by Vikki Walton
Trish laughed. “Tell us how you really feel, Marie.”
Marie pulled out a chair and sat down. “You know I’m not one to gossip…”
Christie smiled because gossipers always begin their stories with that disclaimer before they launch into gossip—the juicier the better.
“Of course not,” Trish winked at Christie and turned back to Marie. “Now, spill.”
“Well,” Marie leaned in closer, and the two women followed suit, “I’ve heard she’s been stepping out on Cole.”
“Noooo.” Trish put her hand on her chest.
“Yep. She thought he’d have his own real estate agency by now, but he’s content working for the Websters.”
Christie looked around for her phone. She must have left it in the Jeep. “Hey, ladies, I forgot my phone. I need it in case Pop calls.” She wanted her phone, but also to escape the gossip. Her mother instilled in her at an early age that, if people will talk to you about others, they’ll talk to others about you. According to her mom, gossip should have been one of the deadly seven sins, as it fits right in with some others like envy, malice, and pride. She took a quick bite of dill pickle and wiped her hands with a paper napkin. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”
The two women nodded but continued their conversation. Outside, it took a minute for Christie to adjust to the bright light. The heat hit her like a hot, wet blanket across her face. Over on the side, she noticed her father’s truck. She started toward it, when angry voices startled her. They came from behind a large, white truck.
Wait, is that Hector’s truck?
The voices were muted, but it was clearly an argument. It felt like slow motion as Christie swiveled to see her father move toward her, moving around behind the vehicle. The large truck backed up coming close to where her father walked toward her.
He must not see him. “Pop! Watch out!” Christie cried.
Pop moved backward but not quickly enough. The truck shot out of the parking lot, and as it did, the side panel of the truck pushed past Pop, sending him spinning. He fell and landed hard on his right shoulder. The truck took off from the lot.
“Help! Someone help!” Christie screamed as a couple ran over from their Chevy suburban. “Pop! Don’t move. Are you hurt?”
“What do you think? I’m just in this heap on the ground for fun?” He winked at her, but a grimace quickly took its place. “Darling, I think I hurt myself.”
Christie knelt in the dirt as she assessed him. “Where does it hurt, Pop?”
“My shoulder. Bad.”
He had to have seriously injured himself if he would admit to his shoulder being hurt. People rushed out of the building, along with Trish and Marie. “What happened?”
“Some idiot in a truck sped out of here and wasn’t watching where they were going. He barely missed hitting my father. If I wouldn’t have been here, who knows—” She fought back angry tears.
Christie held onto her father, assessing his vitals as time slowed to a crawl. Finally, Christie could hear sirens. “Pop. Help is on the way. Don’t you worry.”
He grimaced and took shallow fast breaths.
“Over here!” People waved to the ambulance while others joined the crowd to see what was happening.
As they loaded her father onto the stretcher, he complained about having to go to the emergency room.
“Pop, I’ll follow you there. Where are your keys for your truck?”
He tried to retrieve them from his pocket, but he winced and stopped short.
“What pocket, sir?” the female EMT asked.
After he pointed to his right hand pocket, he laid back on the stretcher. The woman tossed the keys to Christie.
“We’ll be taking him to the Emergency Center for evaluation.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you there.” She leaned over and rested her hand on his leg, “Pop, I’ll be there soon. Love you.”
“You don’t need to…” A grunt of pain silenced him. “Love you, too.”
The EMT shut the doors, and Christie watched as it left the parking lot.
Trish touched her arm, and Christie jumped. “Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt while you were talking to your dad. I can get Jess to take your Pop’s truck home, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“You don’t need to do that. Plus, if you only knew how he is about others driving his truck…”
“Okay. Your Jeep then.” Trish brushed her hair off her face.
“How did you know I had a Jeep?”
Trish shrugged. “Good guess.”
Tears sprung to Christie’s eyes.
“Ah, hon, you don’t need to cry. Your dad will be fine.”
