Page 55 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“Dammit, Spencer. How did you let this happen? You have to be more responsible!” I know later I’ll feel bad for berating him, but right now I’m livid and scared. “Did she cry?”
He gives a laugh that entirely lacks humor. “No, not at all, but I noticed it didn’t look right and brought her here. She’s a tough cookie.”
“Which hospital are you at? I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
He lets me know and I hang up to put on a bra and switch to one of my own shirts. Stuffing my feet into a ratty pair of sneakers I left here a few weeks ago, I find Jameson standing there ready to go, keys in hand.
“Thank you,” I mouth.
He nods toward the door. “Let's go.”
Running up to the reception desk in the ER, Jameson on my heels, I grip the sparkly stone counter in my hands and force a smile at the lady working there.
“Hi, my daughter is here. Monroe Shaw.”
She scans something on the computer screen and nods. “Here’s a pass.” She hands me a sticker to affix to my shirt.
“He needs one, too.” I toss a thumb at Jameson.
She gives a forced smile. “Sorry, only two people at a time with a patient.” She points to the sign that’s practically right in front of my face.
I groan, opening my mouth to argue but Jameson grips my arm. “It’s okay. Go.”
“Room six,” she tells me, knowing what’s coming next.
I leave Jameson in the lobby and rush down the hall of glassed rooms and stop outside of six.
“Daddy, it’s so cool. It’s pink. Can I put stickers on it? Can you sign it? Should I have mom sign it? What about my friends?”
Shaking my head, I slide the door open the rest of the way and step around the curtain. Monroe sits on the end of the bed with a pink cast wrapped around her left arm.
“Mom! You’re here!” She jumps off and rushes over to hug my legs. “Look how cool this is!” She holds up her cast like it’s a trophy.
“Are you okay?” Bending down, I wrap my arms around her small body, hugging her properly. She smells like coconuts and saltwater. Her familiar scent brings me a small level of comfort, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s not whole. My little girl has a broken bone.
“I’m fine, Mom.” She rolls her eyes, stepping away from me. “I didn’t even cry, but Daddy did.” She gives a giggle, smiling up at Spencer.
“Stop ratting me out.” He gives a half-hearted smile and ruffles her blond hair.
“Are you ready to go?” I eye her freshly casted arm.
“We’re waiting for the discharge papers.” Standing up, Spencer’s eyes narrow on my neck.
I open my mouth to ask him what he’s staring at, but before I can say anything realization comes over me. Blushing, I tug my shirt over to hide the discoloration from the bite Jameson gave me.
“Why didn’t you answer the phone when I called?” It’s a question, but the way he’s looking at me I think he already knows.
“Sleeping. It was a long night.”
“Hmm.” His jaw clenches and a look of pain contorts his face. “Great.” He looks away, his chest expanding with a sigh.
When Spencer first called and explained what happened, I felt angry that he’d let our daughter get hurt like this, but now I feel resigned more than anything, because I know this could’ve just as easily happened on my watch.
Pulling out the chair, I sit down while Monroe hops back up on the bed.
“The nurses keep asking for pictures with Daddy.” She giggles, her blue eyes swinging between the two of us.
“Sounds professional,” I gripe, stifling the urge to roll my eyes.
