Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,108
be mortifying.” She pressed the tissue to her neck and was surprised at how it immediately clung to the moisture. Please let it be wet snow, not blood, she thought as she zipped her jacket up to her chin—where it should’ve been all along. When she’d put it on that morning, it had rubbed uncomfortably, so she’d only zipped it to her neck. Brady held her arm while she clicked back into her skis and put on her gloves.
“It’s not a long way down now, but we’re going to take this slow, okay? Follow my trail. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Shifting her goggles into place, she kept her eyes on the black-clad figure in front of her. His path was easy to follow. With each turn he made, he watched to make sure Riki was doing okay.
“Good!” he called. “You’ve got this!”
What a nice man. They came to a slow, uneventful stop near the lodge. “I’m worried about that cut. You’re going to need to get it looked at. Can you reach one of your friends?”
“I’ll call now. Thanks for all your help.”
“Sure thing. And take an easier run next time, okay?” He smiled in the comforting way that seemed unique to dads.
“Yeah. I will.”
He patted her on the back. “Take care, Riki.”
She jabbed the ends of her poles into the snow and fumbled with the zipper of her jacket pocket to get her phone, but it was futile with her gloves on. Using her teeth, she ripped off the glove and slipped out her phone, careful not to drop it in the snow. She dialed Chris and pressed the phone to her ear. But the words she heard made her heart sink.
It’s Chris. You know what to do.
She hit “End” and moved to take off her skis. As she walked into the lodge, people’s curious eyes followed her, but she ignored them. And who knows? Maybe she was only imagining it. For all she knew, the cut had bled only a little, and there was nothing to see. But the sticky warmth on her neck told her otherwise. After returning the rental skis and boots—she had no interest in using them again—she padded in her thick, damp socks to the locker room. If only Chris would walk in and take her back to the condo where they could sit in front of the fireplace. Ha! She collected her Uggs and purse from the locker. Before sliding on her warm boots, she removed her socks and rolled them into a ball, stuffing them in her purse along with her gloves. It was time to check the damage.
People shuffled in their wet gear, patiently waiting for a turn at the hand dryers in the restroom. She slipped past them and made a beeline for the mirror.
Blood was smeared on her chin. She unzipped her jacket and gasped. The tissues were soaked bright red. Her reflection swirled and blurred in front of her as she gripped the sink. I can’t pass out.
“Oh!” a woman at the neighboring sink said. She ripped paper towels from the holder and wet them before passing the wad to Riki. “Press these against your cut. There’s a first-aid room at the lodge.”
A gaping wound was revealed as she eased the bloody tissues away. It looked like someone had tried to slit her throat with barbed wire. “Thanks,” she said, taking the paper towels.
“Sure. Do you need help getting there?”
“No, but thank you.” Riki clamped the towels to her neck as she found a bench outside the bathroom. She tried Chris again.
No answer. This time, she left a message. As she was about to shut off her phone, it struck her that she had Evelyn’s number. She scrolled through her contacts and clicked it, pressing the phone to her ear.
It rang once and went straight to voice mail.
As she stood, wondering what to do next, Brady’s wife and kids walked by. “Hey there. Did you reach your friends?”
“Um, I left a message.” She mustered a smile upon seeing the woman’s concerned look. “It’ll be fine. Do you happen to know where the first-aid room is?”
She frowned at the paper towel pressed to Riki’s neck. “I do, but you might want to skip it and go to the urgent care. I think you’ll need stitches, and if it were me, I’d rather have it done at a doctor’s office, but it’s up to you.”
The thought of a potentially unsterile little room made Riki’s stomach ache. “Yeah. I think