Christie wiped her eyes. “Yes, I know. Thanks. I hate to impose on you all. What about his practice?”
“Jess can take the Jeep over with him, and I’ll follow him out to y’all’s place and bring him home. No worries. Now, shoo.”
They hugged, and Christie gave her the Jeep keys before heading to Pop’s truck. Inside, she waited for the air conditioning to kick in and her adrenaline to calm down. She waved to Trish and headed toward the medical center. As she drove, anger built back up inside. Had it been Hector driving that truck? Had it been an accident, and he hadn’t seen her father? Or had he meant to scare the old man and got too close? She couldn’t imagine him trying to run him down on purpose. Who had the person driving the truck been arguing with? Maybe he had been so caught up in the argument, he didn’t see her father walking toward the café. All she knew was that Webster Realty would hear from her. No way would Pop sell his property to them.
Over my dead body.
A shiver went up her spine. Christie chose to believe it was sweat interacting with the air conditioning and not a premonition.
Chapter Three
Christie sat in the doctor’s office thumbing through an old magazine. Her father had broken his clavicle and while he had broken his humerus too, luckily, he wouldn’t require surgery. Other than bruises on his side and legs, he’d fared pretty well for being mowed down by a large truck.
“I told you. You didn’t have to come to the doctor with me.” He grasped the sling on his arm.
“Pop, I want to hear how much physical therapy you will need. You cannot use that arm. So how do you expect to take care of yourself?”
“You have to get back to work. I don’t want to be like those old folks who burden their kids.”
Christie smiled. Even though her father was in his seventies, old was someone in their eighties or nineties. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all. Plus, I have taken very little of my leave, and they told me I could take as long as I want.” She didn’t tell her father she’d given notice before they’d advised her to take a longer break and decide on her next steps. She hadn’t known her break from work would include her father breaking his arm. Plus the idea that it could have been on purpose still crept into her thoughts. If she hadn’t have been there, it could have been much worse. “Do you want me to fill out the form for you?”
“No. I already done it while you were parking the car. I could’ve walked. My legs ain’t broke, you know.”
“Pop, it’s hotter than Hades out there.”
“Hey, now. No need for cussing, missy.” He shifted in his seat and rubbed the splint on his arm. “Itching like crazy.”
A nurse appeared at the door and looked down at the chart, a hint of a smile on her lips. She spoke to the room, “Handsome.”
R.C. struggled to get up from his chair. “That’ll be me.”
Other patients chuckled under their breath. Christie rolled her eyes behind her father. Leave it to him to write “handsome” under “what do you prefer to be called” on the form. She followed him as he shuffled toward the nurse.
“Mr. Handsome.” The nurse held the door open for him.
“Darling, no need to be formal. You can just call me handsome.” He moved past the young nurse, who waved Christie in with a wink.
When the docto
r arrived, he introduced himself and pulled up the x-ray that had been taken in the emergency room. “Looks like you got the trifecta here—broken clavicle, scapula and humerus. As you can see, the humerus—that’s your arm bone—has a break here. Not too bad, but it could have been a lot worse. I do see some early signs of osteoporosis, but nothing that would have caused this. The way you fell probably caused the breaks. Your collarbone broke when you tried to stop your fall. But you still landed hard enough to break your shoulder.” He looked at the chart. “Says here it was a vehicle accident?”
“No. Some durn crazy driver hit me with their truck.”
“Oh. That’s terrible. Have you filed charges?”
Christie interjected. “We don’t think they knew my father was there when they backed up and he was so close to it that the truck’s large fender caused him to fall. He could have been in the driver’s blind spot and with the windows up and music playing, the driver probably just wasn’t aware of what happened.” She didn’t say anything about the fight that had occurred just before he sped out of the parking lot. “Anyway, I’m going over there today to speak with them. What does the prognosis look like?”
