too much pain and too exhausted to bump her way up the stairs on her bottom again.
“I’ll manage,” Maddie assured her as they pushed her to the Uber in a wheelchair. With the cast on, she already felt a little better than she had when she came in. She didn’t want to take the pain pills until she got home, in case they knocked her out or made her woozy. She thanked the nurse, and confirmed the address with the driver. She realized then that she could sleep on the couch in the studio. There was a bathroom there, and a fridge. She could send out for food and get to the door on her crutches. It wasn’t ideal, but she could make it until Monday when Penny came in. There was even a shower in the bathroom, and there were garbage bags she could use to cover the cast. They had cut off her jeans, and she went home in hospital pajama bottoms. She knew she looked a sight as the driver carried her purse for her and helped her unlock her front door.
“Is there anything I can do for you before I go?” the driver asked her kindly. It was a woman, and Maddie thanked her gratefully.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured her. She went into the little studio kitchenette after she left, and took her pain pill. She got to the couch in the studio and lay down, remembering that she had a shoot that week and would have to do it on crutches, but she would have two freelance studio assistants working with her. Twenty minutes later, when the pill took effect, she fell sound asleep.
* * *
—
It was dark when she woke up, her ankle was throbbing, and she felt like she’d been on a two-week drunk. She was nauseous from taking the pain pill on an empty stomach. She looked at her watch and was startled to see that it was seven o’clock at night. It had been a hell of a weekend so far.
She was going to call for food, but didn’t want any, and found half a turkey sandwich left over from her lunch the day before in the studio fridge. She ate it so she could take another pill if she needed to, and she felt better after she ate. She was dying to get to her bed, but didn’t want to tackle the stairs alone again. And she didn’t want to bump her ankle while she did it. She lay back on the couch for a few minutes and fell asleep until morning, without even taking another pill. When she woke up, she went back up the stairs on her bottom, dragging her crutches. All she wanted was to take a shower, put on a clean nightgown, and get into her bed.
The whole process of taking a shower took her almost an hour, and she fell into the bed with relief, looked at the mess of boxes on the floor outside her closet, and remembered what was in them. She waited another hour before dragging the box of letters and photographs over to the bed, hopping on her good foot to do it. At least reading the old love letters and looking at the photographs would give her something to do while she lay there. And she had remembered a box of cookies in the sitting room next to the bedroom. She didn’t want to go back to the kitchen, and the cookies would be enough to sustain her until Monday morning. She couldn’t get back downstairs to open the door if she ordered food. She hated feeling so helpless and hampered, but at least she felt clean now, and the pain in her left ankle was less acute. It had been a hell of an experience and a shock to get hurt and be in so much pain. She’d never broken a bone before.
She settled in against the pillows with the cookies and the box she had brought down from the top of her closet before she fell. She was eager to read the letters and see the familiar faces she hadn’t seen in years. It was like a trip back in time, and brought with it floods of memories as she read. Jacques’s letters were the most amusing, in stilted English, and she smiled as she remembered him and flipped through the envelope of photographs that went with them. Bob’s letters were the most intelligent, trying to