Thalia’s mother confirmed that Mira’s ankle was badly sprained the following morning.
Tammi wasn’t thrilled with the news; she came into the house in a frenzy, chattering with Thalia about the specifics of the injury and, most importantly, the kind of trouble all three girls had gotten themselves into. Mira didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend’s mother worked up in this way, huffing and puffing when she, Janie, and Thalia explained the mess they’d gotten themselves into—and successfully out of to Mira’s own knowledge—but she supposed it was natural. Just because Tammi was a nurse and specially trained to deal with these things, it didn’t mean she’d completely shed the natural worry that came with being a parent.
“It was a reckless thing to do,” her friend’s mother had said, wrapping Mira’s ankle on their living room sofa. “You’re lucky you had enough to break your fall. Otherwise, you’d be toting around more than a sprain.”
“It wasn’t too far of a drop,” Mira replied. She winced a little as Tammi adjusted her leg onto a stack of pillows to keep it elevated. “If I rolled, I don’t think I would’ve had as bad an injury.”
“If you hadn’t done it at all, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
The words made her stomach hurt. What did it matter, anyway? The adults barely understood that this was a teen problem that had to be dealt with in the only way Chrome’s teens knew how: violently and with a very clear message driven behind it.
Mira only sighed, unwilling to give a retort. Tammi didn’t push. Whether she sensed the discomfort Mira felt or just simply found it useless to go on a tangent, whatever words Tammi wanted to say went unsaid, though Mira saw glimpses of them in the way the woman stared at her injured ankle.
The lingering stares. The heavy sighs. The way her shoulders went up to her ears when she breathed. In this moment, Mira thought of how much her brother was right. In the absence of words, people could say so much by doing so little. She understood now why he found that aspect of communication so difficult. All she got from Tammi was a bunch of mixed signals.
“How long will it take to heal?” asked Thalia, sitting on the floor at the opposite end of the sofa. Beside her, Janie nervously twirled a strand of blonde hair.
“Completely? Try four weeks.” Tammi wrapped up what remained of her bandages, then sat back on her heels in front of Mira. “But, I want you up and attempting to put pressure on that foot in the next few days.”
Right. Because that wouldn’t be painful at all.
Mira shook her head against the arm of the couch. “I’ll do my best not to resprain it.”
And try she did.
Two days later, Mira spent her time alternating between bedrest and shuffling about the first floor of Thalia’s house. Some days had less pain. Others had her wishing she’d thought better of jumping out of the window of the frat party house and considered a different means of escape. Janie, whenever she was around, fretted over the weight Mira might put on her foot, while Thalia firmly took her mother’s stance and urged Mira to walk around the first floor of the house to get used to the idea of moving around.
In Tammi’s stead, Thalia assumed the role of a clinician so well that Mira felt oddly intimidated by her friend. It wasn’t often that Thalia did so seeing as there was often no reason for her to, but it was apparent that she’d learned well from her mother’s prowess. Every hour or so, the girl would return with a change in wrapping for Mira’s ankle alongside a freshly chilled ice pack to place atop the injury. In the moments where the pain was too much for Mira to tolerate standing, Thalia brought snacks over and set them up on a small snack table so that it was accessible to them both.
Her bedside manner was impeccable and the help was welcome. Mira could at least acknowledge that. Even if Thalia was a lot more strict and less tolerant of her antics or quips, Thalia chose to bunk on the first floor with a cot while Mira took up residence on the couch despite Callum’s persistent questioning.
“I’m not sleeping in a comfy bed while my friend rots on the couch, Dad,” Thalia had replied once. “I can deal with the stiff neck from the cot.”
It could be worse, Mira considered silently one night when they’d both gone to bed. Or at least, they were supposed to; Thalia had fallen asleep early into the night. Mira on the other hand spent her free time mulling over her thoughts all the while occupying herself with nothing more than a small rubber ball to toss into the air and catch from her spot on the couch. All things considered, the damage to her foot and ankle could have been worse. She could be on crutches instead of limping around. In the absolute worst case scenario, she could be hospitalized.
Mira let out a deep sigh, discomfort wriggling in her gut. It was the last she remembered of that night.
On the third day, a knock at the door and a baritone voice from the front entryway struck a fear into Mira’s bones that she’d never quite felt before. It was the dread that came with being found in a lie. The fear that accompanied disappointment, shame. She immediately knew the owner of the voice and, of course, this happened at a time where Thalia offered to do shopping for Callum.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Go figure, Mira thought, craning her neck to find her father giving Thalia’s dad a brief handshake. The one time I need her to be here.
Then again, maybe it was better that way. There was no one to shift the blame. No one to sweep the specifics under the rug.
Better painful truth than guilty lies, she repeated to herself in her head as Benji pulled up a folding chair and sat in front of her. It was wishful thinking that the mantra would make her feel better about planning an entire scheme and hiding it under her father’s nose.
The stone-faced expression on his face, accentuated by the unamused glint in his blue and brown eyes, struck fear into her chest that made breathing hard.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Benji’s stiff stature was as off putting as his expression—his silence even more so. Mira was rarely scared of her father—the only time she’d ever felt true, primal fear in his presence was less towards him and more for the specifics of his safety. Now, Mira feared the punishment she knew she deserved.
