Chapter 73 Stuart
Stuart
Elliot’s not the worst patient I’ve ever had, but he’s definitely not the best. It’s been a full-time job trying to make sure he doesn’t overdo it.
I’ve had to watch him like a hawk this week to make sure he doesn’t do anything to rip his stitches or increase the chance of infection.
I just caught him trying to pack a gym bag.
A gym bag. Can you believe it?
I dread to think what would have happened if he’d tried to work out with three stitches in his elbow. Can’t even imagine what he was thinking.
“But, Daddy,” he says, bottom lip jutting out slightly, “I can’t spend all week sitting on the sofa like a big lump.”
To be fair, I do understand that. He’s a boy with an abundance of energy, and he needs to burn some of it off, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting him go to the gym.
Knowing him, he’d probably try to do weight training.
He’d probably rip his stitches within minutes of getting there.
The risk of infection at the gym is probably off the charts. There’s no way I can allow it.
“How about I take you for a walk.” A bit of fresh air will do him good. It might distract him a little. Boys need a little distraction now and again. It’s good for them. Helps clear their minds. “Come on, let’s go. Sadie! Walkies!”
He’s a bit huffy, but not so much that I feel I need to call him out on it.
It’s not that I’m being soft on him. It’s just that he’s been through a lot this week.
He took a hell of a tumble. My heart nearly dropped out of my body as I stood there watching him lose his balance.
It was one of those times where everything happened as if in slow motion, but my body was in real time, and I couldn’t move fast enough to do anything to help him.
I still feel sick when I think of the hollow clank his elbow made when it connected with the wall.
I thought he’d hit his head. For a second, I thought he’d hurt himself badly.
It scared me.
It scared me how much it scared me.
I take his hand in mine as we head down the drive, lacing my fingers between his and squeezing firmly. His head dips and he looks away, but not fast enough. I see the sweet smile that creeps up his face.
“You know what I’ve been thinking,” I say. “I’ve been thinking it might be nice to have your friends over for dinner on Friday. We can have an Indian night. We can make that butter chicken again, and maybe some lamb Rogan Josh. That always goes down well. What do you think?”
“Really?” His voice lilts happily. “You’d be cool with that?”
“Of course, I would. I’d love to meet everyone.” He’s spoken about his friends so much since he got here that I almost feel like I know them. “It’s your home too, and your friends are always welcome.”