I pick up my pace, hurrying to put distance between us. The two-way street is small and my bike is so close; I can taste freedom.
I bound off the sidewalk and tires squeal. I hear an ear-splitting HONK and Lucas Thatcher is there, grabbing my elbow and tugging me back before I collide with the front bumper of the delivery truck careening down the street.
“Watch it!” the driver yells out the window.
I shake my head and blink rapidly.
My heart is jumping out of my chest. My breaths are short, quick gasps. I vaguely register that I’m shaking with shock.
“Don’t make this too easy for me,” Lucas teases.
His arm is still squeezing me and for one long second, I close my eyes and stand there, letting him hold me. The second passes quickly though and then my shock is replaced with white-hot rage, directed at myself. How stupid can I be, not even looking both ways before crossing the street?
I yank myself out of his hold. “It’s probably not the first time someone has jumped into traffic after spending a day with you.”
It’s a nice recovery, but I still can’t believe he just saved me. How disturbing.
After checking for traffic, I run across the street and stuff my bag and the fruit in my bike’s wicker basket. Fuming, I strap my helmet on and pull my bike off the rack a little more aggressively than intended. The evening sun is beginning to dip low on the horizon, and as I pedal west toward home, I’m nearly blinded. Somehow, this is Lucas’ fault too.
A half-mile in, my heart rate increases, and his words form an echo chamber in my head.
You haven’t changed one bit, Daisy…
The fruit is from Daisy…
I didn’t realize you were a puppet now…
I begin to take my frustration out on the bike, pounding against the pedals with as much force as my legs can muster, all while imagining them to be Lucas’ sensitive parts.
Powered by my rage, I build up an impressive amount of speed as I come upon my final turn onto Magnolia Ave. I lean into the turn to compensate for my momentum, and my worn tires bite into the pavement.
Until they don’t.
I hit an oil slick, a gift to the environment from one of Hamilton’s many old, leaky farm trucks. My back tire fishtails, and my handlebars wobble in a futile effort to right the floundering ship. Time slows down as my bike, now perpendicular to my direction of travel, buckles sideways and loads me up like a circus performer in a cannon. Time speeds up just before my impact with the street.
My brain jumps into action, forcibly volunteering my left arm to take the full brunt of the fall. Valiantly, the limb springs out at the last second as if to tell the road to talk to the hand. Sadly, the road has a lot to say. I hear a sickening crack just above the overall clamor of the crash, and then an abrupt silence settles over the scene.
Chapter Five
“Nice cast,” Lucas says the next morning.
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Did they let you pick the color?”
It’s neon green, my favorite.
“No,” I lie. “It’s all they had.”
“Morning,” Gina says with a smile, doing a poor job of surreptitiously ogling Lucas. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt that compliments his tan skin, and apparently Gina thinks it looks good on him. I hadn’t noticed.
Lucas and I have been standing in the small kitchen for the last few minutes, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I swear it is percolating even slower than usual.
“Oh no! Dr. Bell, what happened?”
She has finally pulled her gaze off Lucas long enough to notice the lime green elephant in the room.
“Bike accident yesterday.” I shrug, holding up my fractured wrist. “The ground came out of nowhere.”
Other than that, I’ve got a few tender ribs and a nice gash across my forehead, which is currently covered by a matching neon green Band-Aid. As soon as I leave the kitchen, I’ll exchange it for a boring beige to throw Lucas off my scent.
Dr. McCormick steps up behind Gina and shakes his head. “Sorry to hear about the accident, Daisy. Your mom called, said you two were in the hospital for a good part of the evening.”
I inwardly groan. Of course my mother thought it was appropriate to contact my boss. In her eyes, I am a 28-year-old toddler.
“It was nothing. Distal radius fracture, quick reset, cast for six weeks.”
He nods solemnly. “Even still, you two will have to see patients together until that comes off, I’m afraid.”
I turn around to check if there is another person in the tiny kitchen, anyone other than Lucas.
“What?!” we exclaim, equally disgusted by the idea.
“Dr. McCormick.” I try to recover quickly. “I assure you, I don’t need his help seeing patients. I’m perfectly capable of continuing on by myself.”
To prove my point, I reach for the patient chart I brought into the kitchen and stuff it beneath my arm. I put my unopened granola bar between my teeth and then reach down for my empty mug with my free hand.
“Voila.”