“Make sure you’re here for her,” Nancy said. “For whatever reason she needs. Keep her pills handy. Keep her off her feet. You’ll also have to give her a ride to the hospital tomorrow for that cast.”
“Not a problem,” I said, looking from Nancy back to Liz. “On any of it.”
“Liz, how are you going to get up and down the stairs?” Nancy asked.
Liz shrugged. “I’ll figure something out.”
“What about meals?”
“I put all kinds of stuff in the freezer for these guys before I left. I’m sure a lot of it is still there.”
I seconded Liz’s words, assuring Nancy that we would take good care of her.
“Well, okay,” she said doubtfully. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then. Call me if you need anything.” She gave my stepmother a hug and then asked me to walk her out so I could retrieve Liz’s suitcase from the car. As we headed for the door, Liz called after us, “Don’t talk about me out in the driveway, you two. I’m fine. I really am.”
We both chuckled—and obeyed, to a point. As I lifted out the navy blue bag, closed the trunk, and gave Nancy a final thanks, she said softly, “You have to be tough with her, Tyler. She’s in full ‘carry on, soldier’ mode, you know.”
“I can see that. And I sure will.”
“Good.”
Back inside, I asked Liz where she wanted the suitcase.
“Up in my room, but can you bring me an ice pack first?”
“Of course.”
Setting the bag at the foot of the stairs, I went to the kitchen, pulled out one of Brady’s ice packs from the freezer, and carried it over to her at the couch.
“Thanks,” she said, taking it from me and placing it behind her shoulder.
With a nod I grabbed the bag and headed up. When I was halfway there, the phone rang. I checked my watch. It was five minutes to one.
Rachel.
I charged back down the stairs.
“Just let it go to the answering machine,” Liz called from the couch when she saw me.
It rang a second time.
“I can’t,” I replied as I set the suitcase on its wheels and dashed across the tiled entry toward the open kitchen. “I’m expecting a call.” It rang a third time.
I scrambled for the handset and answered at the end of the ring, practically shouting my hello.
“Tyler?” Rachel’s gentle voice met my ears.
“Rachel! Yes, it’s me. Hi. I was afraid your call was going to go to the answering machine.”
“Oh. Your daadi said this was a good time…” Her voice fell away.
“It is, Rachel. Well, it was. But something’s come up.” I glanced over at Liz.
“Do you not want to talk?”
“No, no,” I assured her. “I do. It’s not that. It’s just that I just need to call you back. Five minutes. Ten at the most. I’ll explain everything then.”
“Okay.” By the tone of Rachel’s voice, I couldn’t tell if she was hurt or merely confused. Either way, explanations would have to wait until I called her back.
“Just one thing,” she said as I was about to hang up. “I’m not at the shanty. I’m in your daadi’s buggy shop. He said I should call from here so I don’t have to pay my parents back for the long-distance charges.”
“That was nice of him,” I told her, and I meant it, but a part of me was sorry. What kind of privacy could she and I have if people were everywhere and machines and noise and commotion were in the background? Every word of our conversation—or at least her end of it—would be overheard by Daadi and the others, even if they tried not to listen. My grandfather’s offer to allow her to use the shop phone had been generous but not very well thought out.
Still, I would take what I could get. Promising her I would call her back in just a bit from my cell phone, I hung up and returned my attention to Liz.
“That your girlfriend?”
“Yes. Rachel. It’s the first time we’ve spoken since I got here.”
Liz’s eyes widened. “Oh, then by all means call the poor girl back. Take your time. I’m okay here on the couch. If you could just open this bottle of Advil and hand me the phone, that’s all I need. You make your phone call and I’ll make mine.”
“To Dad?” I asked, trying not to wince at the thought. He wasn’t going to be happy about this news, that his beloved wife had been injured. I carried the house phone over to her.
“Might as well get it over with.”
We traded the phone for the Advil and I pushed down the lid, twisting it open.
“Do you think he’ll insist on coming home?” I asked, handing it back to her and feeling a sudden surge of apprehension at the thought. Not that I didn’t want to spend more time with him—that would be great, actually. But if he returned, then I wouldn’t be needed after all, and I wasn’t ready for my time here to be over. Not even close.
“I’m sure he’ll want to,” Liz said, shaking her head, “but no way am I going to let him do that. Coming home now would be ridiculous.”
I tried not to breathe an audible sigh of relief.