Chapter Eleven
What’s that old saying? If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.
That was how I felt this morning after a long night of pain, not to mention vomiting.
Thankfully, the vomiting cleared quickly with a few doses of medication.
If only the pain had done the same. When Ivy told me the truth about what Major had done to my arm, I literally threw up.
The implications were that I wouldn’t be able to work for at least two weeks.
That was how long they’d leave the partial plaster and elastic bandage monstrosity on my arm before giving me a smaller cast. I had to use a sling just to lug it around.
Kidding. Sort of. I was using the sling because one of the nurses showed me a trick.
If I kept it in the sling with a rolled towel between my chest and the sling, the throbbing eased.
She promised I wouldn’t have to do it forever, but if it helped with the pain, I was down with it for however long it took.
Now, I just had to get out of this place before they charged me for another day.
Sure, Ivy said she had it covered by the other insurance policy, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
Earlier, a doctor I didn’t know came in to check on me.
I was surprised it wasn’t Major, but Dr. Russel assured me he was taking over my care now, rather than Major, and would take good care of me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him. The care in Bells Pass was second to none, but that didn’t keep me from wondering why Major had passed me off to someone else.
It was probably because I wasn’t supposed to be his patient, and he’d simply done me a favor by fixing my arm last night rather than making me wait.
That was fine. It wasn’t as if I was set on having him as my doctor.
I didn’t need to see his handsome face at every appointment.
I’d see him when he came into the diner. At least after I returned to work.
“Knock, knock,” said a muffled voice, and I called for them to come in. The very man I’d just been thinking about strolled through the door. “Good morning,” he said, setting a container on my bedside tray before shrugging off his coat.
This morning, he wore jeans with a casual sweater, showcasing his well-defined physique, including a strong chest and ripped abs.
He had broad shoulders that stretched the sweater to its max, but made it look effortless.
With his back to me, I had a moment to appreciate his buns in a pair of jeans, and dare I say, he did a lot of work on that at the gym as well.
Can you work out your gluteus maximus? Something to Google later when I'm done ogling him and get a life. There was a ridge that jutted out on his left leg around his thigh that made me think about that occasional hitch in the way he walked. Suddenly, I suspected he was hiding a brace under those pants, but out of respect for him, I didn’t say anything. If he wanted to tell me, he would.
“Good morning. I just saw Dr. Russel. He said he was taking over my care now.”
“He is,” Major answered, pushing the bedside tray over.
“Then why are you here? Don’t you have to work today?” To say I was confused was an understatement.
“Nope, I don’t work on Saturday unless I’m on call, which I’m not. How’s the arm?”
“Sore,” I admitted. “It took me most of the night to get the pain under control, but it’s been better since they showed me how to hold it this way.”
He leaned over the bed to inspect my fingers, carefully pulling the sling's edge down so he didn’t jar the arm.
His aftershave tickled my senses, and I wondered what he wore.
It was spicy and musky, with a woodsy yet professional scent.
My stomach tightened every time I inhaled.
“It’s a bit swollen, which is to be expected, but not enough that I'm concerned. The repair was much more extensive than I expected, so I’m not surprised you had more pain.
I apologize, but you’ll thank me on the back half of things when the arm is useable without pain or disability. ”
“A few days of pain for a lifetime of no problems is well worth it,” I agreed with a smile.
He swung the tray table over the bed and opened the container’s lid. “This is from Ivy. She said it’s tortilla de…”
He paused, obviously trying to remember, so I filled in the blank for him. “?Tortilla de papas?”
“Yes, that,” he agreed with a snap of his fingers. “What is that?”
“A traditional dish from Spain,” I answered, poking at it with the plastic fork she’d included. “It’s eggs, thinly sliced potatoes, and onions.”
“Like a frittata?” he asked, and I made the so-so hand, the fork wiggling in the air.
“Except you don’t bake it. It’s all done in a frying pan, like an omelet.”
“Why do they call it a tortilla if there isn’t one in it?” he asked, and the confusion was evident in his voice.
