“Why? It’s not important.”
Not important? It was everything. At Samantha’s age Gayle had been clawing and fighting for every morsel of success that came her way. She’d woven herself a security blanket, layer by layer. Blood, sweat, tears. It was a whole new take on patchwork.
“You’ve worked hard to be where you are. You should be proud of that. Never apologize for success.” Suddenly she felt more like her old self. “You should own—”
“Please—can we talk about something other than my job?” Samantha appeared to be clenching her teeth. “What happened?”
“To me? A stupid accident.” And just like that Gayle shrank back into the role of patient.
“Why were you standing on that chair?”
“You saw that?”
Samantha eased off her gloves. “It was on a news report.”
“That damn camera crew. I’d just finished a live interview when it happened. I hope this doesn’t damage my reputation.”
Samantha dropped her purse onto the chair and shot her a look of naked incredulity. “You’re in the hospital with a head injury, bruised ribs and a twisted ankle and you’re worrying about your reputation?”
“These things matter.”
“To you.” Samantha draped her coat over the back of the chair, shifted her purse out of the way and sat. She didn’t relax. Instead she perched on the edge, one foot forward as if she was ready to run if the need arose. “Does it hurt?”
“Knowing my reputation may be damaged? Obviously, it’s unsettling, and I—”
“Your head. I was asking about your head.”
“Oh. Yes. I suppose it does hurt. And my ribs.” Now that she thought about it, every single part of her body hurt, but that probably wasn’t surprising given the way she’d fallen. She’d tried to shut the pain out, the way she always shut out bad things. Throughout her life, she’d made a point of moving forward, dragging herself limb by limb if necessary. Pain wasn’t new to her.
“Have you had painkillers? I could ask the staff—”
“No.” If she mentioned it to the staff, they’d never discharge her. “Thank you, but I think they probably gave me something.”
The conversation trailed off.
Samantha stared at her hands.
Gayle hunted for something to say that wasn’t going to be taken the wrong way. “Did you drive?”
“Flew.”
“Oh.” Had conversation always been this difficult? It was a wonder they’d managed to say enough for a falling-out. “Airport a nightmare?”
“Not too bad, considering the time of year.”
Gayle frowned. “Time of year?”
“Christmas.” Samantha looked at her.
“It’s Christmas.”
Gayle stopped herself asking so what? “Not for ages.”
Samantha opened her mouth and closed it again. “In a little over three weeks. But I know you don’t love Christmas.”
“I’ve never really—” No, she wasn’t going to go there. Her daughters, she knew, loved the holidays. It was another point of connection between the two of them, and contention with her. “Where did you spend Thanksgiving?”
“With Ella.”