“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
She kissed his cheek. “We better get over there.”
It took fifteen minutes to arrive at the old, worn house he’d grown up in. The evening was still sunny and warm as they got out of the car and he led her in through the side door. His mother was seated at the kitchen table, with an ice pack on her wrist, and gauze taped to her head. Helen Sorge stood. “This is the best I could do.”
“Thank you, Helen.” As the neighbor left, he kissed his mother’s cheek. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Mama. You remember Anabelle Baxter. She was your doctor.”
Ignoring the introduction, his mother looked up at him with bruised eyes. “Somebody tripped me, Oliver. A man, in black, I think.”
“Okay, Mama. But for now Anabelle needs to take care of you.”
She nodded. “Dr. Baxter.”
“You can call me Anabelle now, Mrs. Ricardi.”
His mother didn’t respond in kind.
Oliver sat down next to her and held her other hand. Anabelle cleaned the cut on her head, applied some salve and placed a bigger, more secure bandage over it. His mother only winced.
Her eyes narrowed on Oliver. “You have one, too.”
“Yeah. I tripped at the collective.”
His mother cringed when Anabelle examined her wrist but she didn’t cry out. Sometimes she could be tough as nails.
“Nothing’s broken. Just bruised.” She fished in her bag and took out a black, fabric brace. “I have to immobilize your wrist with this.”
She allowed Anabelle to slip it on. “That makes it feel better.”
“Yes, the brace or even a cast eases the pain.”
Again, she looked to Oliver. “Listen to your mother. A man tripped me in the garden then fled.”
“Are you sure, Mama? Maybe you don’t want to worry me if you fell on your own.”
“That is not it, son.”
“But a man….” He had a sudden realization. “My God.”
“What’s wrong?” Anabelle asked.
“Nothing. Mama, why don’t I settle you in bed and you can rest.”
“I need to.”
She felt thin and frail as she leaned against Oliver on the way to her bedroom. He drew back the covers, helped her in, and got a pillow to put beneath her hand and wrist.
“I’m not imagining things, Oliver.”
“I understand, Mama, I’ll look into it. I promise.”
She closed her eyes.
He found Anabelle seated at the kitchen table. Everything was cleaned up. “She’ll be okay, Oliver.”
“I know. But, Anabelle, if a man was really here, it could be related to the incidents happening at the collective.”
“I hope not.”