Letters in Time by Reiss Susan (i love reading books .txt) 📕

and eating bonbons. But this man who I'd verbally beaten black and blue handed me tissues without a word, and waited.

I wiped my face and blew my nose.  I used some of the tissues to soak up the droplets on the wooden floor. His empty hand reappeared and he took the soggy mess.  It was time to get up. But I was afraid to move. I’d fallen a couple of times before, but this was the worst of all.

Had I sprained my leg? What if I’d broken it? Fear engulfed me. Would I ever get better? Would I always be a cripple? Did I need an ambulance? What if the doctors wanted me in the hospital again? What if they need to operate?

My eyes grew hot. Tears prickled my lids. Going to the hospital might lead to the worst operation of all: amputation. I couldn't go back to the hospital. If I started crying again, I was afraid I would never stop. I wanted to stay on the floor forever, but that couldn’t happen. I had to know what I’d done to myself. I had to move. If I could do that, maybe, just maybe I could get up.

The handle of my cane appeared by my side. TJ had retrieved it and was holding it out to me. The anger surged again and I batted it away. “No!”

“Then, let me help you,” he said softly.

I felt his hands touch me. “Don’t!”

He snatched them away. “What can I do?”

"Leave me alone!" I bit my lip to force the tears and the angry words away. "Go away. I need to do this myself." My arrogance had caused this fall. It was my fault. It was up to me to fix it.

“Sorry, can’t do that. My job here isn’t done until you’re up and off the floor. Now, tell me what you want me to do.” It was a statement spoken calmly and matter-of-factly. The only thing that gave away his deep concern was his heavy southern accent which only appeared when he was stressed or upset.

"Nothing! I don't want you to do anything." I hadn't a clue what to do. Uncle Jack would have known how to take care of me. He could always tell if all I needed was a kiss, band-aid, and a get-on-with-it-girl for a skinned knee or a mad dash to the hospital when I'd fallen out of an apple tree and fractured my arm. But he was gone. I was on my own. I could imagine him shaking his head at me. I'd been making bad choices and now I'd caused this fall. I did this. Now, I have to fix it. “Leave me alone!”

“’Fraid I can’t do that, Miss Emma.” His boots moved by me and up two steps of the stairway.

When I looked up, he was sitting there with arms crossed over his chest, looking at me, waiting.

“I told you to leave,” I tried to make it sound like a demand, but it came out like a whine.

"Nope, that's not what you said. You told me to leave you alone." His tone was empty of emotion. I had nothing to push against. If he wanted to play semantics, so could I. "All right. Let me be clear. Go Away! Go Home!”

“As I said, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he stated flatly.

Okay, I’d play his silly game. I was beginning to feel optimistic. The stabs of pain were easing. Maybe I would be okay. If I could lay here until my body was ready to cooperate, I might get out of this situation with some shred of dignity.

With an equal lack of emotion, I asked, “Why can’t you just go away?”

“I told you. I come from an old Southern family and my mama raised her son to be a Southern gentleman, or at least she tried. She wouldn’t think much of me if I walked away, leaving a lady on the floor, now, would she?”

I heaved a sigh. “You aren’t going to leave, are you?’

“No, ma’am.”

“Even if I promise I’ll be fine?” I said, with a last shred of hope.

“No, ma’am.  I’m going nowhere until I know you’re fine, or at least as fine as you can be tonight.”

“Fine.  Suit yourself.” The words squeezed out between my clenched teeth. I looked around and carefully placed my hands to give myself the most leverage and began to move.

“Whoa there,” he said, reaching for me. “Before you start flailing around, don’t you think we should consider the possibility that you did some real damage?  Maybe we should call an ambulance so the experts can move you without hurting your body?”

I looked up and wanted to stare holes into his head. Barely restraining my anger, I declared, “After what I’ve been through, I know what real damage feels like. Been there, done that.” I rubbed my leg gingerly. “I’ve only pulled some muscles that are still recovering from being immobilized in the cast.  Nothing more.”

“Well then, go ahead and get up,” he said with a trace of a self-satisfied smile.

I repositioned my hands and started to tense my shoulder and arm muscles to pull myself up then I relaxed. His words about doing more damage were echoing in my mind. Plus, I knew what kind of pain would strike when I put those muscles to work. I was about to ask for his help when he opened his mouth and re-ignited my independent spirit.

 “Give up yet?” he asked.

I looked at him quickly, searching for even the smallest hint of a smirk on his face. I thought I saw a ghost of one, but now it