September Canvas (14 page)

Faythe looked bewildered, but then she slid her hands from Deanna’s jeans pockets and patted her bottom. “Why not? I’d say you’ve earned it.”

As they walked toward the kitchen, Faythe held Deanna’s hand, apparently unwilling to let go completely. Deanna was happy to oblige, and only when Faythe needed both hands to make the hot chocolate did they let go.

Faythe ran faster than usual, and she was apparently running from something. Her feet hammered against the forest path, and she was glad she’d picked a new route. She was dying to see Deanna again, though afraid to. Not because of the kiss, which had been the wonderful part of the emotionally upsetting evening two nights ago. “I acted like a total wimp,” Faythe muttered under breath.

“I sounded like a total loser.” The next morning after she had sobbed on Deanna’s shoulder, she woke up with a hangover-like headache and tons of remorse. This was not how she wanted Deanna to see her.

Accomplished, together, and in charge of her life—those were the attributes she wanted the world to see. Not Ms. Misery. Faythe had to laugh at her own choice of words. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m pitiful. Witty, but pitiful. Maybe I’ll invent a new word for it. Wittiful.”

“Hi.” A bright female voice to her left made Faythe nearly stumble.

“Oh, sorry,” a young woman chirped and extended a hand between them. “I’m Pammie.”

Pammie. Awfully cute. Too cute.
Faythe had never shaken hands with anyone while jogging, but tried to keep her pace while doing so.

“Faythe.” A quick glance, so she wouldn’t fall over a tree root, proved that the girl looked more tough than cute in her black outfit.

“First time I’ve seen you on this track.” Pammie’s waist-long blond braid swung merrily.

“Could be because it’s my first time running here.” Faythe assumed what she hoped was a friendly expression to take the sting out of her words. “Nice to meet you, Pammie.”

“Likewise. I live over there, across the lake. I drive over here to run. The paths are much better.”

“I see.” Faythe didn’t mean to sound so short, but she was becoming winded.

“I still live at home. Well, I’m in college, but I’m an intern right now, in Grantville.”

“Enjoying it?” Faythe managed and turned her head to look at Pammie again. Suddenly her left foot folded underneath her and she plummeted to the ground.

“Oh, God! You okay, Faythe?” Pammie was at her side immediately. “That was a nasty fall.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Faythe rose on one knee, but when she tried to put some weight on her left foot, she slumped back onto the ground.

“Damn it. I must’ve sprained my ankle. So damn stupid.” She blinked tears of pain away as she removed her sneaker and watched her ankle swell up.

“You need ice. And a doctor. Can you get up? Lean on me.” Pammie looked around them. “And not a soul in sight.”

“Calm down. It’s probably just twisted. I’d appreciate a hand to see if I can stand.”

“Sure. How do you want to do this?”

“Let me get on my knees and then steady me as I get up, okay?”

“Okay.”

Moving very carefully, because her foot did hurt, Faythe managed to get up on her knees and then, with Pammie’s help, she stood on one leg. As soon as she tried to put weight on her foot, she whimpered.

“I can’t believe this. I’ve never sprained anything before. It’s really painful.” She inhaled deeply and tried to breathe through the agony.

“Oh, I’ve done it several times,” Pammie said. “And if you’ve done it once, it’s likely to happen again if you’re not careful. Something about the muscles and ligaments being stretched too much and then your foot gets unsteady. Or something like that. The doctor explained the details to me, but it was pretty elaborate medical mumbo jumbo. Oh, I’m babbling and you’re in pain. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I just have to figure out how to get home.” Faythe’s foot was beginning to throb with every beat of her heart. She needed to elevate it as soon as possible.

“I’ll help you. If you can hop on one leg and hang on to me as your personal crutch, I’ll help you to my car at the parking lot by the barbecue pits.”

“Is it far?”

“About three hundred yards behind us.”

Three hundred yards. It might as well be three hundred miles.

Deciding to tough it out she said, “All right. Let’s go for it.”

“Hold on tight.” Pammie wrapped Faythe’s arm around her shoulder. “Ready?”

No.
“Sure.” Faythe hopped next to Pammie, trying desperately to ignore the pain in her other foot that seared through her leg with each thud.
Think about something else.

“College, you say? You a senior?”

