Twelve
Sedona
I foolishly allowed Jamison to stay the night at the hospital. And now he’s on one side of me with the nurse on the other, helping me to stand. The doctor is insisting that I get up and walk by the end of the day.
“Just a few steps and then we’ll get you in the wheelchair. You and Jamison can work on it little by little.”
“How are you on a first-name basis with him?” I ask the nurse, who beams at Jamison.
“He had a delivery of donuts brought to us this morning.”
Another member of the Jamison Ferguson fan club. Wonderful.
“You work fast,” I mumble in his direction.
After I take the few steps to the wheelchair, my lower abdomen feels as if it’s on fire. This is definitely harder than after I had Palmer.
“Good job, Sedona,” she says. “Now don’t go too fast with her, Jam
