South of Superior - Ellen Airgood [55]
That bizarre fact kept banging in her head.
When the dashboard clock read eleven thirty she turned the car around. She couldn’t let Paul down, none of this was his fault.
Paul asked if she was all right when she slammed the cooler door on her hand and yelled, and then five minutes later dropped a coffeepot, splashing coffee and glass splinters everywhere. When she claimed she was, he didn’t press. He did let her go almost right away, though. He said it was because it was slow. She figured it was because she was about to explode and not hiding it very well.
By the time she got to the house she had the speech laid out in her head—short, to the point, not sweet. Gladys’s car was in the drive. Great. Excellent. Showtime. She marched Up the walk and flUng the kitchen door open.
Gladys was kneeling on the floor beside Arbutus. She raised her head and stared at Madeline, her face gray. Arbutus was moaning softly.
Arbutus had been putting the clean dishes away. Gladys and Madeline were both busy doing she didn’t know what, but something. She wanted to do something too—help out, be useful. She’d been feeling better lately, stronger. She decided to finish Up in the kitchen. She reached Up in the cupboard above the sink to the highest shelf to put a platter Up, got Up on her tiptoes to do it because she just needed that extra little inch, lost her balance, and toppled over. It was humiliating. And she hurt, worse and worse as she lay there. It was not a terribly chilly day but before long she was cold, and then colder, and then she was shivering.
It was a long time before Gladys got home. Arbutus watched the minutes creep by on the cuckoo clock, thinking that things had to change, they really did, life could not go on like this. After a while she mainly concentrated on breathing. She was so cold, and she hurt so much, especially her hip and her arm. But she was stuck for now, no Use thinking about it. She talked to God a little, mentioning how nice the lilacs had been this spring. How tasty the omelet Madeline made for breakfast was, ham and cheese and asparagus. She’d never thought of putting asparagus in an omelet, but it was good. It was wonderful having Madeline with them and she said thank you for that, too. Then she went through a long spell of shivering and hurting, then watched the minutes tick slowly by again, and then things got a little hazy and muddled.
Madeline called the ambulance. She and Gladys followed it down to the hospital in Crosscut in Gladys’s car. Gladys stared out the window, chewing her bottom lip. Madeline concentrated on driving. Her earlier fury seemed far away, and tiny, like something that had happened at the opposite end of a very long tunnel.
Arbutus was carried into the emergency room. Gladys and Madeline sat. The chairs were uncomfortable—thin cushions over hard frames. This was not a prosperous, showplace facility. Madeline hoped they knew what they were doing.
The doctor came out to speak with them after half an hour. “Your sister is a tough lady,” she said, smiling at Gladys. Gladys’s face was pinched, pale—she looked ten years older than she had at breakfast. She didn’t answer the doctor, just waited for the real information to be forthcoming.
“She’s bruised Up and she’s going to be in considerable pain for a while. Her hip isn’t broken, but the X ray shows what looks like a hairline fracture in her right femur. It should heal, but it will take some time. Her right arm is sprained—”
“When can she come home?”
The doctor held Arbutus’s chart against her chest. “She’ll need to stay here, Mrs. Hansen. We’ve got an extended-care wing—”
“No!”
“I’m afraid so. While she heals.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t consider it. We’ll take care of her. Madeline’s there, we can do it. Isn’t that right, Madeline?”
Madeline said that it was.
“I’m afraid it’s just not possible. She’s going to need a professional facility.