“No, junior.” Pammie seemed to understand the urgent need for small talk. “Can’t believe only two years ago I was just a high school kid in Grantville.”

“Time flies.”

“Sure does.”

“Where did you go to college?” Pammie had wrapped her arm tightly around Faythe’s waist and was supporting more of her weight.

“Columbia.”

“Wow. Me too! What a coincidence. And you majored in?”

“Journalism.”

Pammie whistled. “Cool. You work on a magazine or newspaper?”

“TV.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t sound impressed.” Faythe chuckled despite the pain.

Clearly Pammie would have been more in awe if she’d been a print reporter.

“Oh, I am. Of course I am. Working for television must be a dream job.”

“It’s a job. Not my dream job. I want to write.”

“Then that’s what you should do.”

“Thanks.”

“What for?” Pammie tried to glance at Faythe, who shook her head in warning.

“Watch it. Ground seems uneven here.”

“Sorry.” Pammie took a better hold around Faythe’s waist. “Only about fifty yards now.”

“Really?” The small talk had really distracted Faythe, and she was grateful.

“There. See that blue between the trees? That’s my car.” Faythe tried to look, but all the hopping was taking her breath away, and she could only focus on moving forward and ignoring the pain. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Minutes later, Pammie unlocked her Toyota and helped Faythe into the backseat. Finally elevating her burning ankle, Faythe leaned back and moaned. “Damn, it fucking hurts.”

“You need a doctor. Perhaps an X-ray.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right.” Faythe stared gloomily at her swollen leg. “I better go home and clean up—”

“Are you nuts? You need to be seen right away. Your foot is swelling. I’ll drive you to Grantville Memorial.” Faythe had to laugh. “All right. Thank you.” She remembered Aunt Nellie driving her to the ER there once as a child when she stepped on a board with a rusty nail.
Same foot, come to think of it. Wonderful.

It took Pammie about fifteen minutes to drive through town and into the ER admissions area. She jumped out of the car and grabbed a wheelchair for Faythe, who was grateful and self-conscious. They were in luck. A doctor was available, and soon a nurse’s aide whisked Faythe away to be X-rayed. Pammie had insisted on staying, apparently not about to let Faythe out of her sight.

When they were waiting for the doctor to read the X-rays, Faythe found herself directly across from Pammie for the first time. Pammie wore black leggings and a hoodie over a gray T-shirt. Her left eyebrow was pierced, and both her upper arms boasted small, intricate tribal tattoos. “You’ve been really sweet to me,” Faythe said. “You really don’t have to stay. I can catch a cab home.”

“This is a small town. Not
that
many cabs around.” Pammie shook her head. “I don’t have any plans today. I want to stay and make sure you’re okay.”

“Ms. Hamilton?” The doctor, a woman in her late fifties, said, “The good news is no fractures.”

“And the bad news?”

“You have a bad, painful sprain, but I think you’ve already figured that out.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“It doesn’t need a cast. The nurse will give you an Ace wrap, an icing schedule, and PT advice. You need to keep your foot elevated and iced. Stay off it for a few days. If it doesn’t improve in three or four days, come back and we’ll examine you again and perhaps opt for a cast, all right?”

“I’ll do that. Thank you, Doctor.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Hamilton.” The doctor colored faintly. “Um, I always watch your show when I’m off duty and enjoy it a lot. Just what I need to wind down and relax. Not all days are as quiet around here as today.”

“Thank you,” Faythe repeated. “Glad you like what we’ve done over the years.” Faythe had never thought about her job from the doctor’s perspective. Every time she was sent out on a job that seemed especially silly, she felt the network wasn’t enlightening and informing the viewers. Looking at this accomplished woman, Faythe realized entertainment news had another side. Sometimes people needed something light, distracting, and fun to help them make it through their busy, difficult lives.
Maybe I helped save someone through this doctor,
if I helped her make it through another watch?
She felt better thinking about it this way.

“You got a ride home?” the doctor asked, looking over at Pammie.

“She sure does.” Pammie grabbed the wheelchair’s handle.

“Good. Remember, stay off your foot and elevate it.”

“And ice,” Pammie filled in.

“I’ll remember,” Faythe said, distracted by Pammie’s attentive glance.
Okay. So she’s recognized me now. Oh, well.

