Page 36 of You Fall First
“So you’re aware the doctors at Mayville think I’m so very gorgeous they want to keep me here for a while?”
“I heard the rumors, yes.”
“The rumors have been confirmed by many tests and pokes and prods,” she says, with a half frown. “And even after I’m discharged, hopefully by Friday, I won’t be cleared to fly for another seven to ten days. It’s going to be at least a couple of weeks, NoNo.”
I school my face into an expression that I hope looks closer to compassion than panic. Still, I’d be lying if I said my blood pressure wasn’t ticking up.
I don’t even need a cuff to tell.
“I know I’ve said this a million times, but I’ve seen firsthand what happens when my PT patients try to rush their healing.” My voice is gruff. “Your full recovery is the priority, so take however long you need to travel safely. We’ll be fine.”
“I trust you,” she says quietly.
Something sharp pokes my insides. “I know you do. But I can only imagine how bad you want to get back to … us.”
I intentionally haven’t used the name Dutton yet. I wanted to get the facts of the situation clear first. If I know my sister, she’s got her emotions walled up, terrified of breaking down. Once her dam cracks, things can get intense.
“Pretty bad.” Her sigh is closer to a shudder. “So today’s lesson is don’t wait until your organs are exploding before going to the emergency room.”
I offer her a grim smile. “Tough way to learn.”
“Indeed.” She’s quiet for a moment. “So, how are you holding up?”
“Oh, just fine. You know me.”
“I do. You’re a stubborn man, Noah Stadler.”
“Learned from the best.”
“Well, I hope he takes after you, then.”
He.
She hasn’t said Dutton’s name out loud yet, either, but I know who she means.
“Aw, shucks, sis.”
“No, really,” she insists. “You’re more than a brother to me or an uncle to him. You’re our lifeline.”
“Stop.” I squeeze my lids shut for a moment, then open them. “There goes that dust getting me all misty again.”
Paige’s gaze searches the phone screen, and she gulps like there’s a boulder in her throat the size of a four-year-old. “So where is he?”
“He’s coming.” I glance over my shoulder at the open bedroom door. “He wanted to make something for you. It’s a surprise.”
She leans forward. Her irises are extra dark, the caramel brown clouded over even more than usual. “Does he know yet? That I’m not coming tonight?”
“I didn’t want to tell him until after you and I had a chance to talk. I wanted to confirm the timeline before.”
She smirks. “Chicken.”
“Absolutely.”
A holler of happiness comes from the bedroom doorway. “Mama!”
Dutton scampers into the living room dressed in his Buzz Lightyear costume. He’s dragging a length of butcher paper he’s been working on since he finished his pancakes. And by working on, I mean scribbling all over, trying to approximate a giant picture of himself.
We began by having him lie down on the paper so I could trace his whole body. And since then, he went to town on the thing, filling in Flat Dutton with his own flourishes and art.
