The first thing I thought when I realized how badly he was injured was that this situation reminded me of a movie I'd once seen. Then I shook that ridiculousness off and it really hit me why he was in so much more pain that he would have been if it had been a regular injury, some normal accident. For one thing, it was my fault. For another thing, the River Heights football program was so thoroughly capitalized upon that the first practices started in a week.
That was why it hurt so badly.
I couldn't believe I'd been so stupid. I couldn't believe that I was so amateurish that I had been unable to truly process a situation – I called myself an amateur detective, but from this, it seemed that all of the "amateur" in the title was still very much a part of me.
The case ended, of course, and then it was back to the regular routine – for everyone but him and the criminal, anyway. Ned was still in the hospital; the criminal was still in jail. I couldn't hang around the hospital all the time, because the room was too white and it reminded me of things I'd rather forget, and besides, I had to tell my friends what had happened.
That was something I severely dreaded.
It happened on a Sunday morning. I had been contemplating going to church, because God knew I needed some serious help from a serious source, but as I was about to leave the front door swung open. In trooped all of Frank Hardy, Joe Hardy, George Fayne, Bess Marvin, and Helen Corning-Archer, all of them looking quite solemn.
"Hi guys," I managed. "I was just about to go to church…" I sort of half-gestured at myself, trying to indicate my dressy outfit. "Umm, do you want to wait until I get back?"
"No," said Bess, obstinate as usual. "You have been avoiding us for, like, a week. So sit down and tell us what's wrong."
I couldn't avoid this. I hoped God forgave me and sighed, relenting – I walked over and seated myself on the couch in the living room. The gang followed me, seating themselves separately around the living room. I had a vague hope that they would start talking amongst themselves, but they were all staring at me, making me more uncomfortable than I already was.
"Stop staring at me," I finally snapped, looking up from the carpet. The first person I looked directly at was Helen. Her big deer-like brown eyes were studying me with a mix of apprehension and sympathy; for some reason this made a lump rise in my throat. I wasn't about to cry in front of them – I never cried in front of anyone. I hardly even cried when I was alone.
"Nance," said George, reaching over to put her hand on my shoulder, "we're here for you."
I swallowed hard and hoped in vain that it hadn't been noticeable. Frank was looking more and more out-of-place by the second, and beside him, Joe was looking just the opposite, quickly becoming the comic relief I obviously needed. Helen still sat there, simply looking at me; George still had her hand on my shoulder, waiting for me to be ready; and Bess was frowning at me, puzzlement clear in her bluer than blue eyes.
"Fine," I said, a little harsher than I'd intended. "Ned's in the hospital. The doctor said…the doctor said he has a non-displaced fracture of his right femur, but the swelling was too much and they haven't been able to take an x-ray yet so they can't do anything about it…"
"Oh, God," said Helen, covering her mouth with a hand in that childlike Helen way. I thought it would have been more appropriate for her to be saying something along the lines of the Our Father instead.
"I'm so sorry, Nancy," said George, and Bess echoed this sentiment. Joe nodded in agreement, suddenly looking far more somber than I had ever seen him – and I realized that Frank looked like he was deep in thought. He looked like he wasn't even here, wasn't even listening.
I was already beyond distressed at the thought of Ned and how it had been my fault that he was sitting in the hospital thinking about football and wishing he could play. The fact that it seemed Frank didn't even care made me angrier than I knew I could be.
"Uh, Nancy?" said Frank slowly, looking at me with his head tilted slightly to the right, his brown eyes round with curiosity; "How do you know what's wrong with him if there's too much swelling for an x-ray?"
"Really, dude?" said Joe almost immediately, smacking Frank in the shoulder. "So the wrong time to be smart."
"No, it's fine," I said. I wasn't so angry with him anymore once I knew what his problem was. "The doctor said it was most likely that it was a non-displaced fracture of the femur – he said that Ned would've been in more pain if…if it had been an actual displaced fracture."
Frank nodded, satisfied, and he began to look more pitying. I wasn't sure whether that was nice or annoying; so many people were surrounding me, all feeling bad for me, when I was sure there was so much more out in the world to feel bad for. Like Ned, for example.
"Do you want to explain this to us in American?" asked Bess hesitantly.
I had to smile at that, if only slightly. My small smile felt rather like a grimace – I hadn't had much practice with the action lately. "Bess, I really hope you know that American isn't a legitimate language. We're speaking English."
"Oh, I know," said Bess, swatting away the remark with a quick dismissive motion of her hand. "Anyway, please explain."
"He broke his thigh-bone," said George before I could answer Bess.
Helen still looked to be in a state of shock, though her hand that had been covering her mouth was now sliding back to rest in her lap. "We have to go visit him," she said with determination in her strengthening voice. Then her voice wavered again as she said: "Oh no – football practice starts next week, doesn't it?"
