Page 40 of Love, Lies and Mistletoe
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve fallen.”
“I’ll be right over.”
Layla didn’t wait for another word. She set the phone on the counter and rushed through her living room and downstairs to the front door. Outside, lazy snowflakes drifted down, settling on the boardwalk in front of the shop. She almost slipped herself, so she made her way slowly across the walkway toward Marybelle’s front door. Thankfully, the door was already unlocked.
“Marybelle?”
Movement from the kitchen at the back of the apartment caught her attention.
“Here,” called Marybelle, waving a feeble hand.
Her heart hammered in her chest from the phone call and her rush to get to Marybelle. Seeing her friend on the floor, a trickle of blood oozing from the gash on her forehead, almost stopped it cold. She hurried around the counter, pulling open drawers in a search for a towel, something clean to press against the wound.
“What happened?” She knelt beside Marybelle, who managed to sit up and rest her back against the refrigerator. Pressing the cloth against Marybelle’s forehead, she dialed Kyle’s number with Marybelle’s phone.
“I’m not sure. I think there might have been a little puddle of water on the floor. From when I made my coffee earlier. I slipped.”
“And the bump on your head?” There was a lot of blood, but head wounds were notorious for looking far worse than they were. From what she could tell, the gash was only a half-inch long. Still, the swelling and the purplish skin around it was enough to raise a sense of urgency. With Marybelle’s phone pressed to her ear, the call to Kyle continued to ring.
Marybelle’s eyes darted to the counter in front of them. “I caught the edge of the counter.” She moaned as she touched the spot where Layla still held the towel. “Now I’ve ruined your day.”
Layla let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, Marybelle. Turkey dinner is the last thing on my mind right now. We need to get you to the hospital.” So far Kyle hadn’t picked up. Then she remembered. He was in Canada, most likely well into his morning on the slopes. Even if he did happen to see his aunt’s call, it might not be until much later. She left a voicemail.
“Nonsense. I’m not going to the hospital. It’s a bump is all.”
Layla took the cloth away again to inspect the cut. The bleeding seemed to have slowed. She stood to rummage through Marybelle’s freezer. A hand-sized ice pack caught her eye. She quickly wrapped it in a fresh towel and told Marybelle to hold it against her head.
“Do you think you can get up?” she asked.
Marybelle gave her a wavering smile. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Layla stood over Marybelle while the older woman got on her hands and knees. But even as Marybelle was able to use a kitchen chair to get into an upright position, Layla couldn’t get her onto both feet given Marybelle’s considerable bulk. They tried one more time after Marybelle got her breath back with the same results.
“Not going to happen, I’m afraid.” Marybelle settled back against the refrigerator with the ice pack on her forehead again.
“If only I had another pair of hands.”
“Call Ernie.”
Layla gave her a look. “Ernie never answers.” She peeked at the wound underneath the ice pack again. Yes, the bleeding had definitely slowed. Good. “I’m going to run across the street to see if the Hammonds are home. Maybe Peter can help me get you to the car.” She’d seen their light was on last night. Hopefully their Thanksgiving plans hadn’t taken them out of town.
“I said I’m not going to the hospital.” Marybelle’s chin was set. Normally that would be enough for Layla to leave her alone, but not this time. Stubbornness aside, Marybelle needed to see a doctor.
“I know what you said, but we’re not taking any chances. Either you’re getting in my car or I’m calling the ambulance.”
Apparently going with Layla was the lesser of two evils in Marybelle’s mind, because she went silent. Thank goodness for small blessings.
Layla and Marybellesat in the waiting room for a half hour before they were escorted through the double doors to another room. With the curtain drawn, a nurse helped Marybelle onto the table and slipped the blood pressure cuff onto her arm. They sat there listening to the occasional beep of the machine measuring Marybelle’s vitals and the chatter of nurses and doctors in the hall. Three of the four hours they spent at the hospital were spent waiting. Marybelle’s patience fizzled after the first hour, and it took every thread of reason Layla possessed to keep her on the bed before the doctor released her.
Back home, Layla led Marybelle to her bedroom. She helped Marybelle change into a nightgown and take off her compression hose, because having them off would make her head feel so much better, Marybelle said. The tests showed no concussion and only a little glue and a butterfly bandage were needed for the cut. She’d have some nasty bruises for a couple weeks at least, the doctor said. After the initial scare and her contrariness, Marybelle’s dry sense of humor kicked into high gear.
“I’ve always wanted to eat turkey dinner from the comfort of my bed,” Marybelle said, fluffing the pillows behind her back. “Eat and sleep. Isn’t that all newborns are capable of?”
“Here, let me.” Layla leaned over the bed after Marybelle tried in vain to get the pillows just right for the last few minutes. She leaned forward so Layla could position them better. “And you’re not a baby.”
“Just bring my warm milk when you’re finished. You can heat it in my mug.”
