“She was,” Susan laughed. “And she’s nearly doubled it already. She’s making twenty-six percent. Twenty-six!”
“What about Olivia?”
“What about her?” Susan said disingenuously.
“Her looks?”
“So she looks like me. Men marry their mothers, you know that.” She gestured at me. “You think it’s a coincidence that Christy’s a blue-eyed blonde with brains and ambition?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my,” Susan laughed. “Someone’s in denial.”
“I am not in denial.”
“Okay,” I said abruptly. “This conversation just took a turn for the Freudian. That’s my cue to say goodbye. I love you, Mom.” I bent and kissed her cheek. I did the same to Susan and added, “I love you too.”
“What a nice young man,” she teased my mother. “Someone must’ve raised him right. Who could that be?”
“It certainly wasn’t his father,” Mom muttered.
“Don’t worry about her,” Susan said to me. “She woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.” Susan grinned and added to me, “She’ll come around. Between you and Erin and… other things, she’s dealing with lots of changes.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. In the meantime,” Susan continued, “I’m sure you have work to do.”
“Yes, thank God,” I said.
“Him too,” she agreed.
* * *
I went to work on the Retreat and started with the next bungalow. But I struggled with things that would’ve been easy without my splint. My hand felt fine, maybe a little sore, but not too bad. So I took off the splint and went back to work.
Christy brought me lunch and noticed immediately. She frowned but didn’t say anything, although she probably should’ve. By the time I finished for the day, my hand was swollen and tender, and I couldn’t grip a tool without pain shooting up my arm.
“Let me see.” She shook her head and sighed. “You’re as bad as my brothers. It isn’t bruised, so I don’t think you re-broke it. Let’s ice it tonight and see the doctor in the morning.”
“It isn’t that bad,” I protested.
“Paul, this is your hand. Your right hand.”
“So? I can jerk off with my left.”
“Funny, ha ha. But think about it. Your entire career depends on your hands. Do you really want to risk nerve damage or permanent injury?”
“No.”
“Mmm.”
To her credit, she didn’t continue to browbeat me, and she didn’t ask silly questions about why I’d taken off the splint. Instead, she brought me an ice pack and cut up my dinner so I could eat one-handed.
The swelling went down eventually, although my hand still ached in the morning. Christy insisted on driving us to town.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Besides, I’m not even sure you can. I’ve never seen you do it.”
She found her purse, took out her wallet, and defiantly showed me her California Driver’s License. Her sixteen-year-old self even looked good in the photo.
“Very cute,” I said. Then, “Hold on, you never got a Tennessee license?”
“No. Why? Was I supposed to?”
“You’ve lived there four years,” I said in mild exasperation.
“So?”
“You were supposed to get one when you became a resident. Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Thank you. Now…” She gestured for the car keys.
“Oh, no, you still aren’t driving.”
“Why not?”
“Because your license expired.”
“It did not!”
“Did too. A year ago.”
She looked at it and then stomped in frustration.
“Oh, boy,” I chuckled, “you really hate losing.”
She glared.
“Don’t worry, I’m okay to drive.”
“Stupid license,” she grumbled.
“Come on, let’s go.”
* * *
The doctor X-rayed my hand and said that I hadn’t re-injured it. He added that the fracture showed signs of healing. Then he asked why I hadn’t been wearing my splint. I told him and braced for a lecture. He didn’t disappoint. He didn’t give me too much grief, but he made it clear that I needed to give the bone time to heal. He described all the bad things that could happen if I didn’t, while Christy silently nodded along.
“So,” he finished, “wear the splint, young man, for another ten days. You shouldn’t have any complications. But it might be several weeks before you can use the hand for work.”
“I can’t wait that long,” I balked. “I have a job! Several, as a matter of fact.”
“You do construction? I can write your boss a note. Light duty, things that don’t require the use of tools.”
“No. But thanks.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
I shook my head. “I’m sort of the boss.”
The doctor’s shaggy eyebrows went up.
“I have a partner, but he’ll understand. I can still work,” I said, “just not with my right hand. Correct?”
“You can hold things with your thumb and other fingers,” he agreed, “but only to steady them. No gripping.”
“Yeah, okay,” I said in resignation.
“Give it a couple of days to recover first. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“After that, take things in stages. Start exercising your hand in five to seven days. Don’t overexert yourself. Once you stop wearing the splint, work up to holding and lifting things.” He added a laundry list of symptoms I should watch for. “Come see me if you experience anything I just mentioned.” He waited for me to nod and then finished with a smile. “Would you like a lollipop?”
“No, thanks.”
Christy cleared her throat.
“On second thought…”
The doctor chuckled and extended a glass jar of Dum Dums. “Try the watermelon.”
* * *
We returned to camp, and Christy offered to help if I really needed to work. I told her it could wait. Besides, I had plenty of things to do that didn’t require manual labor. Trip probably wouldn’t be happy, but I’d cross that bridge when I had to. Some part of me was counting on him to be in a good mood after Wren agreed to marry him.
“Let’s just hope she says yes,” I said.
“Are you kidding?” Christy said. “She’s been ready since last summer. That’s part of the reason I was so grumpy.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. I was miserable, but everyone else was happy, which only made it worse.”
“Sorry about that.”
She shrugged. “I’m happy now. That’s all that matters.”
“Yeah. And speaking of which… I think I’ll take the doctor’s advice and take a couple of days off.”
“Oh. Okay. Do you want to go to the lake?”
“Well, I might have a better idea.”
“I’m sure you do,” she laughed. “But I should be on top.”
“Ha! No, it isn’t sex.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Well, not right away,” I admitted.
“Whew! You had me worried.”
“Let’s pack a lunch and go on a picnic.”
“Ooh, where to?”
“It’s a surprise.”
* * *
“Oh my gosh, Paul, it’s beautiful!”
I surveyed the lake and the gravel that formed a beach of sorts. The rocks were as bright as I remembered, especially in the noonday sun. A series of boulders led like stepping stones to the big flattop rock, with clear water beyond. The quarry wall on the far side of the lake rose in a sheer cliff. It wasn’t as tall in real life as in my memory, but the waterfall was just as serene, just as beautiful.
“It’s even better in person,” Christy added. “Let’s go for a swim.”
She dropped her pack, kicked off her shoes, and hopped toward the water as she flung her socks in different directions. She danced from boulder to boulder until she reached the big rock, where she scampered to the top.
She stopped and peered over the far edge. Then she turned and waved happily, with an ear-to-ear smile and white teeth that flashed in the sun. I returned the wave before she faced the lake, raised her arms, and sprang into the air. She arched gracefully, her body in a perfect diver’s pose. At the top of the arc, she brought her hands together and plunged out of sight.