Tales Of Corwin

In the morning, Sandra’s ankle was still tender and swollen. Mark called his parents to postpone breakfast, and he convinced Sandra to go to the urgent care first. There, they put a compression bandage and a walking brace on her ankle, told her to ice it and elevate it, and told her to get some rest. Sandra was indignant. “I can’t bloody well ‘get some rest’ the day before Thanksgiving, with your parents here! Look.” She made an effort to walk a few steps to the car without limping. “See? I can do this.” “I’m sure you can,” Mark countered. “But I’m also sure you shouldn’t. Let’s go get breakfast first, anyway. You’ll feel better with something to eat. And hey, there’s an upside: you look very pathetic with that thing on your foot, my dear.” “Oh, thanks a lot.” “No, I mean: it’s an advantage. It’ll make meeting my folks that much easier.” So when Mark and Sandra walked into the dining room at the Shaughnessy Hotel to meet Mark’s parents, Sandra was limping along with a walking brace on her right foot. It