Chapter 5 #3
Then the weight shifts. It happens so fast I can't track the sequence afterward.
The chair tilts toward Will. The base swings out wider than I expected.
I stumble back. One step. Two. My elbow catches Will's side.
It isn't hard. It shouldn't have been enough, but he's already off-balance, one foot on gravel and one on the bumper, leaning in at the wrong angle.
The small push is all it takes. His knee buckles, his foot slips off the bumper, and he goes down.
The sound. God, the sound. A crack, sharp and clean, like a branch snapping in winter. Then a noise from Will that isn't quite a scream and isn't anything else either. A sharp inhale that turns into a groan that he swallows halfway through. His whole body goes rigid on the gravel.
The chair hits the ground beside him. Poppy catches the top before it falls on his leg. I don't know where she came from or how fast, but she's already yelling something.
I can't hear her. There's a ringing in my ears and my hands are still out, still curled around nothing, and my whole body has gone cold.
I drop to my knees beside him on the gravel, hands hovering over his leg, not touching, not helping, shaking so badly I couldn't have held anything even if there was something to hold. Every hour of medical training I have vanishes.
"I'm sorry." It comes out broken and jagged and nowhere near enough. "I'm so sorry, I bumped you, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
"Lily." His voice cuts through mine. Impossibly, infuriatingly calm for a man lying on gravel with a broken leg. He reaches over and takes my hand. His grip is steady and completely at odds with the gray color of his face. "It's okay, sweetheart. It wasn't your fault."
"It was. I hit you…"
"The chair went over. You didn't."
"But I…"
"Look at me."
I take a shaky inhale and meet his eyes. Brown, full of pain he's refusing to show me. And a kindness that, even with his leg broken on the ground, his first instinct is to make sure I'm okay.
"I'm okay," he says, squeezing my hand. "It's just a bone. Bones heal. I'm okay."
He isn't okay. His face is white now and his breathing is shallow. He's gripping my hand hard enough that I can feel the tremor he's trying to hide.
Gran is on the phone already, barking at someone in a tone that suggests the ambulance had better break several traffic laws getting here.
Beth is inside getting a blanket. Vera is clearing the path from the driveway to the front door, moving a pot and a pair of boots without a word, without hurrying.
Poppy kneels on Will's other side, puts her hand on his arm.
"Ambulance is coming, Will."
"I don't need an ambulance."
"You need an ambulance," three voices call from around us.
"You absolutely need an ambulance," I add through the tears.
"Five against one. You lose," Poppy tells him.
Beth comes back with a blanket, drapes it over him carefully, tucking it around his shoulders. Gran is still on the phone, now providing detailed instructions on how to find the compound that the dispatcher almost certainly doesn't need. Vera stands over us, arms crossed, watching Will's face.
"Stop clenching your jaw, Will. It doesn't help."
"Respectfully, Vera, I'll clench whatever I want."
"There he is," Gran calls from the doorway, hand over the phone. "Still rude and polite when he's hurt. He'll be fine."
The cold seeps through my jeans from the gravel. My fingers go numb around his. He tells me to go inside where it's warm. I shake my head. He tells me again. I shake my head again.
"Tell me about the chair," I manage. I need to keep him talking. "Tell me about the wood."
He blinks a few times, then his face softens like I'd found exactly the right door.
"Red oak. From a mill upstate. I drove two hours to pick it because the grain was right." He winces, but keeps going. "You can't rush grain. You have to find the one that wants to become the thing you're making."
"How do you know which one wants to?"
"You just do. You look at it and something says yes." He pauses, breathes through another wave. "Anna used to come with me. To the mill. She'd touch every piece and tell me which ones felt warm. I thought she was crazy." Another pause, longer. "She was always right."
The ambulance comes and I don't let go of his hand. I hold on while they stabilize his leg, while they load him onto the stretcher. He doesn't ask me to let go, he just keeps talking about the chair.
"Lily." His voice catches me as they lift the stretcher. "She's a beauty, that chair." He smiles, proud of it even now.
"She's beautiful," I say.
"You should sit on her when she's on the porch. The curve is for leaning back. You'll see."
"I will."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He nods, satisfied, like a girl promising to sit in his rocking chair is the only thing he needed to hear.
"I'm riding with him," I tell the paramedic.
"Are you family?"
"Yes," I say, without looking at anyone else on that driveway. Without asking for permission or forgiveness.
Poppy's eyes widen slightly. Gran, from the doorway, presses her lips together and nods once.
I climb into the ambulance and sit beside Will, hold his hand, and I don't let go. Through the small window, I see Poppy on the driveway, phone already pressed to her ear, free hand against her forehead. I know who she's calling.