Sisters in the Wind(33)

I don’t have to wait long for a last-minute appointment. The weekend snowstorm shows no sign of letting up. Snowplows clear the main roads in town, but not anything beyond that, according to Daunis, who returns from her morning workout with weather updates. Jamie goes to his room for his first Monday morning call with Hazel. And Dr. Rao’s office calls when I’m finishing the breakfast dishes. There’s an opening before lunch.

Jamie opens his door when he’s done with his phone calls. I don’t bother with the walker, choosing to hop across the living room and lean against the doorframe.

“Any updates on the investigation? It’s going on four weeks.” I add for emphasis, “I just want my backpack and cell phone.”

Jamie brushes invisible lint from his lap. I know a tell when I see one. Foster care honed my ability to spot liars and people hiding a secret. Jamie knows something about the investigation.

Does he know I was the target?

“Let me make some calls,” he says.

I remember what Daunis said about Jamie having a hard time delivering bad news.

“I want to know whatever you find out, Jamie. I swear I can handle it.”

“Of course,” he says.

I stare at him long enough for it to be awkward. Then Daunis emerges from her bedroom. She smells like shampoo and deodorant. Her long black hair has been blow-dried and falls around her shoulders like a cape. She sees me and her brow furrows.

“Where’s your walker?”

“Faster this way.” Hopping past her, I retrieve the clunky walker from my bedroom.

“It is faster,” Jamie says.

He’s trying to get on my good side so I won’t pester him about the investigation. I roll my eyes before getting my coat and snow boots.

Daunis isn’t ready to let it slide.

“Lucy, I go overboard with your recuperation because I want you to be okay.” She sounds worn out. “You could have died. We still don’t know what happened at the diner. Or why.”

When she reaches for her coat, I turn to stare down Jamie again. I don’t need to say anything. He knows there is a conversation to be had.



* * *



My X-rays look good. Dr. Rao also does an angiography, injecting something into my blood vessels to show any damage to my circulation. She asks about my pain levels.

“I stopped taking the Tylenol with codeine. I need the regular Tylenol only at night when my pain is at a four.”

Daunis digs in her bag for her index cards. She records every pill I’ve taken under her watch. One card per day, showing the time, the dosage, and my responses to her incessant questions about my pain level. She has other index cards listing the number of pills in every prescription and tally marks for each pill taken.

Dr. Rao reviews the cards before saying how fortunate I am to have a thorough caretaker.

Daunis gives a one-shouldered shrug like it’s no big deal.

“I wish every patient had someone like you,” Dr. Rao repeats. “Pain management is not an exact science. There are too many cautionary tales.”

“My friend Robin-bah,” Daunis begins. She clears her throat as if that will stop her eyes from leaking. “I had a friend whose addiction started with a prescription for opioids.”

It makes sense why she’s so hypervigilant about my medications.

“Thank you,” I tell Daunis. Then, because I know it will mean more to her, I say, “Miigwech.”

Something lightens my heart when she smiles through her tears.

I get approval to add a stationary bike and rowing machine to my physical therapy. But no elliptical trainer, because it’s too soon for full weight on my leg.

“Dr. Rao, could I do my physical therapy at the hotel gym and pool? With the weather and ice, I thought it might be better to stay put.”

Yesterday, I went with Jamie to the hotel gym. He mentioned the tribal casino and hotel having more surveillance cameras and security staff than any other hotel or business in town. I realized I was probably safer there than anywhere else.

“Certainly,” Dr. Rao replied. “It’s more important that you exercise regularly than where you do the strengthening.”

“I’m happy to schedule the therapist to come to the hotel,” Daunis offers.

Dr. Rao says that as long as I’m exercising daily with supervision, my physical therapist need only come once a week. It’s another bit of good news. Fewer opportunities for someone to follow the PT guy and find me.

She also recommends I begin using crutches. I have great upper-body strength and might find it easier to get around than using the walker.

“Dr. Rao,” Daunis begins. “Hopping on one foot instead of using proper support would be unwise, don’t you think?” She gives me a pointed look, like she’s determined to get the final word on the matter.

“Lucy, you need to use the crutches or the walker. You don’t want to risk a setback,” Dr. Rao admonishes me. I can feel Daunis shift at the validation. “I’ll see you again in four weeks, which takes us through February and into the first week of March. That will be seven to eight weeks post-surgery. If you continue to do well, we can consider a cane and putting full weight on your leg.”

It’s the best news I could’ve received this week.

Hibernate and heal. Once I can get around with a cane and put full weight on my leg, I can leave Michigan behind.