I turn the lock, closing the Wee Book Inn for the night. I’d pulled a double shift, covering for Percy. I hop in my car and turn up the radio loud. I drive with the windows down to stay awake and alert. When I pull into the driveway, my legs protest. I’m happy to be home, but too exhausted to want to get out of the car. I haul myself out, check the mailbox—bills, should have left them where they were—and open the front door. “I’m home,” I call.
Kevin runs to the door; he’s bare-chested, holding a dark blue dress shirt. “Did you wash this in hot water?”
I kick my shoes off. “No. I don’t wash much of anything in hot water. And hello to you, too.”
He holds it out. “It’s shrunk.”
I take the shirt and examine the tag. “It says dry clean only.” I toss it back to him. “Did you dry clean only?”
Kevin follows me into the kitchen. “Not funny, Kate. This shirt cost more than a hundred dollars.”
My mouth is full of croissant. It’s nine-thirty and I’d missed dinner. “What? Why on earth did you buy a shirt that costs that much and then toss it in the laundry?” I shake my head, staring at the shirt. “Scratch that. Why did you buy a shirt that costs that much, period?”
Kevin speaks through clenched teeth. “I thought you read the tags before you threw them in the washer.”
I run a causal hand down his torso, from his shoulder to his navel. “I thought you talked to me before spending that much money for one shirt.” I climb the stairs, still munching the croissant.
He follows me, ranting about the shirt.
In the bedroom I change into my pajamas, half listening. He thrusts the fabric toward me, not quite in my face, but just under my chin. He pulls his hand away quickly, as if realizing he may have gone too far. “It’s silk, you know.”
I didn’t know. I couldn’t even recall seeing it before now.
I turn the tap on and wet my toothbrush, raising my voice over the noise of running water. “We’ll never get our five-bedroom house if you keep buying hundred-dollar shirts,” I say it in a singsong, slightly teasing voice, hoping to relax him.
He hollers back, “You’re missing the point completely.”
I walk back to the bedroom, toothbrush in mouth, and stick my head in the room. “I’m sorry the shirt is ruined. Really I am. But it’s just a shirt, Kevin.” I return to the bathroom. If he made any reply it was lost in a stream of flowing cool water.
My hands shook as I dialed the hospital courtesy phone. I turned and looked at Maggie sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital corridor. She raised her eyebrows at me in question and I held up my hand, palm forward, in response. It took two attempts before I was able to punch in the correct series of numbers. I finally succeeded, then accidentally dropped the receiver and stood, dumbly, watching as it swung like a pendulum from the cord. I picked it up and squashed it to my ear. I heard the ringing of the phone and the wail of a distant siren at the same time. After two more rings Heather answered.
“Can you come and get me at the hospital?” I said into the phone.
“Kate, what happened? Are you okay?”
I squeezed the receiver. “We’re fine. Can you come and get us?”
“We?”
“Maggie Cunynghame and me. I’ll explain when you get here.” She agreed, and I hung up. I stared at the numbers on the phone.
I felt my heart banging, two-fisted, against my ribs. My sister had lied to me. And I was going to find out why.
My stomach clenched with impatience. It had been a long process of waiting, loading and unloading Maggie from Heather’s compact car, installing her in her home, ensuring her comfort and safety, and promising to call every hour to check on her. On our way out I looked back to see Maggie sitting in a recliner, swaddled in blankets and piled high with her cordless phone, remote control, box of tissues, and two cats. A cup of steaming tea sat on a small table beside her. Her new crutches were within easy reach. She gazed lovingly at the television and didn’t even look up when we stepped out the door.
I walked to the car, suppressing a gag of nervousness. I needed to ask Heather about Kevin’s clothes. She couldn’t have gotten them from the hospital if Kevin wasn’t wearing anything when he arrived. Where did she find them? Why didn’t she tell me?
I eased myself down into the passenger seat and felt the dull throb in my neck return. The painkillers they had given me were wearing off. I fished in my purse for the prescription the doctor at the hospital had written for me, and showed it to Heather. She glanced at it and nodded, yes, we’d head to the drugstore next.
She backed out of Maggie’s driveway. We rolled slowly past the debris of the accident still lying on the road. Glass from my broken headlights, bits of yellow from the side of Maggie’s car. I did that, I thought. I looked at the pieces of car scattered on the ground and felt an odd sense of disconnection from them. It had happened, but it felt unreal. I carried the impact of the moment in my aching muscles, yet my mind couldn’t connect with the events. As if my psyche was already too full of events to process and trauma to make sense of, so it rejected this newest piece of information. Yes, it said, we’ve been in a crash, but I can’t deal with that right now. As we drove past, a silver fragment of my bumper gleamed up at me like a wink.