Bring Me Home for Christmas

would do about it was one of the great mysteries of the universe.
    The doctor offered to call Becca’s parents before the surgery, but she said it was unnecessary. She was twenty-five, with her own medical coverage. She blessed her luck! She could deal with her mother later. Her mother was going to have a very strong reaction to Becca spending the holiday with Denny rather than Doug. Maybe a little time on the beach in Cabo san Lucas would mellow her out. Or maybe she could tell her mother when they were all back in San Diego and the whole thing was resolved.
    “You don’t want your fiancé to help you to the bathroom?” the night nurse asked her.
    “No,” she said. “He’s not that kind of fiancé.”
    “Oh?” the nurse asked.
    “We’ve been separated for a while,” Becca said. “By…by the Marines. He did a tour in Afghanistan.”
    “Oh, honey.”
    “I’d just prefer to be at my best,” Becca said.
    So Denny stood outside the hospital room while Becca had a pain pill, a bathroom break, a new ice pack applied and a midnight snack brought to her, because she’d been more interested in sleep than food following her surgical procedure. It was nearly 1:00 a.m. when Denny came back into the room. “Denny, you can go home. This isn’t necessary.”
    “You never know,” he said. “You might just need me.”
    I needed you so much, she thought. But you were so far away!
    “They give you this little call button in case you need anyone,” she told him.
    “I’m here, just the same,” he said. And then he retreated to his chair. It looked like a comfortable chair for sitting, but not for spending the night. And then she thought how he might have slept in Afghanistan, on the rocky desert floor, with no love at home to look forward to. Why he would choose that over her was so far beyond her understanding.
    She watched him out of the slits of her sleepy eyes for a few moments before her pain pill took over, then she came awake to the sounds of morning.

    About the time breakfast was delivered, Denny stretched and stood from his chair. “How’re you feeling?” he asked her.
    He had that early-morning, scruffy growth of brown beard, sleepy eyes and the body of a Greek god. If I didn’t have a broken ankle, I could so jump your bones! Her next thought was, What is the matter with me? He dumped me and Doug wants me! And she couldn’t really say that Denny was that much more hot than Doug. Doug was hot in a totally sophisticated Cape Cod kind of way…. She looked at him and wondered, is the pain pill exaggerating his handsomeness? But she said, “I’m doing okay. I had a pain pill. I might be a little loopy.”
    “That’s probably good.”
    “Want a bite of my French toast?”
    “Nah, that’s okay. Maybe I’ll walk down to the cafeteria and grab some coffee, if you think you’ll be okay.”
    “I’m okay. Go.” And she almost said, But don’t shave.
    Before her breakfast was done, the orthopedist was there. It was barely seven. He tossed off the ice pack. “You’re good to go. I’ll have the ortho tech fit you with crutches and show you how to use them. The nurse will brief you on instructions and problem signs and I’ll see you in ten days to get the stitches out. Call me if you have pain. Aside from some aching and throbbing now and then, your discomfort should be minimal. Most important things—no weight on it and keep it elevated as much as possible for a week to ten days.”
    “Um, I don’t live here,” she said. “I live in San Diego. I rode up with my brother to do some hunting. Duck hunting.” She rolled her eyes. “Very dangerous sport. We’ll drive back next Sunday—in five days.”
    The doctor got a kind of stunned look on his face. “Becca, do you have any friends here? Or family? Because you’re going to be just fine, but you shouldn’t travel. Not right away, anyway. And not that distance.”
    “What?” she said, shocked. “What?”
    “Just because your ankle is all put back together doesn’t mean the injury’s not serious,” the doctor said. “And San Diego isn’t exactly down the street—San Diego is a long, long drive. It would even be a very long flight! You’d risk dangerous swelling, maybe blood clots, other complications. You have to remain mostly immobile, leg elevated—you don’t want to swell under that splint. I don’t really advise dangling that leg for more than an hour at a time for the rest of the week. Oh, you can get around as