The Revenge of the Radioactive Lady - Elizabeth Stuckey-French [48]
On Suzi’s left knee was a brace thing that went up to the middle of her thigh. She was going to have to wear the brace and keep her knee immobile for three to four weeks, and then she’d have to do physical therapy for the rest of the summer. She’d have to use crutches for at least six weeks. She could cheer her team on from the sidelines, but she couldn’t participate in any drills or weight training sessions, and, of course, no practices or games. No Olympic Development soccer camp. She was done with soccer for the summer, maybe longer, depending on how she healed.
In the evenings, her father tiptoed into her room like she was on her deathbed. He’d come in and talk and talk, update her on the latest tropical storm development, describe his day at the office assembling training packets—whatever the hell those were—and usually he’d ask her if she wanted to watch a movie with him, but she always told him she didn’t feel like it. Although he never said so, she could tell that her father was sick, sick, sick with disappointment about the Olympic Development soccer camp. He wore a pitiful hangdog expression that drove Suzi nuts and after a while made her angry. Like she could help what happened! Play soccer yourself, she wanted to yell at him. But she felt sorrier for him than she did for herself, because he was old and had nothing but his job and she was young and had her whole life ahead of her. A great future ahead of her, Nance had said.
Her mother, brisk and unsentimental as always, brought her snacks and meals and pain meds on a tray, but didn’t have time to sit with her.
Ava kept looking in at Suzi like she was an animal in a zoo, and once she brought her a crayon-drawn get-well card, which was sweet, but when she came in to deliver it she spent the whole time watching herself in Suzi’s full-length mirror.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked Ava, even though she knew what Ava’s reaction would be.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You look fine. Stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying. Just leave me alone.” And off she went, storming out of the room, leaving Suzi alone and realizing how much she missed Ava, not Ava as she was now, but the old Ava.
The old Ava used to read Nancy Drew books aloud in a pleasing, dramatic voice. She and Suzi played with their American Girl dolls or their stuffed animals or played dress-up—Ava the servant girl and Suzi the benevolent princess—or go fish or Dogopoly or school—Suzi the teacher and Ava the pupil. They would play together for entire days. Now all they did was fight, which was sometimes fun, but mostly tedious, and sometimes, like now, totally inadequate.
Otis never came to see Suzi, but he did encourage Parson to come in and keep her company, which Parson did for a while, until she heard the back door open and someone more interesting come into the house.
Her granddad wandered in and sat on the end of her bed and looked at the floor, and then at her. Occasionally he patted her brace. “Now what did you do to your knee, kiddo?” he kept asking her.
Only Nance had time to sit with her, bring her brownies and magazines, the kind of teen magazines her mother would never buy for her. Sometimes she brought her knitting, a brown woolly thing, and said she was knitting Suzi a sweater. A sweater? Obviously the woman hadn’t lived in Florida very long.
Nance hadn’t mentioned the Italy trip again. Suzi was disappointed that Nance had given up on it so easily. It would’ve been something to look forward to. Although, with her bad knee, they probably couldn’t have gone this August anyway.
“We’re having Grandparents’ Day at my church,” Nance told Suzi one evening after she’d given her a mango smoothie from Tropical Smoothie. She rocked in a rocking chair at the end of the bed, tapping her sneakered foot on the floor. “You’re supposed to bring your grandchildren to church. Would