“Now, help me up. Sitting with my ass on the floor is undignified.”
The nephew takes him by his good elbow, but Mr. Hebert hisses in pain as soon as he tries to get to his feet.
His nephew freezes. “What’s wrong?”
“My sciatica.” Mr. Hebert’s grimace makes me wince.
I stifle a whimper because this is my fault too.
“Nonc,” the guy says, shaking his head, “you don’t want to be bouncing around in my truck.”
I step forward. “Please let us take you, Mr. Hebert.”
Ignoring me, Mr. Hebert struggles to stand again, and again he gasps. His nephew gestures to Ramon. “You. Help me get him up and out.” Then he looks at Sally. “You. Go out there and tell everyone class is cancelled and they’ll be refunded.” Then he points to me. “You. Get the doors opened ahead of us.”
Mr. Hebert tries to protest. “Beau, I swear—”
“It’s this or an ambulance.”
When Mr. Hebert just scowls, Beau looks at Ramon. “You get his good arm, I’ll get him around the middle.”
Ramon glances at me, and I nod quickly. They get into position.
Looking panicked, Mr. Hebert starts, “This really—”
“On three,” Beau interrupts. “One. Two. Three.”
“Aargh!” Mr. Hebert grunts in agony, but when he gets to his feet, he looks steady at least. A little hunched over, but steady.
“Can you walk?” The nephew asks.
With support on either side, Mr. Hebert attempts two shuffling steps. “Like a zombie,” he says, his voice strained.
Beau glares at me. “Doors.”
And I jump like he’s fired a starting gun. I head for the door he entered through.
“Hold on, princess,” he says.
Princess? I shoot him a confused look over my shoulder to find him gesturing with his head toward the back door. “This way. Otherwise, you’ll run into a crowd of your adoring fans.”
The sarcasm in his tone gives me a check. What the hell?
Mr. Hebert takes another pained step. “Beau,” he grumbles, “try not to be too charming. They just met you.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I zip to the side door, prop it open, and then move to the kitchen where I hold open the swinging door that reminds me of an old farmhouse. When they get close enough so Ramon can hold it open, I go to the back entrance, unlock it, and push open the screen door before stepping out to the porch that also reminds me of an old farmhouse. But I don’t have time to admire the green-painted floorboards or the potted geraniums like I did the first day we came. Ramon beeps the locks on our vehicle, and I rush to open the door to the back seat.
Sally joins us as the guys debate the best way to get Mr. Hebert up onto the leather upholstered seat. He’s stooped and breathing hard, clutching his injured arm to his belly. Sweat has broken out across his brow, and I just hate seeing him like this.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“You’ve done plenty already,” Beau mutters and then jabs a finger at Sally. “You—”
“It’s Sally,” my best friend says, her mouth a flat line of displeasure.
“Sally,” he echoes, his expression stony. “Please go back into the kitchen, grab the dish towel that’s hanging over the sink, and fill it with ice from the freezer.”
She scowls. “I will if you lose the attitude.”
“Sally!” Shock pitches my voice. My best friend works with four-year-olds all day. She’s the epitome of sweetness and patience. “Please get some ice for Mr. Hebert’s arm.”
Sally’s scowl collapses, and she looks back at Mr. Hebert with renewed concern. “I-I’m sorry. Of course.” And she takes off at a run back to the house.
At the SUV things seem to have stalled. Ramon and Beau are still bracing Mr. Hebert, but it looks like he’s having trouble raising his legs to climb into the vehicle.
“I can lift you, Non—”
“Nobody’s lifting me,” Mr. Hebert snaps.
As the three men struggle with Mr. Hebert’s heft—and his dignity—I step away, turning back to join Sally. When I reach the porch steps, she comes out clutching the bundle of ice.
“What. A. Jerk,” she mutters under her breath, her eyes cutting to Mr. Hebert’s nephew.
My gaze follows hers. The guy’s focus is fixed on his uncle, a frown of concern etching his brow. Yeah, he was rude to me, but maybe he’s just worried. And it is my fault Mr. Hebert got hurt.
“I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt,” I say, keeping my voice low. “It’s hard watching someone you love suffer.”