“We’ll put him in a functional arm brace and keep him in the Figure Eight sling for about four weeks. During that time, we’ll have him start PT.”
Christie shifted in her seat. “I’m a nurse. I can help my father with this. What types of exercises are recommended? Pendulum? Others?”
“Yes. That would be good. I’ll give you a prescription for pain Mr. Taylor, but only take them if you need them. They will make you drowsy, so you don’t want to be driving.” He pushed a pad with what looked like hieroglyphics on it toward them. Christie took it and put it in her purse. “Also, you can do heat packs or if you prefer, ice packs if that helps. Any questions?”
“Yes. How long do I have to wear this dad-burn contraption?”
“Mr. Taylor, it depends on how fast your body heals and if you are consistent with the exercises your daughter will help you with on a daily basis. That said, we’re probably talking somewhere in the neighborhood of six to eight weeks.”
R.C. sat forward in his chair. “Six to eight weeks! I don’t have time—“
“Mr. Taylor, you’re a very lucky man. At your age, you could have broken a hip or required surgery. Give it some time to heal, then do the exercises, and we’ll see you back in a few weeks. Then, we can decide on next steps, okay?”
“Thank you, doctor. I’ll see that he does them.” Christie rose and shook the doctor’s hand.
The doctor stood and shook R.C.’s hand. “If you’ll make an appointment with the nurse for, let’s say, four weeks from now, then we can get a good idea of how you’re progressing.”
“Mr. Taylor.” He patted him on his good arm. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”
They went out to the front desk, made the appointment, and returned to the lobby. As they walked through, the nurses all chimed in, “See you later, handsome.”
He smiled and tipped his gray felt hat.
~~~
Christie stopped at H.E.B. to get Pop’s prescription. She parked and left the Jeep running, since her father was now snoring away. As she left the pharmacy counter, she ran into Kimberly, who was pushing a basket full of groceries, her face down, her gaze glued once again on her phone.
“Hi, Kimberly.”
She jumped. “Oh, Christie. You startled me.” She put her hand to her chest and thrust her phone in her pocket. “So terrible about your dad. Is he okay?”
“Broke his shoulder, but with some physical therapy, he should be okay.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” She set her iced coffee drink into the holder on the full basket.
Christie looked at the items in the basket then back to Kimberly.
Kimberly hesitated. “Hmm, we’re having a party to celebrate our anniversary. Twenty-five years.” She hesitated. “Um, you could come.”
“Thanks, but I need to stay with my dad.”
Relief passed over Kimberly’s face. “Well, you know you’re more than welcome.” She smiled.
“Kimberly, I know you’d left a few minutes before. Did you see who was driving a big white truck? I think it was one of the Webster’s trucks with the decal on the door.”
Kimberly hesitated again. “Nope, no. Can’t say I did. I must have left before your dad was hit by the side of the truck. Will you be going home soon?”
Christie studied Kimberly. Why was she lying? She had to have been there to know that the truck hitting her father caused him to fall. Then, it hit her. Kimberly was the one having the argument with whoever was in that truck. Could it have been Hector? She realized she hadn’t answered Kimberly, who was staring at her quizzically. “Sorry. So tired after yesterday.”
“So, when are you going home?” Kimberly repeated her question.
“Home?”
“You know. Leaving?” Her sickly-sweet tone was one Christie was far too familiar with, having dealt with patients families who tried to con her by using the fake tone.
“This is my home.”
“I know that, silly. I meant, back to where you came from.”
Frustration bubbled up inside at the “where you came from,” statement. Christie shot back. “ I’m not sure when, or even if, I’ll be leaving. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my father, who was almost killed yesterday, is waiting on this medicine.” She stormed off.
Whoa. Where had that come from? She had never been one to cause a scene, but something about Kimberly and the way she spoke to her had grated on her last nerve.
In the truck, she realized that the anger was actually toward whoever had been so negligent that they’d almost run over her father. As soon as she got him settled at home, she would pay Webster Realty a visit.
