What Makes A Father. Teresa Southwick
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out.”
“Oh, bother—” She closed her eyes and tried not to move and make it hurt more. “I’ve been up and down those stairs more than a hundred times. How did this happen?”
“My guess is you tripped over that box of disposable diapers.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“Oh.” Vaguely she remembered bringing bags from the car and trying to take as much as possible in one trip. Between her parking spot and the flight of steps, the box started slipping so she’d set it on one of the steps near the bottom, intending to grab it when she got the last bag. What with the Dwayne drama, she’d forgotten all about it. It was a big box because she went through a lot of diapers—“Mason, the babies!”
“It’s all right. I’m calling my mom. She’ll take care of them.”
“But they’re my responsibility—”
“And mine,” he quietly reminded her. “But everyone needs help sometime, Annie. And you really don’t have a choice right now.”
She hated that he was right.
While they waited for his mother, he fashioned a splint from a cardboard mailing box and duct tape to immobilize her leg. Then he filled a plastic bag with ice, wrapped it in a towel and put it on the injured limb to reduce swelling. Flo got there in record time and gave Annie a quick hug and reassuring smile before hurrying up the stairs to handle the twins.
“Okay,” Mason said, “let’s get you to the car.” He helped her stand without putting any weight on the injured leg but the movement sent pain grinding through her. There was a grim look on his face when she cried out. “I was afraid of that. Either I carry you or we call paramedics.”
“No ambulance.”
“That’s what I thought. This will be faster and less painful. Brace yourself. Deep breath.”
He gently lifted her and she slid her arms around his neck then held on. In spite of the pain, she had that familiar feeling of safety when he held her and closed her eyes while he moved as quickly as he could without jostling her too much. His SUV was at the curb in front of the complex and he got her into the rear, where she propped the bad leg up across the leather seats.
When they arrived at the emergency room entrance, someone in scrubs was waiting at the curb with a wheelchair. Mason quietly but firmly directed that she be taken to Radiology and he would meet them there with paperwork. He was as good as his word and while waiting for the X-ray tech to take her back she filled out medical forms and insurance information.
It turned out that the scrubs guy was an ER nurse who worked closely with Mason—Dr. Blackburne. He told her that Mason was smart, skilled and one of the best diagnosticians he’d ever known. Everyone liked him. And his combat medical experience saved more than one life during a recent MVA trauma—motor vehicle accident involving multiple cars and victims with critical, life-threatening injuries.
“I think this is just a bad leg sprain,” Annie told him. “But Mason believes it’s broken.”
“Hate to say it, but he’s probably right.”
It turned out that he was.
After the films were taken, Mason got them to the front of the line to be read by the radiologist.
Annie was sitting on a gurney in Emergency with the curtain pulled when he came to give her the results.
“I have good news and bad,” he said.
“Don’t ask which I want first. Just tell me the worst,” she said.
“It’s broken.” There was sympathy in his eyes, not the satisfaction of being right. “You’ll need to be in a cast.”
“How long?”
“That’s up to the orthopedic doc. In a few minutes he’s going to set it—”
“And plaster it?” she asked.
“Probably fiberglass. It’s lighter. The goal is to control your pain and swelling, then keep it immobilized while the bone heals.”
She folded her arms over her chest and frowned at him. “I see no good news in that scenario.”
“It won’t require surgery to set the bone.”
“Does that mean I can walk on it?” she asked hopefully.
“No. Non-weight-bearing for six to eight weeks depending on how fast you heal and whether or not you follow doctor’s orders.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say eight weeks?”
“Max. Less if you don’t push yourself too soon,” he confirmed. “And, in the good news column, a broken bone heals much faster than soft tissue damage, like muscles, tendons, ligaments.”
“Oddly enough, that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better. I have two four-month-old infants.” This nightmare was expanding exponentially. “How am I going to take care of them? Go to the store? Walk the floor if they’re crying?” Then the worst hit her. “I live in a second-floor apartment. I have to go up and down stairs. There’s no elevator.”
“If you put weight on it before that bone heals, there will be complications,” he warned.
“So what am I supposed to do?” She was very close to tears but not from physical discomfort, although her leg was throbbing painfully. Dyslexia had been a challenge in school and the bullying that resulted was emotionally devastating, but she’d learned coping skills. None of that had prepared her to cope with this.
“Move in with me,” Mason said.
That sudden declaration kept her from crying. “Just like that? It was the first thing that popped into your head?”
“I’ve had time to process the situation.”
She was still bitter about him being right. “Because you knew all along it was broken.”
“Yes. I’m just glad it’s not more serious.”
“It’s more serious to me.”
That was self-pity, raw and unattractive. She wasn’t proud of it, but couldn’t deny the feeling. He probably thought she was being a drama queen, what with seeing patients who had injuries much more serious and life-threatening. But she had her babies to think about. How was she going to take care of them?
Through her shock she was trying to work out the logistics of what was happening to her. “I can work from home and have groceries delivered. But I can’t hold a baby and walk on crutches. I won’t be able to pick up Charlie to feed him. Or carry Sarah into the bathroom to bathe her. And it’s my right leg. That will make driving difficult, if not impossible.” Her heart was breaking. “How will I get them to the pediatrician? Maybe Uber…but the complications—”
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