What do you do when you can't sleep because the upstairs neighbours (by which I mean the possums that live in my roof) are making a racket? Write a chapter and post it at 1.35am, of course.
Chapter 48
The rest of the journey to Bobby's car was undertaken in silence, and I wasn't sure it was the good kind. While I was grateful that Bobby had kept his arm wrapped around me, holding me to his side as we walked, allowing me to syphon of some of his strength, I was also acutely aware of the fact that not only had I inadvertently interrupted Bobby's off duty time for a medical related issue just as he was explaining how he never really felt like he wasn't working, but I'd made it worse by being difficult about it. I knew he was only looking out for my best interests, and he was right about needing to get my bruise checked out properly in case there was some hidden damage underneath, but hospitals freaked me out, and I just wasn't mentally prepared for the suggestion that I should go to one since I hadn't realised I was injured.
When we arrived at Bobby's gunmetal grey Honda HRV, he opened the hatch back and got me to sit on the edge of the trunk while he rifled through the large first aid kit he kept there. After several seconds of searching, he pulled out a gel pack and started massaging and shaking it. Silence still prevailed, and I was starting to worry. He only wanted to make sure I was okay, but what was it costing him, especially when my actions were making things harder for him.
I watched as he pulled a couple of paper towels out of the caddy that hung on the back of the rear seats and wrapped the gel pack in them before holding it out to me. We'd been through this process enough that I knew without him telling me what to do with it, taking it from his hands and pressing the now cold pillow to my side where the bruise was.
"Sorry," I mumbled, averting my gaze as he made quick work of tidying the supplies he'd used.
That caused him to pause, and I could feel his eyes on me, burning a hole in the side of me head. "Sorry for what?" he asked, sounding confused.
I dragged the toe of my sneaker along the asphalt, focusing on the scraping noise it made. "For making you go into medic mode after you just got done telling me how exhausted you are from constantly being on call," I explained to the ground of the parking lot. "For not getting the proper medical attention in the first place. For making you worry, and freaking out on you."
The suspension on the car dipped as Bobby sat down next to me with a prolonged sigh. "Steph, you don't have to be sorry," he said. "It's not your fault."
"It kinda is," I pointed out. "I got injured and didn't take care of it and now you're in work mode even though you're not at work and I made things worse by not-"
He placed a hand on my knee, effectively cutting off my ramble, and used two fingers of his other hand on the side of my chin to gently urge me to look at him. "You can't take care of something you don't know exists," he said, when I finally met his gaze. "It would be different if you'd known about the bruise and had just not bothered to get it checked out. I don't mind doing this for you, because I know how uncomfortable medical stuff makes you. If I can ensure you get the care you need with as little anxiety as possible, then I call that a win."
"But what about you?" I said, searching his face and finding it frighteningly sincere. "You need to take care of you, too."
He nodded shortly, patting my knee, and getting to his feet. "And I will," he assured me, assisting me to stand while ensuring I kept the ice pack on my side. "But you come first."
I didn't think that was a healthy outlook, especially since he'd already identified his own ailments, but I found I was unable to argue my point as he guided me into the front passenger seat of the vehicle. There were thoughts rolling through my head that I was having a hard time acknowledging. Thoughts about feelings that I wasn't prepared to examine right now. They were too big, and I was already in a heightened state of emotion. It was all I could do to focus on the cold seeping into my skin as Bobby climbed in behind the wheel and started the car.
Thankfully, once we were in motion, Bobby returned his attention – mental attention, that is – to my injury, asking questions to gain a better understanding of it's occurrence and effect on my body. By the time we reached the clinic I had rehashed the fight with Janice and her son in as much detail as I could muster and he was nodding with his lips pressed together and his eyes glued straight ahead. He wasn't happy about the fact that I'd gotten in a fight, but the fact that I'd won put him in that awkward place of not knowing how to react.
"Does it hurt when you move?" he asked, pulling into a parking space in the empty lot. It was still early, and I had a suspicion, that the clinic wasn't even open yet. The reception area visible through the plate glass windows was dark.