Faythe waited inside the glass doors while Pammie got the car.

After climbing into the passenger seat, she glanced over at Pammie, who gazed back at her with open curiosity. “Well, you did tell me you worked in TV. I suppose it’s nice when not everyone recognizes you.”

“It is.”

“And you’re here on a break.” Pammie chewed her lower lip.

“And you let it slip that you wanted to write again, before. Guess you’ve escaped, haven’t you?” Pammie didn’t seem to be judging her at all. Instead, she sounded reflective, like she was trying to figure out a riddle, but without any preconceived ideas.

“You’re right. Thanks for not gushing. Or the opposite.”

“What’s the opposite of gushing?” Pammie winked.

“It involves people so upset because of something you said or did seven years ago, they spit when they talk.”

“Ew. Really? I’ve always told a friend of mine that fame is highly overrated. She didn’t believe me until a few years ago.”

“She famous?”

“Infamous. Trust me. Living in a small town like Grantville and being infamous is not a small thing. It can nearly kill a person.” Faythe was wondering if Pammie knew Deanna. Suddenly it dawned on her that she had to know
of
her, at least, having attended Grantville High. But was she talking about her? She was talking about a friend. Deanna would not be
friends
with a former student. Would she? Was this the part Deanna had left out the other night?

“What do you mean, kill?” Pammie’s choice of words seemed a bit overly dramatic to Faythe.

“Literally. My friend, she’s this gorgeous, talented girl. She got into trouble and she’s paying for it now. Big-time.”

“She has you on her side, I can tell.”

“Yeah, she does. She has a few other friends, but they’re totally in the dark about things, and it’s been like that for years now. She’s not having an easy time at home, and she even dropped out of school. She’s the best, I mean, she truly is a great person, but she needs someone to talk to. Sometimes I worry she’ll do something stupid.” Taken aback, Faythe realized she had opened up for this type of serious conversation and couldn’t avoid it now. She was in pain and tired, but she wasn’t about to blow Pammie off. “Take a right over there.” She pointed at the dirt road that led down to her aunt’s house.

“There?” Pammie stared at her.

“Yes. I’m staying in number eleven-fifty-two.”

“Oh. Really. Wow.” Pammie turned and they soon pulled up behind Faythe’s Crossfire.

“Nice ride.” Pammie sounded impressed, but preoccupied. “So you live here.”

“I do. It’s my aunt’s cabin.”

“Some cabin.” Pammie opened the door and walked over to the passenger side. Helping Faythe to her feet, she steadied her before giving her the crutches the hospital sent her home with. Faythe hopped to the kitchen door, felt around for the keys in her jacket pocket, and opened it. “Please, come in. Can I get you something?”

“Tea or coffee would be great, but I’ll make it. Just point me in the direction of the…oh, there’s the kitchen.” Pammie arranged two kitchen chairs for Faythe, the second one for the sprained foot. “Here. Elevate.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“So I’m told.” Pammie grinned and walked over to the coffee machine. “Oh, look! Am I glad I work part-time at Starbucks or what? That’s some machine.” She fussed over the built-in espresso machine and expertly made two lattes. Faythe directed her to the drawer where she kept her favorite cookies, and soon they were munching away and sipping the hot drinks.

“So, your friend needs a counselor.”

“Hmm. Not so sure. She needs more than that. I thought—” Pammie interrupted herself and played with the rim of her coffee mug. “She needs to talk to someone other than me. Someone who’d understand and advise.”

“You sound just like the friend she needs. You really care, and you’re there for her, right?”

“Right. It’s just that we’re kind of more than friends. I mean, I want us to be, and I know she does too. She’s just so messed up that she can’t be with anyone. All she does is work. If she’s not at her day job, she’s working every charity known to man.” Tears were forming at the corners of Pammie’s eyes.

“And you’re in college, away from Grantville.”

“Yes. When I’m out of college, I plan to look for a better apartment in Manhattan. Right now I’m sharing a tiny space with another girl. I’m not going to be stuck in Grantville for the rest of my life.” Pammie broke a cookie in tiny pieces before eating them. “Or at
least
out of my parents’ house.” Something in the way she spoke, a sudden harshness to her bright voice, hinted at untold issues between Pammie and her parents.

“It’s only natural to fly the coop.”