Chapter 3
I
went down with a sickening thud. The breath left my lungs for a second. Agony ripped through my foot. “Ow!” I knew for sure that I'd broken it.
God knows how long I lay there. It felt like a lifetime, while I heard shocked gasps and people talking all at once, footsteps hurrying from various directions, making the floor beneath me vibrate. Someone said something about the police ... ambulance. . . doctor. I was too stunned to pay close attention.
I heard a deep, male voice yell, “Can someone call nine-one-one?”
A female voice answered. “I called Dr. Murjani's office on the first floor. The doctor's on his way right now.”
“Good thinking,” said the male voice.
Suddenly a man's face appeared above mine. The darkest, most penetrating eyes I'd ever seen peered down at me. His nose was huge, dense eyebrows drawn in a
V
right above it. The expression looked almost ferocious.
“I'm sorry, Miss Shenoy,” the man said. It was the same deep voice I'd heard a moment ago. “Are you all right?”
I wasn't all right, but I blinked at the stranger, the pain and shock rendering me speechless.
“It was all my fault,” he said.
“It wasn't
all
your fault, Prajay,” said Paul's voice from somewhere nearby. “Meena kept marching forward without looking.”
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Thanks a lot for the support, Paul.
I grimaced, trying not to dwell on the pain radiating from my foot. So this was Prajay Nayak, the guy I was supposed to meet in a formal conference room, with a professional handshake.
I met him all right. In a collision.
“No, it
is
mostly my fault,” insisted Nayak. “I was rushing down the hall, and the elevator opened suddenly. I couldn't stop in time.”
I was afraid to move my head, but I could see a bunch of people gathered around me. I knew my legs were completely exposedânearly all the way to my crotch. My position was only a notch above lying on an examination table at the gynecologist's officeâwith my feet in stirrups.
Tears began to sting my eyes, and my lips started quivering. I bit my lower lip, but I couldn't stop it from trembling. The pain in my foot was turning to agony, and the humiliation of falling on my behind in front of the CEO and every other executive and a couple dozen others was even worse. I wished I'd pass out so I wouldn't have to see and know what was happening to me.
The elevator doors behind my head whooshed open, and a man demanded, “Where's the patient?”
The doctor had arrived. Some in my riveted audience moved aside to make way for him. I'd seen Dr. Murjani in passing, since his office was located in the building. Nayak's face was replaced by the doctor's familiar, middle-aged one with its cocoa-brown skin, gold-rimmed glasses, and thinning gray hair.
He squatted beside me and placed a bag on the floor. “So, young lady, you fell on the floor?”
“Uh-huh,” I whispered. Wasn't that as obvious as the mole on his cheek? Why else would anyone in his or her right mind be sprawled over the floor of an office hallway?
“Can you count my fingers?” he asked, holding up three digits. When I answered correctly, he asked me my full name, which I managed to mumble. Then he inquired if I had blurred vision or a headache. When I said no to both he pulled out a penlight from his bag and gazed closely into my eyes.
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He nodded in satisfaction. “You don't seem to have a concussion. Good thing this is a heavily carpeted floor.”
Good thing,
I reflected with an inward groan. I could have been lying there with a fractured skull if it weren't for the lush, foot-sinker carpet.
“I want you to stay very still while I feel your neck, okay?” said the doctor.
I sniffled in response. My nose was starting to run, and the tears were sliding down my temples and onto the carpet. The onlookers had closed in again.
He inserted his fingers under the nape of my neck and moved them around. “Any pain in the back or neck?”
“No.”
“Good.” He moved my head to one side while he felt my shoulders and arms. With my head turned I could see a bunch of familiar people staring at me with genuine concern on their faces. “Now, where exactly does it hurt?” asked the doctor.
“M-my foot ... right foot,” I mumbled. “Can I have a tissue please?”
The doctor stuck his hand in his bag and pulled out a tissue, then dabbed my eyes and nose. “Stay still. I don't want you to move yet.” Then his exploring fingers traveled down my thigh and right leg, sending a fresh wave of pain through me as he reached below the calf.
“Ouch!” I cried. “That hurts.”
“Okay, okay, I see what the problem is,” he said. “I'm going to examine your foot. It might hurt a little more, but I have to do it, all right?”
“Ow!” He wasn't kidding about the pain.
“Easy, young lady. Nothing's broken. It's just a bad sprain.”
If this was what a sprain felt like, I wondered how a bona fide fracture would feel.
“We'll need to move her to a couch or something,” ordered Dr. Murjani. “Somebody get me a couple of plastic bags filled with ice.”
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“I have a couch in my office,” offered Prajay Nayak.
“Good,” said the doctor. “I'll need help moving her there.”
“I can carry her, Doctor. Is that all right?”
“Yah, sure. Go ahead.”
The fierce face came back to hover over me once again. I felt huge, sturdy arms lifting me up ... up. In the meantime my injured foot was dangling in the air and causing me horrible anguish. I groaned.
“Sorry.” His face was only inches from mine now and looked contrite.
Someone lifted my foot and held it elevated, easing the pain a little. I was traveling high in the air, my eyes only a couple of feet below the ceiling while I was carried in a pair of arms that felt surprisingly safe to be in. They held me like I was a cloud. My head rested on a shoulder wide as a football field, and the fabric against my cheek was soft and fragrant with a manly scent.
For a second I closed my eyes. It reminded me of Dad's holding me in my childhood, when I needed comforting during an illness or after a terrifying nightmare.
