Chapter 16

Nikki’s turn:

Dan 1.0’s voice when I answered the phone. “You got the helm to yourself today, Nick.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Cindy got in a car wreck. I’m on my way to the ER. She called. Wreck. Headed to the ER. When I find out, I’ll update you. If you’ll pass the word – gently.”

The boy’s stressed. Repeating himself. But that’s the love of his life and she’s MY best friend (other than MY Dan) and...

Our building has a public address system. We do regular evacuation drills, severe weather announcements, other messages where we want the whole building to know. Access code on my phone.

“Attention everyone. Dan Richards just called. Cindy’s been in a car wreck. They’re taking her to the ER. That’s all the info I have right now. If you’re the praying type, this’d be a good time...”

Didn’t take two seconds for a head to pop in my door. Tommy. Questions.

“Don’t know anything, buddy,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

Cindy’s turn:

No good deed goes unpunished. Monday – we’re going strong, I don’t NEED to be there first thing, so I take it upon myself to call a favorite bakery in town and arrange for a hundred bucks’ worth of pastries.

Winding my way through town, normal traffic. Four lanes. How much thought do YOU give to driving in the morning? I pay attention. Driving since I was legal in Alabama – no tickets, no accidents. Hey! I know the route, it’s a good day.

This is a college town in Alabama, so there’s a good mix of vehicles on the road, old, new, cars, SUVs, minivans, pickup trucks.

That last one got me. Well, he didn’t, his trailer did. I noted him on a side street, twenty-year-old (maybe more – year/model of wheeled transportation is NOT something I paid attention to) pickup with a flat-bed trailer behind it, loaded with scrap metal. Hey, extra points for a working blinker, actually in use. He was turning right onto the opposite lane. Traffic was not dense, there was plenty of gap for his move, he started out, moving briskly.

Maybe TOO briskly. Trailer popped off the hitch, decided NOT to follow him, proceeded straight towards me. I was caught flat-footed. I punched the brake, hoping the trailer would pass in front of me.

It would have, if it wasn’t tapped by a driver in the oncoming lane, his own tires squealing. Just a nudge.

I was done in by a nudge. The tongue of the trailer bounced once on the pavement, jumped up, punched into my little grey SUV, right ahead of the driver’s door. Caved in. metal bent. airbags popped. (Airbags are neat. Explosives – right there in the car with you. Might be interesting to look into – funny how the mind works in slow motion during an accident)

My car slewed sideways, got tagged in the rear by another less attentive driver.

It’s like slow motion when it’s happening. I remember the powder from the side airbag. And the pain.

My door won’t open. I try to move. I think I screamed. Cindy, don’t do that again.

A good Samaritan rapped on my passenger-side window.

“Break it!” I yelled. Winced. Whimpered.

“Turn your head,” he yelled.

I turned my head, squeezed my eyes shut, heard glass shatter, then the door open.

“Are you okay, miss?” a big, burly face asked me.

Winced again. “No. My leg...” Inventory. Wet. Either I peed myself or ... blood.

“Leg’s bleeding...”

“I called 9-1-1,” a female voice said. “Sir, I’m a nurse...”

Middle-aged female face, gentle voice. “Hang on, baby. Ambulance and fire department are on the way ... Don’t try to move. Let ‘em get you out.”

“Hurtsssss...” I whimpered.

“I know, baby.” Soft hand patted my arm. “Hang on...”

I closed my eyes, willed myself to be calm. Sirens. Flashing lights. Voices. Male. Female. Guy in through the passenger door, talking gently, assessing. Talking. Bunch of attention, men, mechanical things, door popped off the driver’s side, I’m gently extracted onto a board, stuffed into the back of an ambulance, and off we go.

“Cellphone,” I hiss at the paramedic. “ICE. Dial it and tell my husband.” “ICE” was “in Case of Emergency”, a contact list we all keep on our cellphones.

One of the guys bent down. “Got that going, lady. Five minutes to the hospital.”

“Thank you...” I managed. “Pain...”

“Little stick,” the other attendant said.

I felt it. Then didn’t feel as bad.

Closed my eyes.

Bumps. Rolling. Moving. Bright lights. I recognize an emergency room when I see one. Examination. X-ray. MRI.

Dan. My lovely, kind, handsome, caring Dan. I’m somewhat groggy. Drugs.

“Baby,” he says.

“MY baby,” I return.

“Your doctor says your leg...”

“Cut, broken, compound fracture. There goes Wednesday’s flight...”

“Somebody’ll step up,” he said. “You! We need to fix YOU.”

“We’ll fix ‘er,” another voice said. Female. “Mister Richards, we’re going to bring her to surgery. Ortho surgeon’s going to handle that fracture.”

