22. Lana
Lana
Watching the doctor reduce Toren’s finger fractures was almost as painful as having it done. Thankfully, he got some nice drugs before she attempted anything, but the crunch of bone and the grunts of pain he let out that not even the medicine could hold back had me wincing with every tug.
Dr. Henderson had decided after reducing the fractures that surgery could wait a day or two until some of the swelling went down.
The bones had realigned well with the procedure and the numbness he was experiencing began to recede by the time his twilight anesthesia wore off.
Now he said it just felt like it burned with some pins and needles.
By the time the E.R. discharged him with appointments scheduled for an MRI of his ankle and a surgery date for his hand, which was three days away, the massive dose of ketamine he’d been given had mostly worn off, thanks to its short half-life.
He’d refused anything stronger than some NSAIDS for the pain, which I both understood, but didn’t.
Being loopy wasn’t my idea of a good time, but I also didn’t like pain.
Toren’s argument was it was fine, so long as he didn’t whack his hand on anything or put too much weight on his foot.
I just shrugged, shouldered our bags that Walker had dropped off, and pushed him toward the exit and our waiting Uber.
The hospital staff had told him he probably shouldn’t be alone for the rest of the day.
Since his animals were being watched by a friend, I insisted he come back to my place.
Tomorrow, we could drive up to Parker’s Landing and check in on things and come up with a plan for his surgery on Monday.
He’d been just drugged up enough at that point not to argue. Much.
Buildings whizzed by, an odd sight after being in the wilderness for what felt like a lifetime, as our Uber driver wound his way through the city to my house.
The hospital had given Toren a set of crutches, so once he maneuvered himself out of the car, he ambled up the sidewalk to my front door with slow precision.
I glanced back as I reached the porch. I didn’t blame him for going slow. He had half a hand holding the left crutch, his two outside fingers wrapped in a splint made of stiff cotton, gauze, and that stretchy adhesive wrap, holding them out straight.
Unlocking the door, I pushed it in, then waited as he click-clacked his way inside.
“Make yourself comfortable.” I gestured to the living room as I set our packs down in the entryway. “I’m going to make us a couple sandwiches.” Neither of us had eaten yet, and my stomach was about to gnaw its way through my abdominal wall.
I found turkey, Swiss, and a loaf of sourdough that was a day or two past its prime.
Given what we’d been eating for the last few days, I decided that qualified as a feast. I loaded everything on paper plates—because I was not about to wash anything tonight—grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry and carried it all to the kitchen table.
Toren had made his way to the table as I sat the last of the items down. He lowered himself into the chair with careful, deliberate movements, trying not to aggravate either of his injuries.
We ate. For a few minutes that was the whole of it. Just eating, both of us working through the profound relief of being safe, dry, and eating food that didn’t come from a pouch.
He finished his sandwich in about four bites.
“Do you want another one?” I set my sandwich down, pushing my chair back to get up.
“It’s fine. I can make it.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you could, but you’d make a mess in the process.
I should have made you two to start with.
Stay.” Getting up, I opened the fridge and took out all the sandwich fixings again and made him another sandwich.
I was more tired than I thought. If I were running at a hundred percent, or even close to it, I would have realized a man his size needed more than a single sandwich after the last few days we’d had.
“Do you just want one more?” I looked over my shoulder.
“Yeah. That’s plenty. I can eat some of the chips too.” Even as he spoke, he reached for the bag. It crinkled as he opened it and put some of the chips onto his plate.
Wrapping the sandwich I made in the paper towel I made it on, I brought it to him, then sat down to finish my breakfast-slash-lunch-slash-dinner.
“Thank you for the food.” Toren glanced up after eating half of the new sandwich. “And for the hospitality. I know the doc wanted me to have someone around this evening after all the drugs they pumped into me, but I feel fine.”
“I’m glad you’re doing well. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Shock can come on suddenly, and your body’s been through a lot in the last few days. I don’t mind sitting with you to make sure you’re okay.”
“Still, you probably have better things to do than keep me company. Like figure out what’s happening with the wedding that started all of this.”
I chuckled softly. “Yeah. I’m giving Tina and Dustin a few hours, then I’m calling her.
Tomorrow’s supposed to be their wedding day, but obviously we’re going to need to reschedule.