“She needs to be seated, not lying down,” instructed the doctor.
A moment later I was placed with incredible gentleness on a tan sofa with my back against the armrest and my feet stretched out in front of me. At least now my skirt wasn't riding too high, only up to mid-thigh.
One look at my right foot and I winced. The shoe had fallen off, the hose ripped at the toes. The ankle looked like it belonged on a baby elephantâfat and gray. I started to sniffle again. I'd never be able to use my right foot again. I'd likely be a cripple for the rest of my life.
“Now, now, I know it hurts, but this should make it better.” The doctor put zippered sandwich bags filled with ice cubes on either side of my ankle and secured them with a stretch bandage. He was right. Although the ice was a shock to the skin, it did ease the throbbing.
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“Will I be able to walk again?” I was almost afraid to ask the question. What if the answer was no? It was my right foot, too. I'd never be able to drive or walk ... or dance.
“Of course you'll walk again,” the doctor said with a short laugh.
“You're sure?”
“Didn't I tell you it's just a sprain?” He grabbed a tan and black accent pillow from somewhere and slid it under my foot.
Just a sprain? It felt like my foot had been put through a meat grinder.
“You'll need to stay off the foot for a couple of days and then take it easy for a while after that,” he added. “In two days you'll be hobbling, and in a week or so you may start driving. Just don't wear any high heels for a couple of weeks.”
“But high heels are the only kind of work shoes I have,” I protested. I was a professional, not some elderly woman who stepped out of the house to buy groceries once a week. But at least the doctor had assured me I could walk. That was something.
“So wear sneakers for a few days,” he said with a stern expression.
“Butâ”
He probably saw the gleam of defiance in my eyes and decided to nip it in the bud. “You want that foot to heal or not?”
“Yes,” I replied on a sigh. “May I have a tissue, please?” I asked once again, trying not to give in to my urge to wipe my nose on my sleeve. The doctor handed me a wad of tissues. It was such a relief to finally blow my nose and breathe normally.
Meanwhile Nayak stood a little distance behind the doctor, brows still knotted, and my shoes dangling from his fingers. Nish and Paul stood next to him, arms folded, looking equally distressed.
With the pain beginning to ebb, I noticed something. Despite his size, Paul looked rather small next to Nayak. Nish looked miniscule.
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They weren't kidding when they said Nayak was tall. And now that I was sitting up and looking at him from a different angle, he wasn't all that fierce-looking.
He wasn't scary at all. Why had I thought that when I was lying on the floor?
I also noticed the large window beside the couch, with a view of the parking lot and the street beyond. From up here the maple trees in the separator islands looked more colorful in their various shades of fall.
“I'm going to prescribe a painkiller and a muscle relaxant for you, Miss Shenoy,” the doctor said, and started scribbling on a prescription pad. Then he dug through his bag and handed me a bunch of individual foil packs of pills and a business card. “Some samplesâenough for today and tomorrow.” He pushed two pills out of the foil with his thumb and handed them to me. “I want you to take these right now. And take one of each tonight, after dinner.”
I looked at the pills and wondered if they would knock me out, make me forget the pain and humiliation of everything that had happened.
Suddenly something struck me. The doctor had made a house call of sorts. Doctors didn't usually make house calls. In the rare event they did, it had to cost a ridiculous amount. “Uh, Dr. Murjani, about your ... fees?”
“You have insurance, don't you?” he said, his brow descending. His expression clearly said he hoped to God I had insurance.
“Of course she has insurance,” Nayak's voice cut in. “All our full-time employees are covered.” He shot the doctor a meaningful glance. “Don't worry, Doctor; I'll take care of whatever the cost is.”
The doctor's face cleared up. “Now make sure she doesn't drive home, Mr. Nayak.” He pointed a finger at me. “If any problems arise, you call my office at that number.” Before grabbing his bag and exiting the room, he offered me one last word of caution: “No high heels until the foot is back to normal.”
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I nodded and thrust the card, prescription slip, and the remaining foil packs in my jacket pocket. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome,” he said with an unexpected smile. Now that his fee was assured, he seemed to be in a jovial mood. He motioned for Nayak to follow him. Nayak deposited my shoes next to the sofa, and the two men stepped outside, talking in hushed tones.
Nish, who'd stood by in total silence, stepped closer to me. “I'm sorry about what happened, Meena. But don't worry; we'll take care of everything. I'll make sure the worker's comp papers are filed properly and all that.”
I managed to crack a watery smile. “Thanks.”
“If there's anything I can do, call me.”
Nish left after those comforting words, but Paul came to stand beside me with a bottle of water. “Here, you better take your medication right away.” He glanced at my foot and offered me a sympathetic look. “Hurts something nasty, huh?”
I nodded, swallowed the meds, and gave the bottle back to him. “Thank you.”
“I'm sorry, Meena,” said Paul, screwing the lid back on the bottle. “You were rushing out of the elevator like an express train. Unfortunately Prajay was coming toward you at an angle. It was an accident waiting to happen.” He shook his head and clucked. “I didn't see him either, until he was almost on top of you.”
I blew my nose once again. “It's not your fault. I was careless.” I looked at my foot wrapped in ice cubes. The pain had eased, but the ice was numbing the whole leg. “I firmly believe in fate. It was meant to happen.”
“You really believe in that stuff?”
“I was destined to make a rotten impression on the boss,” I assured him. “Now he's going to hate me for causing all this trouble, and my job's going to be history.”