“Tortilla just means small cake, and this is one. The word is used differently in each Spanish-speaking country. My family was from Spain, so to me, this is a tortilla. You can eat it plain or with toppings, and it can be eaten hot or cold. I prefer cold, but that’s how I grew up.
My yaya was a great cook, and this was a staple in our house. ”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “Does Yaya mean mother in Spanish? I’ve only ever heard it used in Greek families.”
“In Spain, it's a less formal name for your grandmother. Like here they use nana, so we would use yaya.”
“Oh, your grandmother. You lived with her as a kid?”
“I did,” I agreed, setting the fork down.
As good as it looked, I wasn’t sure my stomach would, well, stomach it.
“We lived in Detroit most of my life. My father worked in construction, and Yaya took care of me. When my dad was killed in an accident, she moved us to Bells Pass. It was during my sophomore year of college that she fell ill, so I left school to care for her. I owed her that much, you know?” Rather than answer, he squeezed my right hand with a nod.
“She passed away almost two years ago, but I just got her estate cleared up and the house sold.”
“That leads me to my next question,” he said, and I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t something I’d have to lie to him about. “The tortillas at the diner aren’t the same as those tortillas,” he said, pointing at the container. “Why?”
“Well, again, there are different ways to use the same word, but in the case of the diner tortillas, I was out at the tree farm making a delivery. Lance and I were tossing around ideas for a new dish for the diner that the school-to-work kids could be in charge of from start to finish. Tortilla de papas is tasty, but it's not challenging enough for our advanced program. I suggested my yaya’s Spanish rice because it can be made in large quantities. We tried a sample batch, and Lance had some sundried tomato tortillas left over from Taco Tuesday. I dumped the rice in one to see what it would taste like.”
“My mouth is salivating. I already know how it tastes. Delicious!” he exclaimed with laughter.
“That was also our assessment,” I agreed with a smile.
“The kids loved it, so Ivy agreed to make it a daily special on the food truck on Tuesdays.
The rest is history, present company to thank for that.
Now that they'll be putting it on the diner's menu, the chefs will make the rice since the kids are plenty busy with the tortillas. Especially now that Ivy wants to sell them at the bakery.”
“I’d buy them,” he said quickly. “They’re that good. You can’t get anything like them in the store.”
“I agree. Anyway, that’s the story with the flour tortillas versus the tortilla de papas.”
“Which you aren’t eating,” he pointed out, and I shrugged.
“My stomach has been touchy since surgery. I’m afraid to eat it and then puke on you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty girl has vomited on me,” he said with so much nonchalance I wanted to laugh.
“It won’t be me since I’m not pretty. I must look affright.”
“Not at all,” he said, touching my hand again. “And you are pretty. I do wish you felt better, considering I’m responsible for your current predicament.”
“No, this is my fault for listening to Ivy Lund. She said it was safe, but something in my gut told me otherwise.”
“I’m sure she meant you no harm.”
“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, putting my hand to my mouth for a moment. “I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t tell her I said that.”
“I wouldn’t,” he promised, squeezing my hand for comfort.
“I just meant that I should have listened to my gut, knowing how much I need to work and can’t risk an injury. It wasn’t smart on my part at all.”
“Listen, Jaelyn, stop beating yourself up about it. Accidents happen, and you’ll be back at work in no time. Ivy said you don’t have to worry about the bills, so please try to relax. Being tense and anxious won’t help your pain.”
If only he knew why I was tense and anxious, but that was need-to-know information, and he didn’t need to know. “Right. I’ll try. Thank you for stopping by to check on me. I do appreciate it.”
After leaning back in the chair, he smiled. “I was happy to, though I know Dr. Russel will take good care of you. The nurses are working on your discharge paperwork, so I’ll stick around long enough to drive you home.”
“Oh, no, please don’t,” I said in shock. There was no way I was going to tell him I didn’t have a home. “You don’t have to do that. Ivy promised to pick me up when I was ready.”
“Since she’s busy at the diner, I told her I would take care of you.”
“Shoot. I forgot that someone else would have to cover my shifts. That sucks for Ivy.”
“She said she considers it her penance for you getting hurt and that you shouldn’t worry about it.”