Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
JADEN
Lost in my thoughts, I miss the curve. Something flickers at the side of the road, no more than a shadow at the edge of my vision.
Instinctively, I look over.
A woman. Somewhere between rocks and ocean.
It takes me only fractions of a second to grasp the situation. Her face is twisted in pain, she’s holding her ankle, a backpack lies beside her.
She’s hurt—and I’m heading straight for her.
Shit.
I brake hard.
The back tire skids, a dull squeal, the bike lurches, I correct on reflex, a burning pain shoots through my shoulder.
Dust swirls up, my heart pounds, the engine wheezes.
I kill the engine and tear the helmet from my head.
The woman looks up, seeming at once surprised, unsettled, and shocked. Dark hair blows across her face.
‘What happened?’ I drop to my knees beside her.
‘I wanted to get to the cove and there were these rocks and I tried to climb over them, but then I twisted my ankle and…’ Her face is pale, sweat beads on her forehead.
‘May I?’ I point at her pants, she nods, and I carefully push the fabric up a bit. The ankle is clearly swollen and slightly bluish. ‘Do you feel dizzy?’ With two fingers I feel for her pulse. Her skin is cold, her heart is beating too fast.
‘A little.’ The fact that she isn’t surprised by how professionally I’m examining her is a clear sign: she’s in shock, doesn’t know what’s happening to her, has no control over her thoughts.
Maybe it was similar with Nyla yesterday. My worried Nyla, deeply wounded by her own past. Perhaps her wound overwhelmed her in that moment. Perhaps she, too, was in shock and no longer had any control, neither over her thoughts nor over her words.
Maybe.
‘Did you just twist it, or did you fall on something as well?’ I carefully run my fingers along her shinbone.
‘I think… no.’
Probably a sprain or at least a decent bruise. ‘I’ll drive you to the hospital,’ I say, pointing at my bike.
‘On the motorcycle?’ Her eyes widen.
If she had a fracture, it wouldn’t be possible, but with this injury I can transport her. ‘An ambulance will take at least twenty minutes to get here.’ And I don’t have any painkillers left that I could give her, after taking them all myself. ‘We’ll secure your leg and I’ll drive carefully.’
She looks at her ankle, then at me, then nods. Gently I support her until we reach the motorcycle. There I take off my jacket, use it to stabilize her ankle as best I can, and put my helmet on her.
The way back is different. As we chug along the coastal road toward Halifax, I think again about how Camee’s life has changed since the diagnosis.
But all of a sudden Nyla is there again. We dance tango together, count the stars over Greenland, play with a dog. We laugh together, we kiss, we entwine our fingers, give each other support.
I look into her eyes, brush her hair back and suddenly notice that it’s no longer short.
It reaches all the way to her shoulders.
That’s when I realize that years lie between today and this Nyla who looks at me in my thoughts so full of love.
Years I might not have. And yet a life that is still possible.