However, when she rounded the bend on the drive, she saw a white truck sitting in front of the house. As she pulled closer, a man got out of the truck.
No. It couldn’t be. Not today.
It was Cole.
She parked under the tree, cracked the windows, and opened the door. She exited the Jeep and moved to help her father out of the vehicle, but Cole had already made it to the passenger side.
“Please let me help you.” Cole opened the door and helped R.C. up to the porch. Christie silently followed. Cole eased open the front door and helped him into a chair next to the AC unit.
“I’m a mighty bit tired, sonny. No offense.” Pop struggled to keep his eyes open.
“None taken, sir.”
Christie poured a glass of water and handed her father a pill. “Take one of these, Pop. I’d rather we be proactive in managing the pain.”
The old man took the pill and spoke to Cole. “You always were a good kid.”
Cole grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Taylor.”
“Mr. Taylor’s my father. You can call me R.C. now you’re all grown up like.”
“Sir.” Cole nodded.
“Cole, a word?” Christie cocked her head. “Outside.”
They walked in silence.
“Was it you who nearly mowed my father down?”
Cole raised his hands in protest. “Do you really think so little of me that I would do something like that and not even stop?”
“How do you know they didn’t stop?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He leaned his back up against the tree. “Kimberly told me.”
Oh, yes. Kimberly. She, who said she hadn’t been there. But if she hadn’t been arguing with Cole, who had she been arguing with? Maybe she could get more information by not telling him that Kimberly had told her she’d left by then. “Yes, Kimberly had been visiting with me and Trish before the…” What was it… an accident? Or something else?
He took off his Stetson and ran his fingers over his eyebrows. She smiled. He’d had that quirky habit even back in high school. Her heart clenched.
“What are you doing out here, Cole?”
“Hector told me he came out to speak with
your father, and R. C. pulled a shotgun on him.”
Christie motioned over to a pair of chairs under a clump of large old oaks her parents had planted when they’d first married. Cole followed her. “You know my father. All bark and no bite. He wouldn’t have done anything.”
“Well, Emma seems to think—”
“And who’s Emma?”
“The owner of Webster Realty.” He crossed one leg over the other.
“Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten. Continue.” She motioned with her hand.
“Anyway, she thinks Hector should file charges.”
“What?” Christie shot up from her chair.
“Hear me out, okay?” He pulled a legal-size envelope from his pocket. “According to witnesses, they saw one of the Webster trucks leaving the scene. Now, we have lots of agents who have these trucks. As you can see, I have one, Hector does, the Websters do, and a few others. Whenever anyone closes on a major deal, the Websters get them a truck.”
“That’s a pretty nice gift.”
“They still own them. Good tax write-offs, I guess.”
He placed his hat back on his head. “Anyway, she’s talked to Hector, and he’s agreed to drop the charges against your father if he accepts this check and signs the enclosed document saying he won’t pursue any further charges against the Webster organization.”
“Are you kidding me? She’s trying to buy us off by saying they’ll come after an old man if we don’t take this?” She started pacing back and forth. “Who does she think she is? My father could have been killed if the truck had been any closer.”
“Chrissy.” His voice stopped her.
“Do. Not. Call me that. Only my best friends called me that.”
“We used to be friends.”
“The keywords there are ‘used to.’”
Cole rubbed his stomach. “Can you hold on a minute?” He went over to the truck and opened the back passenger door. Inside, was an ice chest. He pulled out a bottle of a blue electrolyte concoction. “Want one?”
She shook her head and sat back down in the chair.
He took a big swig. “I’ve been fighting a horrible stomach bug, and it keeps hanging on. This heat doesn’t seem to help it.” He sat down next to her, moaning a bit as he clutched at his stomach. “Listen, take the check and talk to your father. All you know is that it was a white truck and maybe one of the Websters trucks. These are magnetic signs. They could make a case that someone took the sign and put it on their truck.”