I held his hand all the way to surgery, his kiss was the last thing on my lips.

I woke up in recovery. Funny. I didn’t really WANT to wake up, but I did. Dan was there when I opened my eyes.

“Could be heaven, you know...” I said. “You’re here...”

“Doc says you’ll be okay, baby. Won’t walk for a while, a scar ... but full use...”

“Good ... How soon?”

“Tonight you’re here. Maybe tomorrow if things look good.” He paused. “Everybody’s asking ... Mandy’s out there. Your mom. Told the rest that they’d have to wait...”

“Oh, lord ... Dan, I don’t like this ... My people...”

“We’re going to move you to a room, darlin’,” an attendant said. “You can have visitors then.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Dan said.

It was a parade. Me on the gurney, Dan, Mom and Mandy. Into the room. Eased onto the bed. Mom crying all over me. Mandy looking worried.

Nurse took the vitals, announced the availability of additional pain medications. “Post-surgery ortho,” she said. “Liable to be a bit of pain. Don’t wait until it’s at full scream. Management is the key.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said. “Bring it when you’re ready.” I’d adamantly refused the PCA pain pump. I’d rather have to make a physical interaction with another human if I needed relief.

“Be right back.”

“Hurts,” I said to my audience.

Mandy hugged me from one side, Mom from the other. Dan’s hand was brushing my messed-up hair aside when the nurse returned.

“Mizz Richards...”

“Cindy, please,” I said.

She smiled. “Cindy, this is gonna burn when it hits your vein. You’ll probably get really drowsy.”

“Yes, ma’’am. Thank you...”

It did burn. Bearable. I felt myself drifting off. “I love y’all...”

I drifted awake some time later, turned my head, saw Dan.

“Baby...” I croaked.

“You’re back, sweetness,” he said softly, standing.

I relished his touch. He bent over, brushed his lips against mine.

“Water?” I wheezed.

“Here...” He held the cup to my lips, laying the straw into my reach.

Good. One of the ten best drinks I’ve ever had in my life.

“You’re watching over me...”

“I am,” he said. “Most important person in the universe is in this room.”

“You are, aren’t you?” I replied. “Kinda groggy. How’s the news being received?”

“About what you’d expect,” he said. “Everybody’s concerned. Wanna know if you want visitors.”

“Tell ‘em I’m still groggy. If Mom or Mandy or Mister Bill...”

“Your mom’s beside herself, baby. So’s Mandy.”

“Nice to be loved.”

“You got that,” my love said. His fingertips gently brushed my face.

“Have you talked with a doctor?”

“Not yet. I think you’re due for a late visit. You’re gonna be in here at least one or two nights.”

“I hate that. Who’s covering my flying?”

“You don’t worry. We’ll cover it. I think that Stoney’s getting your Wednesday trip. Says Little Stoney’s potty trained and is lined up for co-pilot...”

“I’m dead in the water...”

“Love of my life, you were in a major car wreck.”

“I know, baby, but in a few days I won’t be hurting – I can ditch the pain pills, figure out mobility issues, then...”

“The FAA won’t let you fly with a broken leg.”

“So I’ll hang around the robotics lab. Might go be co-pilot with somebody.”

“Or you could just stay around here and let me take care of you...”

Dammit! I looked at his face, this man I love ... Have I been taking his love, his faithfulness, his tenderness, his willingness to stand aside and let me my own version of rockstar, all the wonderful things in my life, for granted?

Quick answer – yes. Correct response: “I’m yours. I’ll hang here for recovery. See if you can put up with me like you used to...”

He smiled. “Baby doll, we were joined at the hip ... And I loved every minute of it.”

“Daniel, you gotta know I still worship you.”

“Mutual admiration society, little one.”

A week later. I’ve been home a few days. Everybody’s visited, and I’m ready to be mobile. Mandy’s pulling yeoman duty as my ‘wheelchair motor’. Terri’s been by, along with the rest of the Munchkins, but they’re curiously tight-lipped. I suspect mayhem.

Hadn’t been there ten minutes before the doorbell rang. Dan looked at me (questioning). I just shrugged my shoulders, so he answered the door.

All four Munchkins stepped in, followed by a little robot, with an aluminum lawn chair mounted on top. Head-stalk, two arms, wheeled, and two obvious handles on each side.

Terri said, “Cindy, meet “Chair-bot”. “Chair” is scaled down from “Luggage”, but he’s what we could cobble together quickly, from spare parts. He has about half the battery life of “Luggage”, and maybe half the carrying capacity. But he only weighs twenty-five kilos, so two people can lift him out of the back of an SUV.”