“We need to stop the bleeding,” he said. “Have you been putting pressure on it?”
“Yeah. I tried. But it kept bleeding.” The words came out breathy, because it was hurting bad. There’d better not be glass still in there, or he’d be making this worse.
He grabbed the phone from the side table, and she eyed his bloodstained hands, breathed hard, and, for once, didn’t say anything. He hit 0 and said, “Yeah, hi. This is Harlan Kristiansen. I’m in the Morocco Suite with Jennifer, uh …”
“Cardello,” she said.
“Cardello,” he said. “We need a doctor up here. Fast as you can get him.”
“Harlan,” Jennifer was saying, and some other stuff, but he wasn’t listening.
“No ambulance,” he said. “No police. But we need a doctor.”
“Police?” Jennifer said. “And there’s no way a doctor’s coming here.”
“You think not?” he said, still pressing hard on her foot. “That’s the least of their worries. The clerk’s calling the manager right now, and he’s trying to figure out whether to call the cops, whatever I said. Ten bucks says they go with the cops. They can’t afford the publicity otherwise, if they allowed a woman to be injured to the point of bloodshed by an NFL player in one of their rooms and didn’t even report it when they found out. There’s too much blood here. The maids are going to talk. Also, you’re probably not somebody with … status, since I couldn’t remember your name, which will make it worse. What happened?”
She said, “I … I cut myself. And it’s not my fault you can’t remember my name! What, I’m a hooker now?” The last part was a gasp. The wounds were still seeping despite the pressure, and he could tell they hurt like crazy. He couldn’t even tell exactly how much she was bleeding, because the towel was soaked. He thought about tendons and the arch of a foot, and started to worry.
“I got that you cut yourself,” he said. Keep her talking. Keep her from freaking out. Although so far, she was about the least freaked-out woman he’d ever met. The only thing that seemed to be exercising her mind was that he’d actually care about her. “How did it happen?”
“Dropped my wine glass,” she said. “In the bathroom. I slipped. Wet. And I was crying, which is stupid and embarrassing, but there you go. I knocked the glass off the counter with my elbow. I was jumping out of the way, and I jumped right down on some broken glass, I guess.”
“Are the pieces still in there?” he asked. “In the cuts?”
“No. They were, but I pulled them out. But they were big and sort of … wedged in, and then I wouldn’t stop bleeding. And I just realized what I should’ve done. I should’ve asked them to send a car to take me to the ER. My insurance is never going to cover a doctor coming here. Out of network. The ER’s bad enough. Oh, man.” She put a hand over her face. “This is going to be a thousand dollars even with insurance. If I’d gotten hit by the snowmobile, it would’ve at least been worker’s comp, since Blake sent me on that trip. For a stupid reason, but he did. Could I time travel back there, please? How do I explain this to him?”
Harlan said, “Maybe you should assume you did the right thing, calling me, and that I’ve got this, and stop worrying about it. You know what’s funny, though?”
She eyed him dubiously, but at least she’d taken her hand away from her face. “That I’m clumsy?”
He smiled. “Nope. Annabelle just told me that my dad was throwing things when he got home from the Super Bowl party. Lost a bet, she thinks. So there’s broken glass over there, too. Another ten bucks says she’s the one who cleans it up.”
“Yeah,” she said, “that’s hilarious. Harlan, that’s awful. You must be so worried about her. Is she all right?”
He gave a shrug. He hoped it looked casual. He was afraid it looked helpless. “He’s the same as always, or close. I tried to get my other sister to take her, but … not so easy. She’s got her own life. Kids. Job. If my dad would even let Annabelle go.”
“Couldn’t you go to the authorities?” she asked. “If he’s drinking that much, if he’s violent …”
“He’s not violent. I told you. Not enough to count. And as far as I know, there’s no law against getting drunk around your kids.”
She had one leg across his lap while he held her other foot in the air, and now, she reached out and touched his knee. “What have you tried? If you tell me, maybe we can think of something together. There must be something we can do.”
He’d have answered, but there was another knock at the door. He said, “Hold that foot up. Prop it on your other knee, and keep the pressure on.”
When he opened the door, it was the cops. Of course it was. Two of them, the older one in the doorway and the other one standing back, covering his partner. When they saw the blood on his hands, his arms, and his jeans, the atmosphere got a whole lot more interesting. Harlan sighed, kept his hands in view, and said, “Come on in, guys.”
It was the Keystone Kops in here, Jennifer thought semi-wildly, half an hour or four hours or a day and a half later. The cops had turned to go—finally—after one of them had lost his professionalism enough to ask Harlan for an autograph for his son. A man in a black suit who had “resort manager rousted from bed” written all over him was coming in the door, and Owen and Dyma were following after him fast, Dyma calling out, “Mom? Mom?”
Above Jennifer, the doctor asked, “How long has it been since you’ve had a tetanus shot?”
Jennifer giggled. She didn’t mean to. It was the pain medicine, probably. Probing and cleaning those wounds had hurt a lot, and she hadn’t been able to stop from making some noise. Now, though, she was feeling good. Floating. That shot had worked fast. It was seriously strong, too. She said, “Hey, wait. Did you give me that pain injection because of the cuts, or is it actually because NFL stars get the good stuff?”
The doctor said, “Nope. We expect NFL stars to bite on a rolled towel,” and Harlan laughed. “Tetanus shot?” the doctor prompted.
Jennifer giggled again. Maybe it wasn’t just the pain medicine. It could be the cops, the blood, Harlan, and the fact that her robe kept sliding above her knees, until she remembered and grabbed it. Or until Harlan did, because Harlan had been on Robe Duty quite a bit tonight. Given that her foot was resting on the back of the couch, and she was still naked underneath the thing. He was going to have to pay for that, too, because this robe would never be the same. Bleach could only do so much. She waved a hand and said, “I’m going to say … childhood? Infancy? In other words, I have no idea. But I don’t think this resort has tetanus in their bathroom. Do you have tetanus in your bathroom?” she asked the manager. “I’d love to think you clean better than that.”
“Mom,” Dyma said, “what happened?”
The doctor said, “Tetanus shot, then. I’ll give that in your upper arm, if you’ll just slip it out of that robe for me.”
Jennifer said, “Yeah, maybe not. Then I’d really be naked, and Owen didn’t pay for a dance in the Champagne Room.” Which made Harlan laugh again, and Dyma say, “Mom. What?”