"There's a little bit of discomfort," I confessed. "But not really the kind of pain that makes you stop what you're doing. Does that make sense? It's like, I don't know, a mild ache? Like I've worked it too hard?"
He nodded, slipping out of the car and coming around to my side. He didn't move to assist, because I was already out by the time he got there, but he did close the door for me and put a hand on the small of my back to lead me around to a back entrance of the building. "An ache sounds better than acute pain," he explained quietly, knocking lightly, and standing to the side of the door, waiting. "But I'd still feel better if we confirmed that there's no further damage under the bruise."
I didn't say anything, partly because with the panic of the suggestion of a hospital laid to rest, I realised that he was right like always, but mostly because the door swung open to reveal a slender woman with golden toffee skin and natural hair that was scrapped back into a sizeable puff of a ponytail on top of her head. She was already mid sass when she realised we were not who she had been expecting.
"Did you forget your key again¸ Ke- Bobby?" she interrupted herself as she caught sight of the pair of us. "What are you doing here?"
"I need a favour," he stated simply, tilting his head toward me. "Stephanie got in a bit of a tussle yesterday and she has a nasty bruise on her side. I want to make sure she hasn't got any cracked ribs."
She narrowed her eyes at Bobby, like she was trying to figure him out, and I had to wonder about their history. They were obviously familiar, that much was obvious from the fact that she recognised him at first sight. Unless, of course, she was just really good at guessing people's names. The way she was eyeing Bobby and the fact that Bobby was still as relaxed as he'd been before the door opened told me she wasn't a threat, but there was something complex going on between them while they stared each other down. Something I couldn't put my finger on just yet.
"Did you take a wrong turn on the way to the emergency room?" she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a single eyebrow at him, further proving my theory that literally everyone in the world could do that but me, and making me wonder if this was an ex-girlfriend of Bobby's.
"No," he said simply.
"Is there some threat you're going to clue me in on that is preventing you from taking her to the emergency room?" Clearly, she knew how Bobby and the guys operated. Maybe they used the clinic from time to time for discreet medical care when they needed to keep a low profile.
Bobby's answer to this question was the same as the last: "No."
"You're not getting in without a good reason, Robert," she announced, emphasising his full given name, like it was a weapon and she was well practiced at wielding it.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a good reason, Kathryn," he replied, returning the sentiment.
I glanced at the nametag on her blouse: Katie. And suddenly it dawned on me. The non-threatening tension that was stretched between them. The use of full names as a kind of insult. The odd feeling that this woman looked familiar despite the fact that I'd never seen her before in my life. "You guys are siblings, aren't you?" I asked, looking from one to the other as I noted the colour of their skin, the shape of their lips and eyes, the set to each of their jaws. Now that I'd thought it, there was no way I could unsee it. "Bobby, why didn't you tell me you have a sister?"
"Yeah, Bobby," Katie said, her face taking on even more of a challenging expression as she needled him with her pointed glare. "Why didn't you tell her you have a sister?"
"Can we do this inside while you're taking some x-rays?" Bobby sighed defeatedly.
Her lips twitched into a smile, leaning a shoulder casually against the doorframe. This was a woman who knew exactly what kind of power she held. "What makes you think I'm going to help you if I'm not even important enough to tell your girlfriend about?" she questioned.
"She's not my-" Bobby started to deny at the same time I found myself stumbling over my own tongue to set the record straight: "We're not-"
Katie laughed and shook her head, clearly amused by our inability to articulate the fact that we were not, in fact, in a relationship beyond being good friends. "Just get inside," she instructed, stepping to the side and pointing with a straight arm down the hall. "Bobby, you grab the forms and start filling them out, Stephanie, you come with me and we'll take some glamour shots of those ribs."
Ten minutes later the pictures were taken, and Bobby and I were sitting in spare office chairs while Katie processed my details into the system. "So, why me?" she asked over her shoulder as she tapped away at the keys. "Why not the hospital?"
