Page 109 of Booked for Murder

“There are vegetables and rice in the container. It’s healthy.”

“You can have orange chicken no more than once per day,” she replied.

“Mom, tell her she’s being mean.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “She may be being mean, but she’s right. You don’t need orange chicken daily.”

“That’s not fair.”

“If you keep complaining, you’re not getting it again until you’re out of the hospital,” my mother warned.

Bradley laughed. “I should withhold orange chicken so you’re motivated to get out of the hospital faster.”

“Don’t you dare. If I have to eat hospital food, I might be stuck here for longer.”

“You’ll be fine,” he promised.

Twenty-Three

I see your sarcasm is in good form.

As promised, Dr. Mansfield exchanged my cast for a boot, and to make my life a lot nicer, she confiscated my wheelchair and ordered me to learn how to walk without limping. A mild case of pancake-induced food poisoning delayed my operation by a day, but I emerged on the other side with an intact foot.

Despite my foot not hurting, I found I did have a tendency to avoid putting weight on it, a force of habit I wondered if I would ever break. “This sucks less than being in a wheelchair. It doesn’t hurt, but I’m still limping.”

Dr. Mansfield sighed. “You’ve been limping for so long it will take a great deal of physical therapy to erase the limp. View it as a defensive mechanism, and you’re expecting your foot to start hurting again. You’ll be sore moving forward, and there will be days you’ll limp, but your bones are back where they belong, the muscles are healing well, and one day, you will be able to walk without wearing the boot at all. You’ll feel the weather changing in your foot for the rest of your life, and cold temperatures won’t be kind. You’ll always have to battle days where your foot is sore and aches. There’s only so much magic can do.”

“I’m okay with that, really. I’m grateful I still have my foot.”

“You’re just dealing with more restrictions, and you’ve been under a lot of restrictions for a long time. It’ll get better, and you’ll find physical therapy will be a lot easier for you to deal with now. You’re ready to be discharged, and the Hamptons will be here soon to pick you up. I’m even going to allow you to walk out of the hospital under the excuse of monitoring your progress. There’s a waiver you’ll have to sign acknowledging it’s your problem if you fall over.”

“I’m going to need a cane,” I muttered.

Dr. Mansfield stepped out into the hallway and returned with a cane in her hand, which she gave to me. “I also have a set of crutches for you just in case. You’ll just have to say goodbye to your wheelchair.”

“Goodbye,” I replied, and I even waved at the stupid thing, which took over a corner of the room. “Too bad, so sad.”

“I can tell you’re utterly heartbroken to be separated from your wheelchair.”

“I’m so heartbroken I might cry. I might need a few minutes to recover from this tragedy.”

“Well, your sarcasm is in good form. Finish signing your paperwork so I can walk you downstairs and monitor you just in case. I’m not anticipating any problems, but I’d rather be safe than sorry at this point.”

I grabbed the papers, gave them a token skim since there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about any of it anyway, and signed, hoping I hadn’t just sold my soul to the devil—or worse, to the medical industry. “If you slid anything nefarious into the paperwork, Mrs. Hampton will probably kill me for not reading over everything carefully.”

“You’ll find out later,” my doctor replied.

“This is not the kind of surprise I like, but as I’m the one who opted to sign prior to reading, I will just have to face the consequences of my actions.” I offered her the clipboard with the thick stack of paperwork. “I’m ready. Freedom calls to me.”

“And you even get to earn it through walking out of the hospital. One of those documents was the waiver to allow you to walk out rather than be wheeled out.”

“I do not regret signing that.”

“You say that now, but the nearest elevator is a rather long walk from here, and then you have to take a second long walk to reach the lobby.”

“Some sacrifices are worth making. I’ll accept good food as a reward for my hard work.”

“I’m sure you can handle feeding yourself now that you’re discharged.” Dr. Mansfield brought me a cane, a nice enough one I took a few minutes to admire it before lurching to my feet. I hesitated before resting my full weight on my right foot, anticipating the moment my body filed a serious complaint over my mistreatment.