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“You’ve got a video call with Dr. Vincenti at ten-thirty,” she continued. “Drea set it up.”
“Still organizing me.”
“As long as possible. And, for my contribution there, I’ll bring you up some more yarn.”
She wanted to get up, do something. Anything. But had to admit she felt as lousy as she’d looked in the mirror.
“I guess I half promised to make a scarf for Joel. A manly one.”
“I’ve got just the thing. I’ll go get it for you, and after we see what the doctor says, we’ll go from there.”
“If he orders me to stay in bed another day, I will. But otherwise.”
“We’ll go from there. I’ll go get the yarn.”
Her mother had scrambled eggs with chunks of ham—a childhood favorite. She did her best with it as she stared out the window at a pretty snow shower.
And yearned to walk in it.
Elsie came back with the yarn. “Definitely manly. A nice ombré that goes from black to light gray.” She glanced at the tray. “One more bite?”
“I took one already.” Sloan crossed her heart.
“All right then. I’m going to set this aside, then show you how to do a double crochet stitch.”
“Now you’re scaring me.”
“You can handle it.” She added a smug smile. “And now you have to sit still long enough to learn.”
After a few poor attempts, Sloan got the rhythm. And found herself ridiculously pleased.
“Soothing, isn’t it? And satisfying.”
“I stand—well, sit—corrected.”
“I’m going to take your tray down and give you privacy for your call with your doctor. And because I trust you to tell me everything he says.”
“That’s sneaky.”
“And it works. Drea’s sent you a link for the call. Let me know when you’re done, and—”
“We’ll go from there.”
Sloan set the yarn aside, shifted her laptop. Bracing herself, she made the call.
He came quickly on-screen. “Sloan.”
“Dr. Vincenti, thanks for talking to me. I want to say I’m sorry I screwed up. Honestly, I didn’t mean to. I just—didn’t think. He was crying, and held up his arms, and I just reacted. I promise you I’ve been following the discharge instructions. I have a spreadsheet. I can send it to you.”
Even in her rush to explain herself, Sloan caught his mild amusement. “A spreadsheet of?”
“Daily activities, food intake, sleep, all of it. I’ve been making progress, but I’ve been careful. Until.”
“I’d like to see the spreadsheet. Meanwhile, Dr. Marlowe’s report and attachments are very thorough. You estimate the boy’s weight at twenty-five pounds.”
“His parents weighed him, and he came in at twenty-three.”
“You’re lucky there’s no tear, no internal bleeding or damage. What’s your pain level this morning?”