I nodded mutely.
"Scholarship time and all," George half-whispered. She moved her hand from my shoulder to fold her arms. I suddenly felt very cold – it was even like she was blaming me for what had happened to Ned now, too…
"What happened?" Frank asked. I should have known he would be the one to want the full details. I really would have rather spared them, but I decided that I'd just lay out the facts straight up. They would never let me leave the room if I neglected to tell them what had happened.
So I told them in as little words as I could.
I had been so close to catching the culprit, so close to getting some incriminating evidence, but the criminal was escaping in his car. I had to follow them – I had to…otherwise the culprit would have gotten away, he would have been off to murder more people in cold blood.
Ned hadn't wanted to go. He hadn't wanted either of us to go. But his car was the closest, so I forced him – I made him get in and start and car and drive after the criminal that was speeding away, though I could have simply called the police and had the whole thing over with.
Of course, speeding down back roads is always a horrible idea. Speeding anywhere is a bad idea, but especially on narrow little roads where you don't see another car popping out of a driveway until it's too late and there's a pickup truck in your windshield. There wasn't a pickup truck in our windshield, but the criminal had begun to make an illegal U-turn, probably to cut back, maybe thinking that we'd lose him.
No, a pickup truck didn't end up in our windshield, but a stolen Corvette did. And because of the angle at which it hit us, it didn't hit my side of the car at all. It only hit Ned's side of the car, making his airbag deploy, making our car whirl to a halt, making the door crush against him, making his leg swell up and sending him to the hospital.
He'd told me it was great that we'd caught the culprit.
I'd told him I'd rather have him healthy.
It took me a few minutes to return to reality from the memory. I looked around at the room absently. Helen caught my eye, and she abruptly walked over to hug me. Then Bess, George, Frank, and Joe all did the same.
Beyond that visit from my good friends, everything seemed to blend together. I could tell that my father was worried about me – not to mention my dog and Hannah the housekeeper. Still, I couldn't muster up the courage to face poor Ned again until the following Wednesday.
I pulled up to the hospital in my car, parking out front. I felt like I didn't know what I was doing there. It took me a good five minutes to tell myself to go and see him, and then to climb out of my car and hurry inside, locking the car behind me. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my denim shorts as I walked in.
I knew where Ned's room was. I told the receptionist where I was going so she knew I wasn't just loitering. Soon enough I was lingering outside the door, and then I took a deep breath and walked inside.
It was like I'd walked into a room full of guilt. Thick, steamy, uncontrolled guilt, rolling around and befouling the air like nothing else could. Maybe it was more like I'd rammed right into a big wall of it, because it stopped me short the second I stepped into the room.
"Oh! Hey, Nance!" said Ned cheerfully from the bed. "Guess what?"
"What?" I managed to say quietly as I walked over to stand beside his bed. He looked somehow happy, even though he was in this situation; he had always been the optimist. "Are you feeling any better? How's the swelling?"
"It's the Fourth of July!" Ned exclaimed. "I'm not feeling amazing, but it's better than not feeling at all, isn't it? The swelling is definitely going down, the doc said he'd be back pretty soon to check up on me again. Now, how have you been doing?"
His tone had changed at the last question. It was less exclamatory excitement and more hesitantly probing. Suddenly, if it was even possible, I felt worse than I did before. The guilt-smoke was thickening to something almost constricting. "Okay, come here," said Ned, opening his arms.
I walked over and hugged him. It was funny how I was the one that needed comforting when he was the one that was hurt. We hugged each other for a million years wrapped up in a minute, and then I stepped back, feeling an immense weight lifting off of me. The guilt-smoke was suddenly seeping out of the room.
"I'm ridiculous, aren't I?" I said, my voice quavering slightly. Ned reached up absently and wiped a stray tear off my face.
"Maybe a little," he admitted. "You know, football isn't everything."
"But the possibilities of a scholarship…"
"Oh, that can wait," said Ned. "If I focus well enough maybe I could make it by academics instead." He grinned peacefully at me. Quite abruptly, something loud but muffled went off outside somewhere. "Fireworks!" Ned said happily. "Look, I bet you can see them right out the window…"
I walked over and turned off the lights so he could see out the window better, then seated myself in a chair near the window. I scooted it a little closer to the bed, so I was sitting in the chair beside his feet.
We both craned our necks to look, and soon fireworks went off again in an explosion of color. I smiled faintly. Maybe things would turn out all right after all.
A/N: Okay, I have absolutely no idea what inspired this. I really want to post it on HerInteractive but I don't know. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and all constructive criticism is quite welcome! :)
Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Nancy Drew.