Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [54]
“No, no ...” Cici choked on a sound that was part sob, part laughter. “It’s just that ... I’m so lucky. When I think about how this might have ended—I’m so lucky.” She extended her arms and drew them into her, heads on her shoulders, hands entwined. “And I love you guys so much!”
Lori was pale-faced and groggy when the three of them tiptoed into her room. The bruise that had closed her left eye was rainbow colored, and her right leg was elevated on several pillows and encased in plaster from ankle to knee. She murmured, “Hi, everybody. Where’s the goat?”
Bridget smiled as she bent over her, smoothing back her hair. “We decided to leave her home this trip.”
Lindsay added, “It’s the drugs.”
Cici pulled a chair close to the bed and took her daughter’s hand. “How’re you feeling, sweetie?”
“Like I’m going to throw up.”
Lindsay discreetly placed a small blue basin on the pillow next to her. “Do you want some ginger ale?”
“Okay,” Lori whispered, and closed her eyes. Within seconds she was asleep.
Cici smiled at Lindsay. “Maybe not.”
The next time Lori woke she seemed a little more coherent. “How bad is it?” she croaked, as Cici fed her ice chips from a spoon and Bridget gently blotted her forehead with a damp cloth.
“You’re going to be fine,” Cici assured her. “Just a tiny broken bone in your leg. The doctors put a pin in—”
“So, be careful going through airport security.” Lindsay smiled.
“No, no,” Lori said miserably, and her hand fluttered to her bruised eye. “My face. How bad is my face?”
The three women shared a look that spoke volumes about the values of twenty-one-year-old women, and Cici assured her daughter that, with a little pancake makeup, she could still win the Miss America pageant if she chose to. And, safe in that knowledge, Lori fell once again into a deep and untroubled sleep.
Lindsay and Bridget retreated to their chairs with the magazines they had bought in the gift shop, and Cici fell asleep holding Lori’s hand. At two in the morning, Lindsay gently extricated Cici’s hand from Lori’s and replaced it with her own while Bridget guided Cici to the cot on the other side of the room and covered her with a blanket. At six a.m. Bridget took Lindsay’s place while Lindsay went down for coffee, and when she returned Bridget was spooning ice chips to a fretful Lori and Cici was demanding that the nurse give her daughter something for the pain now, not in twenty minutes as scheduled.
The following hours were spent proving that it requires at least three family members, two orderlies, a physical therapist, a nutritionist, an orthopedic resident, three interns, and the full-time attention of the entire nursing staff to properly see to the needs of one temporarily indisposed college student. Cici engaged in long question-and-answer sessions with the medical professionals while Bridget and Lindsay supervised Lori’s interaction with the staff and made certain her personal needs were attended to.
They called Lori’s roommate and asked her to pack a bag with some of the essentials—pajamas, toiletries, makeup, iPod—and left messages for her professors. They made a reservation for Cici at a nearby motel. When Lori only grimaced at her lunch tray, Bridget volunteered to go out and get her a hamburger. She only ate a bite or two of the hamburger, but finished all of the strawberry milkshake, which made Cici happy, and which they all agreed was proof positive that she was well on the road to recovery.
While Lori napped, the three of them made a quick trip to the orange-striped cafeteria for rubbery grilled cheese sandwiches and Cokes. “This place is exhausting,” Bridget said, sinking down into her chair. Her makeup, like that of the other two ladies, had long since worn away, leaving her face colorless and puckered, with bruised spots under her eyes and wrinkled lips. Her hair, pulled back from her face in a short, flat ponytail, looked more gray than platinum. She peeled open a corner of her sandwich. “And I don’t think there is a real food product in this entire building.”
Lindsay gave her sandwich