"Holy mother-fucker, cock-sucking, c-nt-ridden-"
The blond head looks up from where it was disinfecting the wound."Hurts then?"
Harding glares at the young doctor. "No it's a fucking walk in the park."
They're in a division off of the ER. Harding's sitting up despite all suggestions, shooting daggers at the bone poking out of her arm. She's always surprised by how red blood is.
"You're actually surprisingly coherent. I've seen men reduced to tears."
"I'm too pissed off the be in pain." Despite the strong words, her face is splotchy. "Also a little bit high." She stares at him to distract herself, gaze tracing along his jaw, up to the long hair.
He laughs. "Hope you've got a good stash. This is gonna hurt for a while."
"Yeah, especially if no one bothers to put it back in place."
They've been holding eye contact, but now his eyes travel over the worn blue material of her swimsuit top, down over her stomach."Well, the orthopedist will be here in a sec. Broken femurs are no problem."
"That's fucking fantastic but as you should be able to see while your eyes are down there, both my femurs are securely in place."
"Oh, I, uh, sorry," he blusters. "I was just making sure-"
She gives a one shoulder shrugged. "Didn't say I minded, did I?"
Someone does almost die at lunch time. Harding stands outside Wendy's room, talking to the mother, and forcing her to turn away as the doctors and nurses scurry around.
"What are they doing? What's happening?"
"Shh. Hey, it's all right, yeah? They're very good doctors."
"Clear!"
Mrs Hepburn gives a crinkled sob. "She's not alive. They're trying to restart her heart."
"No, that's not it. They just do that on the telly to make it seem dramatic. That just means her hearts beating wonky, and they're shocking it back into rhythm. Like, when someone's in shock, you know? And you slap them to bring them to their senses. See, hear that? They just said she's resumed normal rhythm."
Mrs Hepburn sobs - this time presumably from relief and stress - and leans her face on Harding's shoulder. "What am I going to do?"
"You're gonna buck up and go in there and make your daughter feel safe. She's not out of the woods, but she doesn't need to know that, all right? Go inspire some optimism, because unlike my embarrassing stories, optimism is proven to help." She rubs Mrs Hepburn's arm in what she hopes is a reassuring manner. "Go on, then."
Hepburn shuffles past Cameron who moves to let her pass.
"Wendy all right?"
"Between you and me, she won't be if we won't figure out what's wrong."
They start down the corridor. "That's true of everything if you think about it." Her phone buzzes. "Oh, sorry. I've got to get this." She ducks out of the way as Cameron moves on. "Bowen Harding speaking."
"Ms Harding, this is Blaire down at Apple Days."
Feeling like bitten down nails and bodies in the ground. "Is everything all right?"
"Well, Winnie just has a rash on her hand and-"
"Oh." she slumps in relief. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just contact dermatitis. Just bung some hydrocortisone on there, she'll be fine."
"It's not contagious?"
Harding laughs. "It's an allergic reaction to some soap."
"She's complaining about it; says it's itchy."
"Yeah, it would be." all the laugh's gone from her voice. "It's an allergic reaction. Look, I'm at work. Would you like me to put a doctor on so they can explain it, or would you rather them continue saving lives? Great, that's what I thought. So bung some hydrocortisone on there and she'll be fine." She snaps the phone shut before Blaire can reply, an exasperated look on her face.
Through a combination of luck and cowardice she manages to avoid Chase for the rest of the day. When five o'clock arrives she scurries out of the hospital. Standing in her spot in the parking lot, she tugs on a pair of jeans under her skirt and discards the latter in her bag. Once flats are exchanged for trainers, she yanks a helmet over her hair and roars off.
The bike is the one luxury she allows herself, the one bit of freedom she's retained. Swerving recklessly through the Princeton traffic, carefully calculated grocery lists and empty bank accounts disappear. Though it is only marginally like kitesurfing, she appreciates it.
The daycare centre appears on her left all too soon. She takes the small break in traffic without an indicator, causing more than one driver to lean on their horn as she u-turns across traffic and slides neatly into an empty parking spot.
"Mummy!" The small voice comes up from somewhere around Harding's knees as the girl runs into her.
"Hey lovey." The normally low voice rises in pitch as she scoops the girl up. "How's my Winnie? How's your hand?"
The girl holds it out. Harding frowns dramatically and kisses it. "All better now!"
She calls a thanks to the worker and heads out the door with Winnie on her hip.
"We're riding bike?" Winnie asks, her face half buried in Harding's collar.
"'Course we are girly. Every day."
She takes more precautions with Winnie. Setting the girl down on the sidewalk, Harding crouches and fastens a bright pink helmet over her daughter's head.
"Why do I have to wear that?" Winnie whines as Harding produces a black leather jacket from her bag.
"To stay safe, Win."
It's much too large for the girl; a man's jacket, worn and soft and expensive. Harding makes sure to avoid looking at the tag as she bundles it around Winnie. Perhaps if things had been different, a teenage Winifred would run her fingers over the tag before putting it on, wondering who R.C. was, why his initials were marked in faded green ink on the inside of his jacket in her mother's hand. But now, Harding knows she can't keep the secret for too long, no matter how much she wants too.
She drives carefully now, any inclination to drive recklessly erased by the toddler-arms wrapped around her stomach. They park some three blocks from the flat; Harding's used to cities and the way they transition from affluence to slums like chameleons changing hues, and she's learned to take advantage of it.
"Why d'we have to park so far away Mummy?" Winnie whines.
"Ah, up ya go then." She likes being face to face with her daughter. They share the same ambiguously hazel eyes, but the set of Winnie's face is more serious, her longer nose and pinker lips emulating the kind of childhood solemnity that every parent likes to believe is unique to their child. Her hair is lighter as well, a dark blonde that Harding's doesn't even achieve after hours in the sun.
"We park far away cause…walkings good for you Win."
The girl giggles. "Not for me!"
"Not for you, huh? Guess I get double the exercise then! Does this mean I get your dinner?"
"No!" she shrieks with laughter and hides her smile in Harding's shoulder for a moment.
A man looks over at the noise, and Harding stiffens at his gaze - it's getting dark.
"C'mon Winnie then, best get home." Tightening her grip around the girl, she quickens her pace.