Mom in the Middle

"Mama!" Abby Cramer screamed. Her mother had suddenly collapsed, one lega hand on the shopping cart that held her toddler and dropped to her knees on the concrete floor of the new home-improvement center. "What happened?" The young cashier bolted around her checkout counter and knelt beside Abby. Her mother clenched her teeth against the obvious pain. "My foot slipped out from under me." She twisted at the waist in an effort to get up, then fell back with a gasp. The character lines in her pale face deepened with the grimace. Abby knew her very private parent would die of pain before she'd suffer the embarrassment of tears in public. "Don't worry about your little boy. I'm right here beside him." A woman's voice penetrated Abby's concern. She nodded thanks, let go of the cart and turned full attention to her mother, who once again strained to sit up. "Please lay still. You might have broken something." Abby began the assessment she'd learned during first-aid training. The skills had served her well in her three years as an elementary schoolteacher. Her mother's hands fluttered like the wings of an angry bird, shooing away Abby's efforts to feel for injuries. "Oh, I've just aggravated my old sciatic back. I'll be okay in a few minutes." She held her breath through a determined effort to ease her twisted leg from its abnormal position. Finally giving up, she rested her head on the floor. The store employee untied her apron, rolled the cloth into a pillow and maneuvered it beneath shortclipped, salt-and-pepper hair. "Don't move. I'll get Guy," the cashier insisted as her sneakers squeaked a fast departure toward the back of the new store. Concerned onlookers stopped to offer assistance. Abby reached for her mother's hand, only to be brushed away. Being the late-in-life only child of Sarah Reagan was both a blessing and a curse. Responsibility and kindness were civic requirements of the woman who was more like a finishing school headmistress than a doting parent. While Abby's mother expected her daughter to help others, Sarah generally refused aid at all cost. Abby's gaze darted from the scene on the slick concrete floor to her precious toddler son who perched in the shopping cart above her. Dillon's chubby legs dangled as he leaned forward and frowned over the excitement below. She smiled to reassure him, mouthed a silentThank youto the thoughtful female who hovered nearby. "Where's my purse, Abigail?" "It's still on the counter."wallet." Abby reached for the pastel spring bag and offered the other shoppers an apologetic shrug before placing the straw purse within her mother's reach. "I don't want to worry your father about this so let's not mention it when we get to the house." "Mama, we're going to have to go to the hospital to make sure you don't have a serious injury." "Nonsense," Sarah insisted. But the word was hardly out when she yelped involuntarily, arching her back from the stab of pain. "I have to agree with your daughter." A man squatted beside Abby, his orange apron announcing the grand opening of yet another new Hearth and Home Super Center. "We've put in a call to a private ambulance service. They'll be here any minute to take you to Brackenridge." "No, thank you," Sarah insisted. "A senior citizen on a fixed income can't afford a luxury like that. Besides, a hospital will just run expensive tests, take my money, and tell me I'm fine." Sarah's hands felt for the buttons of her seersucker jacket, making sure she was properly covered. "As soon as I catch my breath, Abigail can take me home." Handsome blue eyes, glinting with unspoken conspiracy sought Abby's permission to take charge of the situation. She nodded slightly, glad to haveonly for a few moments. "I'm afraid that's not possible, ma'am. It's Hearth and Home's standard operating procedure for any injury, no matter how minor, toNunn, Mae is the author of 'Mom in the Middle ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373874330 and ISBN 0373874332.