Page 145 of Full Contact

“Heath decided once what I should know,” he said quietly. “Then I did the same thing to him. It cost us three weeks.”

“This is a wrist.”

“It’s you.”

He was gone before I’d decided what to say.

I called Mark at ten-thirty from my couch, with a bag of frozen peas on my wrist.

“You’re still up,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I’m on question nine. I’ve decided it’s a good question.” Paper rustled on his end.

“I need to tell you something. I took a hit in the second, and my wrist got caught between me and the boards.”

The rustling stopped.

“Which wrist?”

“Left.”

“What did the trainer say?”

I repeated the entire conversation.

“Can you move your fingers?”

“I’m moving them now. Peaches is rubbing her head against them.”

“Will you text me after she looks at it?”

“Yes.”

I let my head drop back against the cushion, and I said the next thing that popped into my head before thinking it through.

“I almost didn’t tell you.”

“So when were you going to tell me?”

“I was going to tell you after your meeting if it turned out to be something.”

The line went quiet. I could hear Mark’s refrigerator running.

“I’m glad you told me,” he said. “I am.” Then: “Can I ask why my having a busy week almost meant I didn’t get to hear about it?”

“I didn’t want to add to your evening.”

At my stall, that had seemed kind. Out loud, in my living room, it sounded like I’d decided how much he could handle without asking him.

“Next time I’ll call from the stall,” I said.

“Good. Text me in the morning.”

“I will. Go finish question nine.”

“Ten. Nine’s done.” He paused. “And ice it properly. Not with the peas balanced on top while you hold the phone.”