to know that seventeen is way too young to be experimenting with pills and penises. So, steer clear, missy, or I'm so going to sic your brother on that hypersexual boy toy of yours. And, trust me, there is nothing more embarrassing to bring to prom than one of your own relatives. Don't think for a minute he'd ever let you out of his sight again."
I try to bolt from her den of insanity, but she snatches me back by the elbow.
"You know what else he's not going to take so well?" She sets her pretty little face in a snarl. "The fact his bimbo girlfriend let him put a bun in the oven because she doesn't understand the basic principles of procreation!"
I seize at the thought before yanking myself free from her evil little clutches. Technically, I totally understand the basic principles of procreation. I have the perfect letter grade in AP Biology to prove it. It's the basic principles of the birth control pill that seem to have eluded my good senses, and suddenly, I'm virally pissed at the entire pharmacological industry. I might just fire off an angry email to the manufactures, who may have unwittingly assisted in the conception of my first child, and suggest they outfit that pretty little compact they gave me with a fucking skull and cross bones. I'm a visual learner. And, after years of institutionalizing myself in all things scholastic, I've practically trained my brain to mentally checkout during an orientation of any kind.
I stalk off to crash on the sofa.
She is so not going to be an aunt.
Is she?
Cruise's mother managed to break her leg in three different places - spiral fracture of the Tibia and Fibula and a clean break of the Femur. The orthopedist took us to the back and showed us the X-rays. He even let us assist in wrapping the gauze before he set a cast over it. He was sort of an ass though, clamoring on and on about how he was itching to take his girlfriend to dinner and wasn't expecting an emergency. So I kept reassuring Sam she did nothing wrong, even if the asshat of a doctor alluded to the fact she managed to have an ill-timed fall.
And after pulling a shift at the hospital, I sort of feel like a doctor now myself.
Cruise starts a fire while I shower and change.
"You know you kill me in that T-shirt," he says as I saunter into the living room.
For most of my life, all I've ever slept in is a nice long T-shirt, so if Cruise thinks I'm doing it for him, all the better.
"I'm so sorry about your mom," I say, circling his waist in front of the crackling flames. "They'll take good care of her at the clinic once they move her."
"She can't go." He swallows hard. "Insurance won't cover it, and it's thousands of dollars a day. We'd lose the bed and breakfast in a week."
"What are you going to do?"
"Set up a room for her downstairs. Molly will help, and I'll have to take over the business for a while."
"Can you handle all that with school?"
"I'll have to." Cruise closes his eyes a moment, looking completely fatigued.
"I can think of a few ways to help you relax." I wet my lips in the event he needs a compass to direct him.
The idea of a laugh trembles from his chest as he pulls us down in front of the fire. Cruise rocks me gently in his arms as we sit mesmerized by the blue and purple tongues of the flames - the same colors that the snow offers in the shadows. The fire, the ice, it's all related on some level.
"I can't lose my mom." It comes out morose - as though he considered the options life had to offer and found this one unacceptable.
"Give her some time. She'll be okay." I tighten my grip around his waist. "Believe me, my brother has cataloged a ton of broken bones. She'll be back to her old self in a few weeks. I promise."
"I guess you're right."
"She's always been there for you, hasn't she?" I can feel his love for his mother, the only real family he has, outside of Molly.
"She's been a rock, and I let her down. I used to run the house while she took care of the salon. Last summer I more or less gave life the kiss-off and a part of the fallout was leaving the business