“You lied to me,” Benji said after a moment of silence. There was a tremor in his voice which didn’t hit above a whisper. Mira couldn’t tell if it was because he was truly angry with her, relieved that she hadn’t been too badly injured, or a combination of both. “Tammi told me everything.”
Shame and guilt kept her mouth shut, but she forced words through. “I didn’t want to worry you,” Mira said softly. Her father groaned at that and lifted his hand as though to speak. She didn’t give him the chance and went on, straining for a shred of confidence she barely felt. “I didn’t want to worry you because I knew it would only stress you out more and I didn’t want to risk any more bad things happening because of me. There’s already so much of that happening. I didn’t want to add more to the list, Dad.”
Her father slowly placed his hand back down onto his lap. Heat crept into Mira’s face; she wiped at her cheeks to find them damp and, slightly embarrassed, she rubbed at her eyes to try and staunch the flow before they had permission to run down in a steadier stream. She pressed hard into them until she saw stars and rambled until the pressure in her chest died out. “If I told you, it would have put more on your plate and you already had enough to worry about with everything going on at the clinic. I know what those kinds of places do to you. I know you can’t stand to be there because of what it makes you remember.
“I’ve already made so many things worse for so many people. I couldn’t do that to you, too.”
The admission felt like a sack of bricks off her shoulders. The tears came steadily and this time she didn’t try to stop them. She did, however, use one hand to block her face and her other to keep herself quiet. It was bad enough as it was having to take the fault; Mira hated the responsibility that came with it. Not because she hated responsibility—she was far too self aware not to take it—but because admitting to a fault meant that she failed someone. That, in some ways, was worse than the failure itself.
A heavy hand gripped onto her shoulder. She didn’t need to look. Even if Mira did, she didn’t think she was ready to look Benji in the eyes.
“Bella,” said her father with a bit less thinly veiled anger, “I’ve told you already, you don’t have to worry about my well-being. I don’t need or want you sneaking behind my back thinking it's a mercy towards me. It has the opposite effect you think it does.”
“But I—”
“Mirabellis, stop for a minute. Don’t you think that knowing about the plans you had in your head would prepare me more for this than just being told on a whim by Tammi that you’re laid up on her ex’s couch because of an injury?”
Mira took a deep breath, fighting the shudder that went through her just to breathe. Logically, it made sense. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like it wouldn’t have made a difference. All she could manage to do was move her hand a little out of the way to finally look at her father who looked neither furious nor displeased. There were bags under his eyes and a wizened quality to his features, though, that made him look far older than a man in his forties. He looked tired and rundown.
When she didn’t respond to his question, Benji sighed and brushed her hair behind her ear. It was childish to crave reassurance, yet here Mira was, resting her face into her father’s palm.
“I want you to—no. I need you to trust that I can manage my own issues,” Benji said softly. “No more of this going behind my back to spare me the heartache of the trouble.”
Mira frowned. “That’s not really fair.”
“How so?”
“Why are you able to keep things from me and not the other way around?”
“I keep things from you because I know you’ll throw a stubborn fit about it and try to find an alternate solution that won’t work for the situation. You keep things from me to light an emotional load you think I’m incapable of handling on my own. Those are not exactly the same and you know that.”
A small smile fought its way onto Mira’s face. That much she could at least agree a little with, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced. If it saved her father the grief in believing such a thing, Mira would let him have that.
“I am going to revoke your customer service rights, though,” Benji went on, killing any of the joy sitting in his daughter’s chest. “If I’m going to give you a punishment,” he added hastily, seeing the crestfallen expression on Mira’s face, “it may as well be one that means something. Chin up, Bella. You’ll be back behind the counter in a month.”
Mira groaned at that. “So, I’m a courier now? Getting ingredients from Mister Oreson’s market for you to use and miss out on getting to bake with them?”
“Exactly so. You’ll probably need that time off anyway, since…”
Then her father paused, his mouth open as if he wanted to speak more onto that thought, but held off. Something was strange. Mira propped herself up a little on her elbow, pulling her face away from her dad who placed both his hands in his lap. There was something about the bright shine in his eyes despite the bags beneath them that caught her attention.
Thoughts ran wild in Mira’s head, kickstarting her nerves and heart. Though it was hope she saw in her father’s face, she couldn’t help thinking that it was a farce. A pipe dream of some kind. Yet, somewhere in her heart told her that it wasn’t quite true. Benjamin Arbesque may hide things away for her benefit, but she didn’t think he was going to keep whatever this was from her.
Especially not after his expression seemed to brighten when he realized she’d caught on.
“What happened?” she asked, heart thumping so hard she felt it in her throat. “Is he alive?”
“I can do you one better, Mirabellis,” Benji replied, the grin on his face widening.
What came out of his mouth next were two words. Two very small ones that, on a normal day, would carry no weight. When he said them, Mira felt like she’d been hit by a horse-pulled wagon.
“He’s awake.”