Page 247 of Wild Card 13

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. “Go before your face gets worse.”

“My face is beloved by many.”

“It is tolerated by family.”

Grandpa nodded. “Strongly tolerated.”

I pulled my coat on in the mudroom, still smiling. My keys were in one hand, phone in the other. I was halfway through texting Naomi when Grandma came in behind me carrying a dish towel.

“Grandma, I told you I had it.”

“I am not chasing you.” She reached for a reusable grocery bag hanging on the row of hooks beside the door. “You’re taking the leftover potatoes.”

“I have food.”

“You have protein powder and decisions your mother would not approve of.”

“I own vegetables.”

“In theory.”

She stepped forward, slipper catching the edge of the small rug by the bench. It happened quietly. No dramatic cry. No crash big enough to warn my body before my brain understood it. Just the soft skid of fabric, Grandma Ruth’s breath cutting off, Grandpa saying her name from the kitchen, and my grandmother folding toward the floor in a way that was wrong before it was loud.

I caught her shoulder, but not fast enough. Her hip bumped the bench. Her ankle twisted beneath her. She hit the floor with a sharp little sound she tried to swallow. Everything inside me went cold.

“Ruth,” Grandpa Hal yelped.

“I’m fine,” she snapped immediately, which was how I knew she was not.

I dropped to my knees beside her. “Don’t move.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I heard you lying. Don’t move.”

Her face had gone pale around the mouth. She looked more embarrassed than scared, which made something in my chest hurt so badly I had to clamp down on it.

Grandpa crouched slower on her other side, one hand braced against the wall. His face was steady, but his eyes were not.

“Where?” I asked her.

She glared at the rug like it had betrayed the family. “My ankle.”

“Which one?”

“The one currently being dramatic.”

“Grandma.”

“Left,” she said through her teeth.

I looked without touching too much. No obvious break. No angle that made my stomach turn. Swelling already starting near the outside of her ankle, though. She tried to pull her foot back when I reached toward it. “Absolutely not,” I said.

“You are not a doctor.”

“No, but I have donated half my body to various team medical staffs’ continuing education since I was sixteen.”

Grandpa Hal’s hand settled on Grandma Ruth’s shoulder. “We should go in.”