My hands shake as I take the phone from him. I pant shallowly, and before I can get a word out, Jo speaks. “Libby?” Relief floods me, just hearing her voice.
“Jo,” I croak.
“Chérie. Where are you hurt?” Her voice is tight with tension.
I think of the easiest way to convey what’s happened with the fewest words. “Kick.” Pant, pant, pant. “Ribs.”
She curses. “I will find you, Libby. Hold on.”
“Try.” I manage. When I sat up, I recognized where we are. A word comes to me, and I say it without thinking about it. “Goldi…locks.” Then I start imagining all the colors that roses come in.
“Goldilocks, Libby? I do not understand.” Though her tone is gentle, there’s a note of desperation. Before I can clarify, François snatches the phone away. I slump back with my eyes closed, staring at Midas To
