“So it’s true. My friend is seriously ill, isn’t she?” I reached out, touched the thin, white cotton blanket on the bed.
Gertrude. Tiny and frail like a frightened animal curled up in a ball.
“No, she’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Didn’t they tell you? It was only a little fall.”
“That’s what I don’t understand. A fall at Gertrude’s age could be serious. You don’t have to have a nursing degree or college certificate to understand this,” I told her, rubbing it in, knowing she was hired help like myself.
“Don’t believe everything you hear. She slipped in the bathroom getting ready for her shower. She has a small bruise or two. Pulled a muscle. Those can be painful, last quite a while but I assure you they aren’t serious,” she said, parroting Frieda pretty much word for word.
“Yes, but someone should have been in the bathroom with her. She’s not steady on her feet.”
“She’s done it before. It isn’t a big deal.”
Jesus. Not a big deal. I don’t believe these people