate will make it all better.
On the short, four block drive, I find my neck tight and it difficult to turn my head. I do my best, utilizing the driver-assist mirrors and blind spot detectors to maneuver my way safely back home. I find it hard to extricate myself from the SUV in our parking garage. Every movement seems to jar my spine, shoulder, and neck. The pain is now a constant that worsens with any movement. The final steps from the elevator to my front door seem to take light years, but I make it safely inside with my chocolate treasures in hand.
“Oh, dear!” Miss Alba waddles over at the mere sight of me. “What happened?”
I blow the hair from my cheek, trying not to move my arm to do so. “The wind… ice patch…” Every breath in and out causes pain.
She snags my chocolate, placing it on the nearby counter. I attempt to protest but she shushes me. She tugs off my gloves, letting them fall to the hardwood floor and unzips my coat.
“Easy,” she warns as she tries to slide the sleeves down my arms without me moving. “Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere,” I whine.
Coat in her hand, she stares expectantly.
“My shoulder, back, neck, head, and arm,” I inform while inwardly berating myself for braving the weather for a stupid bar of chocolate.
“I’ll run you a bath,” she states. “Should I call Hamilton? Do you think you need a doctor?”
The look in her eye dares me to lie to her; it feels like she’s scanning my tissues and bones, like she’s able to know the extent of my injuries. I want to lay down. I need some pain relievers. The thought of bundling up to go see a physician brings tears to my eyes—tears that Miss Alba immediately spots.
“Let’s soak you in a warm tub, take some acetaminophen, then see how you’re doing,” she says, guiding me down the long hallway toward my bathroom.
“Mommy!” Liberty yells as I pass by her open bedroom door.
“Libby, Mommy needs to lie down.” Miss Alba’s firm voice stops Liberty in her tracks. “Fallon, can you help us for a moment?”
I’m leaned against the vanity while Miss Alba fixes my bath water, and Fallon helps me slip out of my clothes. Two pills and a glass of water are handed to me. In my pain, I don’t even think to protest and try to undress myself. They guide me into the warm water, easing me down until my head rests on a towel upon the edge.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
Liberty’s voice grows louder as she walks into my bedroom. “Miss Alba put her in bath. She’s crying.”
“Liberty!” Fallon scolds. “Give me the iPad.”
I hear rustling before opening my eyes to find Hamilton on the screen Fallon holds in front of me.
“I’m on my way,” he states frantically. “What happened?”
“I fell, but I’m okay…” I want to protest his coming home, but the FaceTime call disconnects as he enters his truck. “Guess Hamilton will be here soon,” I say dryly.
I want to be upset that Liberty called Hamilton after we’ve repeatedly discussed she’s not to make calls without an adult’s help, but I desperately want him home with me.
“Hamilton just sent me a text,” Fallon informs me. “He’s asked Slater to drop by on his way home in an hour to look you over.” She chuckles. “I should have thought of that.”
I don’t fault her. The thought of contacting her fiancé to come assess my injuries didn’t cross my mind either.
I melt in the warmth of the tub, not moving, willing my pain to evaporate before my husband arrives home.
Hamilton
I can’t get to Madison fast enough. I will the elevator to climb faster. I sprint through the house toward the bathtub. Indie and McGee bark loudly at my chaotic actions. Miss Alba shushes them away with her apron, leaving me alone standing over my wife.
Slowly, Madison opens her eyes. “Hey,” she whispers.
I crouch at the edge of the tub. “Hey,” I whisper as I softly brush hair from her forehead. “What can I do?”
She shakes her head, freezing with a groan when it causes pain. “I fell. That’s all. I’ll have a bruise, but I will be fine.”
“I feel so helpless,” I murmur.
“It’s a silly accident; these things happen. Liberty’s gonna get hurt, I’m gonna get hurt, and…” her eyes dart around the bathroom. “There’s no wood, so I can’t continue my statement.”
I love the smile that slides on her face. It gives me hope that her injuries aren’t too bad if she can still smile. My girls are my world; today, I realized that I can’t protect them from everything. I try to be all they need, give them everything, and prevent anything that might hurt them. Today, I’m reminded I’m mortal and unable to protect them 100 percent.
“Want some wine?” I ask, my hand playing with a tendril of her hair. “It might relax your muscles.”
“I guess,” she whispers, closing her eyes.
Slater digs his thumbs into the area directly below Madison’s shoulder blade. A garbled groan escapes her, further solidifying the pit in my stomach. He’s adjusted her neck, shoulder, back, and hips, claiming the fall messed with all of her alignment.
“I’m done torturing you.” He pats the bed beside her. “I don’t think anything is broken; you’ll be bruised, though. The adjustment will help, but it will make you sore, too.” He looks from Madison to me. “Alternate hot and cold packs to the shoulder area, take pain relievers, and give it four or five days. If the pain isn’t easing by then, I’d see a doctor for x-rays. I think you will see improvement in a couple of days.”
“Thank you,” Madison mumbles into the mattress.
She hasn’t moved since he stopped working on her muscles. Her eyes are hooded; maybe she needs a nap.
“I’ll walk you out.” I motion for Slater to head to the hall. “She insists she doesn’t need a doctor. I’m glad you came by.”
“Calmed your nerves, didn’t I?” He smiles, patting my back.