” I sighed as the enormity of doing that hit me like a train.
“I’m going to have to make some calls.” I propped my chin on my hand.
“What a mess.” Thankfully, I had anticipated problems, so I’d put the vendors on alert before I left.
Toren hummed and took another bite.
“Do you think your wildlife officer friend will find Deke? And Vic?” The question had been sitting at the back of my mind since the two of them ran off.
“I don’t know. Jesse will stop at nothing to do it, though. He’s tenacious.” He ate a potato chip. “Having Toby in custody helps. I think he’ll sing like a canary to save himself. What Deke wanted to do with Dustin—with us—wasn’t anything he wanted to be part of.
“No, definitely not.” Toby had made that clear almost immediately upon our arrival. I was actually a bit surprised Deke didn’t take Toby out, then Dustin and us.
“Deke will probably head for civilization soon,” Toren continued. “He’s on foot without any gear. That country isn’t forgiving, even for someone who knows it, without a wealth of gear to support you.”
I agreed. We only survived as long as we did because of what we brought with us.
We finished eating. I cleared the plates, and when I turned back from the sink, he was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.” He looked away.
Sure, okay. I raised an eyebrow but let it go.
“I need a shower,” I said. It came out more bluntly than I intended, but it was also just true. Four days of backcountry wilderness meant I was ripe, and I was acutely aware of it now that I was standing in my own kitchen. I kept thinking it was the trash I smelled, but now I realized it was me.
“Yeah.” He glanced down at himself. “Same.”
I ran through the logistics. My house was small, but it had two full bathrooms. I wasn’t sure my hot water heater could handle two showers at once, though. Not the kind we needed.
“You can go first,” I offered. “Guest bathroom is down the hall. There are towels and wash cloths in the cabinet, but I need to get you some soap.” Pushing away from the counter, I walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to my bedroom and its en suite.
I heard the creak and thud of Toren’s crutches following me.
In the bathroom, I unearthed a fresh bar of soap and a travel-sized bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. It had a flowery scent, but it would do the job of washing his hair.
“Do you have some clean underwear in your pack still?”
He nodded. “That’s it, though. I only brought two shirts and an extra pair of pants. They’re all dirty.”
“Okay. I’ll find you something to wear over your underwear. Bring what you have on out with you, and we’ll do a load of laundry.
It was his turn to raise an eyebrow and stay silent.
“You’re not putting those back on.” I gestured to his filthy shirt and pants.
“I agree they’re dirty, but what could you possibly have that will even come close to covering me? I’m not sure I could get one leg into a pair of your sweatpants.”
My mind cycled through the contents of my closet. Only one thing came to mind that might work. I held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” Spinning on my heel, I walked out of the bathroom, then into my closet.
Three years ago, my mom gave me one of those thick, high-quality, hotel-style bathrobes for Christmas. On me, it came to about mid-calf and had a decent amount of overlap. It would be significantly smaller on Toren, but it should cover all the important parts.
Yanking it off its hanger, I returned to the bedroom. Toren stood in the doorway to the bathroom, hunched over on his crutches.
“How about this?” I held up the lavender robe.
That dark eyebrow winged upward again. “Really?”
“Hey, it’s this or nothing, buddy. I’m fresh out of size Godzilla clothes.”
He chuckled. “Fine.” Reaching out, he took it and slung it over his shoulder.
I led him back down the hallway to the guest bath and put the soap in the shower. “Let me go grab your bag for you.” Hurrying away, I retrieved his pack and returned to the bathroom.
Toren had the water running in the shower, heating up.
“Don’t lock the door,” I said, backing out. “Just in case you need help.”
He glanced down at his foot, then raised his injured hand. “Do you have something we can wrap around this? My ankle I can unwrap if you’re willing to help me rewrap it.”
“Oh.” I bit my lip. “Sure. Give me a minute.”
Once again, I retreated from the bathroom, this time to the kitchen. I opened the pantry and grabbed a small trash bag from the box, then went to the junk drawer and found several rolls of tape, all different kinds.
“Okay,” I said, returning to the bathroom. I held up my bounty. “Which kind of tape do you want me to use?”
His nose wrinkled in distaste. “None.”
I snickered. “Well, we need to use something to seal the bag.” I waved the white trash bag.