"Steph doesn't like hospitals," Bobby explained simply, extending his leg out in front of himself as he relaxed back. Now that he'd gotten a second opinion on my bruise and the x-rays had been taken, the worry that had been shrouding his normally easy-going demeanour had lifted. He still looked like he could use a period of hibernation to catch up on all the sleep he'd been losing, but at least some of the tension lines on his face had eased.
Katie snorted. "No one likes hospitals."
She had a point, I had to give her that.
"My anxiety over hospitals is a little more acute than the norm," I said, fiddling with the now room-temperature gel pack as I let myself slowly swing side to side in the chair. "I sorta freaked out when Bobby suggested I'd need to go to one, so he brought me here instead."
"Loved one died tragically?" she guessed matter-of-factly, still focused on the screen before her and the information Bobby had provided on the forms she'd gotten him to fill out.
I shook my head, because even though Katie couldn't see me, Bobby's gaze was locked on my every move. I owed him an explanation after all the trouble I'd caused for him over the years. "I was really accident prone as a kid," I said, glancing toward Bobby. He hadn't moved, but I could tell his interest in what I had to say had peaked, his head lifting ever so slightly. "And my mother isn't the most patient and accepting woman in the world. I got lectures on the daily about all the ways I'd screwed up. But whenever I managed to injure myself and she had to take me to the emergency room, the lectures got ten times worse. When I broke my arm, we were sitting in the ER waiting room, and I was crying in pain, and she was constantly telling me how much of an idiot I'd been to think that I could jump off the garage roof and fly. She never really showed me any compassion, or concern beyond making sure I got medical attention. She was more concerned with what the neighbours would think and trying to make me be a model child like my sister. Now, every time I have to go the hospital my mother's words run through my head and I can't get them out. I'm just a screw up."
"Jeez Louise," Katie breathed, spinning around to face us. "What a piece of work!"
"Helen Plum is very concerned with public image," Bobby explained. "She has a strict set of guidelines that she follows and tries to impose them on others. When Steph refused to fall in line, it caused a constant power struggle that has lasted clear through to this day."
That was a fairly succinct way of describing my mother and the relationship I had with her. Even with all the strides we'd made since I returned from England, with me trying to be more understanding and keeping her in the loop more so that she wasn't knocked for six every time the gossip tree called to tell her what disaster I'd gotten myself into now, there were still points of contention that seemed like they would never be resolved. Like my job, for example. I loved the work I did, but Mom didn't seem to care about that. She'd be much happier if I got married and became a housewife and, eventually, a mother. I'd heard a lot about the ticking of my biological clock recently.
"When can expect the results?" Bobby asked, abruptly changing the subject. He must have caught my vibe. Either that or he'd learned from experience that prolonged exposure to or discussion about my mother tended to send me to less than happy places.
"I'll get Keith to look at the scans when he gets here and I'll text you the report as soon as he's done," Katie said, glancing between the pair of us curiously before she spun back to the computer to finish up. "If you don't leave in the next two minutes, I can't be held responsible for any prying questions that may leave my lips," she warned. "I suggest you leave now while you have the chance."
Bobby was on his feet before she'd even finished talking, returning the seat to it's proper position at the desk and holding out a hand to pull me up as well. He made sure I had my jacket and the gel pillow and ushered me back down the hall toward the back door, pausing only long enough to call a quick thank you to Katie before we stepped through to the parking lot and he closed the door behind us.
"So that's my sister Kathryn," he explained redundantly, sending me a sheepish smile as we made our way back to car.
There was an extra spring in my step as we rounded the corner and I didn't know if it was because I had the whole medical facility thing behind me, or if it was eagerness to delve further into the glimpse of Bobby's family life I'd just gotten, but by the time we were both buckled into the HRV I was brimming with questions. "Is she older or younger than you?" I asked as he pressed the ignition button. "How many siblings do you have? Do you guys get along? How often do you see each other? Do you use the clinic for Rangeman stuff?"
The questions continued to pour out of my mouth until Bobby let out a groan, leaning his head against the steering wheel. "I need coffee," he announced.
For the record, I wasn't even aware that Bobby had a sister until she appeared...