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Although I convinced Carrie nothing was going to happen last night, I hadn’t persuaded myself. After making sure every door and window in the place was locked tight, which meant scooting up the stairs backwards on my butt, while dragging my crutches with me, and setting off painful objections from my thigh, I slept fitfully waking to every outside speeding car or barking dog, and every in-house furnace grunt or ice cube dropping from the ice-maker in my refrigerator. I awoke as tired as when I went to bed.
I hadn’t considered how the stairs would affect my injury. My punishing, throbbing leg warned me that repeatedly climbing the stairs was not an option if I wanted to heal quickly. I’d get Bobby to help me later today, to haul down what I needed to set up a bed and the bathroom downs
