“Okay, good,” Mary Ellen whispered. “God, I’m so cold.”
“Can you move your leg?”
Mary Ellen bent her knee slightly, her mouth stretching into a toothy grimace. She nodded at Ivy. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”
Ivy offered her the canoe paddle, but the lady shook her head. She’d gotten herself into a seated position, leaning back on her arms, and she was kind of panting and blowing air through her lips, squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them. Finally, she looked up at Ivy and said, “Some help?”
Ivy held out a hand, which the lady didn’t take. She gave a long, heavy sigh. “You’ve got to, like, really help me.”
Ivy held out both hands, not really sure what the lady was getting at.
“Put your arms around me here,” Mary Ellen said, patting her sides. “Then pull me up. Watch the leg.”
Ivy bent down and gingerly put her arms around Mary Ellen, turning her head so their cheeks wouldn’t touch, locking her hands behind the lady’s back. Mary Ellen got her good leg bent and tried rocking herself up, almost pulling Ivy down on top of her, but Ivy twisted toward the lady’s good leg and somehow they kind of spiraled upward, Mary Ellen letting out a long, squeezed cry. Ivy started to move out from under Mary Ellen’s arm, but she swayed heavily against her like she was about to slide back to the ice.
“Dizzy,” Mary Ellen said, closing her eyes and putting her other arm around Ivy’s neck. They stood like that for a few moments, Mary Ellen taking deep breaths, which she blew out in hot clouds against Ivy’s neck. Ivy felt a powerful urge to push her away, but she clenched her teeth and took the lady’s weight.
“Come on,” Ivy finally said, “I need to pick up the paddle. Just let me lean down a second.” She bent and grabbed the paddle, Mary Ellen holding tight to her shoulder. She rested the grip on the ice and put the paddle into Mary Ellen’s other hand.
“My camera.”
“Seriously?” Ivy could see the camera lying on the ice a few feet away, near the tree. “Isn’t it kind of heavy?”
“You can put it in the backpack. Please?”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Jesus. Fine.” Mary Ellen managed to stay upright long enough for Ivy to retrieve the camera and shove it into the backpack. She slung it onto her shoulders and got herself situated back under Mary Ellen’s arm. Mary Ellen clutched Ivy’s neck and took a step, her full weight surging against Ivy, making her knees buckle. Mary Ellen let out a little cry as they staggered, then she got the paddle planted on the ice, and Ivy managed to straighten up in time to keep them both from falling backward. “Jesus,” she said. She couldn’t get used to the feeling of the lady pressed against her, so close and solid and real.
They got off the ice and started following Ivy’s footprints up the zigzag path. It was narrow in some parts, forcing Ivy to turn and sidestep along with Mary Ellen, both arms wrapped around her middle. Mary Ellen was panting hard, and her face was shiny with sweat. She clutched Ivy so close that Ivy felt crushed, smothered, but she kept shuffling her feet through the snow and push-pulling the lady over each rise.
Eventually, they made it to the deck and inside the back door. Mary Ellen got herself over to the den couch and lay down with a groan. The makeshift bandage had loosened and sagged to her knee, exposing the bloody hole. Ivy turned away from it. It was too big, too dark. She wasn’t ready to think about what it meant.
“Water.”
Ivy went into the bathroom, dumped her toothbrush out of the cup by the sink, and tried, with shaking hands, to scrape away some of the blobs of toothpaste that had accumulated at the bottom. Mary Ellen made another loud groaning sound, and Ivy shook her head, filled the cup with water, and rushed back to the den. Mary Ellen raised herself on one elbow and drank the whole thing. Then she dropped the cup on the floor, covered her eyes with one hand, and took a deep, snuffling breath. She started to cry.
“No,” Ivy said, alarmed. “No, you have to tell me what to do; I don’t know what to do.”
Mary Ellen nodded and pressed her lips together. “Change the—” She gestured toward the tangle of bloody pads and clothes.
“Okay.” Ivy waited for more, but the lady’s eyes were closed, and she didn’t seem to have any ideas. Ivy went to Mary Ellen’s room and got another T-shirt and more pee pads, then took some towels from the linen closet. She came back to the den, where the lady was struggling to get her arms out of the coat. Ivy helped her, pulling the coat out from under her and bundling it at the end of the couch so the lady wouldn’t see how bloody it was. Then she rewrapped the leg, biting her top lip to keep herself from going all light-headed at the sight of the wet, gaping hole. Finally, she lowered Mary Ellen’s thigh onto a folded towel and carefully worked off her snowy boots.
“Get some pillows so I can elevate it some more.”
“Okay.” Ivy gathered some cushions and throw pillows and propped the lady’s leg up, adding another cushion under the towel so it stayed pressed against the bandage.
“That’s good,” Mary Ellen breathed, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Ivy said, feeling for the first time like she might actually be able to do this. The pajama-pant tourniquet refused to stay
