Read Online On the Way to a Wedding by Suzanne Stengl - Free Book Online

red tape, three monitors beeping out wiggly patterns, and an empty clear plastic Starbucks cup with a green straw.
    “Why are you staying?”
    “She told me to have a seat.”
    “She offered you a seat. She didn’t tell you to do anything.”
    A short, tired looking doctor with shaggy brown hair and rumpled green scrubs hurried into the curtained area. The pockets of his long white lab coat bulged with two coil bound notebooks, four pens, a stethoscope, what looked like a small hammer and who knew what else. The doctor consulted his clipboard, glanced at Toria’s tensored ankle and looked at Ryder. “Take off the tensor?”
    Ryder stood up and took the clips off the bandage while the doctor scribbled on his clipboard. His name tag said Dr. B. Delanghe .
    “What happened?”
    “I guess I twisted my ankle getting out of the car.”
    “In a hurry?”
    “Well, the car was in the ditch. I thought I should get out.”
    Dr. Delanghe stared at the notes on the chart. Probably the nurse had already asked all these questions.
    “Seat belt,” Dr. Delanghe mumbled. “Good.” And then, “Air bag?” He lifted his eyebrows and looked at Toria. “The car must have been going fast.”
    “No. It just stopped quickly,” Toria told him.
    Ryder glanced at her. Was she toying with the doctor? She looked serious, but she always looked serious. And clued out. And kind of sad.
    “Are you finished?” the doctor asked him.
    Finished?
    Right, he thought. He’d been holding Toria’s foot in his hands. He let go and started rolling up the bandage.
    Dr. Delanghe set down his clipboard and picked up Toria’s ankle. Tensing, she drew a breath as he pushed and prodded. In a few minutes, he was finished.
    “Just a sprain,” he said. “Tell your mother not to worry. You’ll be fine in three weeks. You’ll be able to walk down the aisle.” He scribbled some notes, spending more time with the chart than Toria’s ankle. “Make sure she rests,” he said, speaking to Ryder. “Ice for comfort. Keep the tensor on as long as there’s swelling. And keep the extremity elevated. That should take care of it.”
    “What about her head?”
    The doctor stared at him. “What about her head?”
    “I think she hit her head.”
    “I didn’t hit my head.”
    Dr. Delanghe retrieved a small flashlight from one of the bulging pockets and flicked it at Toria’s eyes. “She’s alert, awake, oriented. No deficients.”
    He pulled out a pad of paper and looked at Toria. “Do you have any allergies?”
    She hesitated, and then, “None that I know of.”
    Dr. Delanghe scribbled on his pad, then handed the piece of paper to Ryder.
    It was a prescription for 292s. He’d had those before. They made him fall asleep.
    Then the doctor wrote something else on the chart and closed it.
    “Can she go now?”
    “Soon,” Dr. Delanghe said. “Put the tensor back on. Physio will be in to fit her for crutches. Then you can take her home.” With that, he was gone.
    Ryder set the prescription on the end of the stretcher and picked up the tensor. “You live in Dalhousie? The Towers?” He wove the bandage around and around.
    “Yes. But how―”
    “I’ve got your insurance card.” Almost done, just needed the clips.
    He looked at her. She had another question forming somewhere in that scatterbrained head of hers. “I’ve got your luggage.” He paused. “And a wedding dress.”
    She closed her eyes.
    He’d guessed right. She wasn’t supposed to be carting around her wedding dress.
    “I could give it all to your mother,” he said, making it sound like it wouldn’t make any difference. He attached the clips to the tensor and released her foot.
    “Uh . . .”
    “Or I could bring it by later.” He rested his hands on the edge of the stretcher. “Will your mother be taking you home? Or to her place?”
    “Home,” Toria said, firmly. “My apartment.”
    He picked up the prescription again. “Six. Tonight. Don’t do anything special. I’ll