I’m on my way to the elevator at the end of the third floor hallway when I spot Torrance and Seth sitting together on a sectional in an alcove next to a fireplace. Their faces are bent close, their knees touching.
It’s definitely not a casual pose.
For a few moments, I’m frozen. I could head back to my room, wait until they’re gone. I could walk by, risk interrupting them.
Or . . . I could stay here, next to this column, in case I can overhear anything they’re saying.
They look so cozy that I can’t help wondering if whatever’s going on here is a result of the conversation Torrance and I had in the sauna. And that’s what draws me closer, until I’m pressed up against a second column, trying to breathe as quietly as I can.
If there’s a line I haven’t already crossed, I am aware that this, hiding behind a column and kind-of sort-of spying on my bosses, might be it. But it’s not that I’m curious in some voyeuristic way. It’s that I genuinely want to know if they’re getting along. The way they’re seated, the way they were dancing last week—all of it makes me think they might be able to get back the good parts of what they used to have.
Maybe after all my talk about wanting to improve the station, what I really want is to see the two of them happy.
“。 . . sure it’s a good idea?” Torrance is saying.
“It’s worth a try,” Seth says.
And then something terrible happens.
I shift positions to stretch out some lingering tension in my back, and my boot lets out a high-pitched squeak on the polished wood floor.
Their heads whip my direction as I spin and bolt down the darkened hallway, cursing these new rain boots, furious a favorite article of clothing betrayed me like this. Shit, shit, shit.
They’ll think I was spying on them. And—okay, I was, but for a good reason. They’ll know why Russell and I have been asking so many questions, and they’ll report us to HR and realize they really do hate each other after all. With a single uncontrollable action, I may have ruined our entire plan.
I’ve spiraled so deep in my head that I miss the sign at the end of the hall that says WET FLOOR.
And then I miss the staircase.
13
FORECAST:
A torrent of secrets and at least one questionable decision
“CAN YOU BEND your wrist a little more?” asks the X-ray technician.
“This is about as far as I can go,” I say, grimacing as a sharp pain shoots from my wrist to my elbow. “Am I bending it at all?”
“Nope. Here, let me help you.”
He tries to bend it for the X-ray, and holy fucking shit, it hurts more than my IUD insertion. I hiss out a string of colorful curse words, followed by an apology.
“Not to worry,” he says. “I’ve heard worse. I’m told to go to hell a few times a week at least.”
He tells me to hold it there for five seconds, during which time I learn that when you are in this much pain, five seconds can feel like an eon, until the machine clicks. The way my body is contorted must be undoing every bit of the massage.
The actual fall is blurred from my memory. All I remember is my foot catching air at the top of the staircase and then how hard I landed, the surge of fear when I couldn’t move my left arm. The way Torrance and Seth and eventually Russell appeared in front of me and sat with me, helped me to my feet, asked the lodge staff for some ice. I remember holding the melting ice pack to my left arm as Russell helped me into an Uber, grateful when he slid in next to me, silently freaking out because I couldn’t move any of my fingers.
I’ve never broken a bone, never twisted an ankle or sprained a finger or chipped a tooth. So of course, at the age of twenty-seven, I manage to topple down a flight of stairs and likely fracture my elbow.
Bright sides: I know I was lucky. I know it could have been so much worse.
But it’s also really fucking painful.
The tech takes me back to the exam room, where Russell’s sitting in a hard plastic chair, one leg bouncing up and down. His hair is mussed, like maybe he’s been raking a hand through it. Earlier, when a nurse first brought me back and asked if I was currently taking any medications, I stammered out an, “Oh. Um,” and he said, “I’ll wait outside until you need me, okay?” If I ever had doubts about him being a certified Good Person, that would have confirmed it.
I gestured for him to go back in when I went for X-rays, and now he jumps to his feet as soon as I reenter, the tech letting us know that the doctor will be in shortly.
“Hey,” Russell says softly. “Everything go okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard to keep the emotions at bay. My makeup is probably smudged all down my face. The exam room is too cold, my sweater too thin. I have to pee but I’m afraid I won’t be able to manage it by myself. I can’t even hold my left arm up without using my right.
“I’m so sorry about all of this.” It’s at least the tenth time he’s said it. “Are you shivering?”
“Maybe a little.”
He takes off his corduroy jacket and drapes it across my shoulders, and it’s much too big for me but it smells like his citrus-cedar soap, a welcome contrast to the clinical hospital smell.
“Thank you.” I grab it with my right hand, tugging it tighter around me. Even the slightest movement bumps my left arm and makes me wince.
The doctor comes back in, her name stitched above the pocket of her white coat. Dr. Jacobs. “It’s just as I thought,” she says, sliding onto a stool next to her computer and pulling up my X-rays. “Your elbow is fractured.”
“How long until it heals?”
“Could be six weeks, could be twelve. We don’t have a good way of knowing the time frame.” She swipes over to another image. They all look like the blurry bones of a ghost to me. “It looks like you also bruised a rib, which we unfortunately can’t do much for—just painkillers, rest, and ice.”
“That would explain why it hurts to breathe,” I say with a forced laugh. “And to laugh, though I guess I haven’t been doing much of that in the past hour.”
She tells me to see an orthopedic doctor when I get back to Seattle, that it doesn’t look like I’ll need surgery but they’ll probably want me in weekly physical therapy. She unwraps a navy sling from a plastic package and helps me secure my arm, indicating my hand and forearm should be resting above my elbow. Then she gives me a prescription for pain relievers, my X-ray on a CD, and a whole bunch of paperwork.
* * *
? ? ?
MY FIRST THOUGHT when we make it back to my hotel room is that I wish I’d done a better job cleaning up. I’m amazed by how much mess I’ve created in half a day from items packed solely for a long weekend, but I can’t bring myself to care about the bra hanging off the back of a chair.
“I can’t believe I did something so careless. So stupid.” I kick off my boots and collapse on the bed, draping my uninjured hand across my face.
Russell gestures to the bed next to me, as though asking if it’s okay for him to sit down. I give him a nod. “You’re not stupid. It was an accident. It could have happened to anyone.” Gently, he grazes the arm I have across my face with a few fingertips, and I feel my skin prick with goose bumps.