The Curiosities Concerning Fate

∷ Chapter 3 ∷

THE BRIDE'S BUTLER, as Astrid Jones had so affectionately named her small establishment, gained recognition much too quickly for her liking. The attention was flattering, but not at all what she had in mind when she first started her venture to be part of the wedding industry.

She had no intentions to be famous, did not trust a majority of people; and had no interest in expanding her business. She wasn't greedy for fame or fortune, and that aspect set her apart from her competition. The wedding receptions catered by The Bride's Butler were always genuine and heartfelt, a rarity in the overindulgent world of arrogance often boasted in the extravagance of one's ceremony.

The boutique prided itself in being exclusive, with clients that ranged from the known to the lesser-known. They did not discriminate, and anyone who could afford the proffered services was welcomed. Unlike most other boutiques, The Bride's Butler only accepted a handful of clients per season. Their small group was an easy target for burnout and Astrid did not wish to take that chance.

The boutique door chimed open, interrupting the somewhat serene atmosphere that had been established. Astrid lifted her gaze, locking eyes with Adine whose head was poking through the opening. She gave her boss a sheepish smile, aware of the trouble her tardiness had caused her.

"Hi," she said upon entering the boutique.

"Ah, look who decided to grace us with her presence at last," Astrid said, sarcasm evident in her tone and manner.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Adine said. "Something happened on the way and—"

"Yes, clearly," Astrid interrupted, eyeing her assistant's dishevelled and bloodied form. There was silence before she said, "And?"

"What?" Adine said, lingering awkwardly; uncertain if she'd been cued to return to her desk or continue standing trial.

"Explain yourself."

"I didn't know the brakes on my bicycle weren't working," she said. "I was riding downhill and crashed into a pedestrian and, well . . ."

She gestured to herself by means of explanation, filling in the void of how the story concluded.

"My god, are you okay?"

Mike rushed towards her, having just noticed her arrival. He gripped her hands, turning them several ways to inspect the broken skin and the bleeding that had ensued as a result.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Really."

The exaggerated commotion brought Lisa's attention to the duo, and in her own way of showing concern, she said, "You should go to the doctor. Infections can take root from wounds that are left in the open for prolonged periods."

Adine shifted her gaze towards her boss, hiding behind the silent request to take the day off and using Lisa's words as a shield. Astrid wouldn't want her assistant contracting a dangerous infection, now, would she?

Astrid sighed. Turning to Lisa, she said, "Clear out Michael's—"

"Mike," he corrected with a stern yet agitated gaze.

The atmosphere turned tensed, enough for everyone to note the mistake in Astrid's words. She stared at him for an extended minute before clearing her throat and acting as though nothing was amiss as she addressed Lisa once more.

"Clear out Mike's schedule for the rest of the day."

To Mike, she said, "And you, take Adine somewhere to get her injuries tended to. I don't need my assistant getting infected by some unknown disease because of her carelessness."

"What about my schedule . . . ?" Adine mumbled, expressing her confusion between Lisa and Astrid.

"You have nothing of importance to do today. Your schedule does not need clearing," Astrid said.

Adine frowned. She was sure she had a fitting or two sometime in the day.

"But—"

"Don't you have an unrelated doctor's appointment today?" Astrid intervened. "You cleared your schedule last month."

Ah, she did. And she'd completely forgotten.

"Really . . . How am I better at being an assistant than you are?" Astrid mumbled beneath her breath. She glanced at the two and dismissively waved her hand.

"Go, take the rest of the day off. I don't need useless people in my boutique."

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THE EMERGENCY ROOM at Faith Hill Private Hospital was busy as always. From crying children to the warbled complaints of the elderly; from the constant blare of the public address system to the squeaking of shoes against the floor as the personnel rushed about . . . The place was a mess of confusion and disarray.

Adine slumped in her seat, wincing when the plastic chair creaked in retaliation.

"I hate hospitals," she grumbled beneath her breath.

"I know," Mike said, glancing at her. "But we wouldn't have to be here in the first place if you learned to be more careful and start taking better care of yourself.

"You worry too much," Adine said.

"Your lack of spatial awareness is worrying."

"It's a small incident. I'll be fine," she said. "It's not a big deal, I promise."

Ignoring her desperate attempts at reassurance, Mike said, "So, what are you going to do now that your bicycle's been totalled? You know you'll never get to work on time if you walk, right?"

"About that . . ."

Adine grinned, straightening in her chair and shifting to face him.

"I was wondering if you could fetch me to and from work."

When he narrowed his eyes at her in mock hesitance, she clapped her hands together in front of her and pleaded, "Please!"

"Fine," he said, huffing when she made a victory cheer and clung to him in a hug.

"Alright, enough," he laughed, pushing her away.

A comfortable silence settled over them shortly after, one that didn't last as long as they would've liked. The doors of the ER burst open with a flurry of chaos and movement. Adine was startled, looking over her shoulder to see a young lady being wheeled in on a stretcher. She had an oxygen mask strapped over her mouth and nose, her chest heaving in evidence of the way she was having difficulty breathing.

"Anaphylactic reaction," one of the accompanying paramedics said while the other was concisely listing her vitals to the attending nurse.

The stretcher was wheeled past the waiting room before disappearing through the swinging doors at the end of the hallway. The silence that followed the commotion was daunting, a heavy and uncomfortable feeling knotting itself in Adine's stomach as she grimaced. She stared at the doors that were only just beginning to slow to a stop. Anxiety gripped her heart along with the growing unease that followed.

"I hate hospitals," she mumbled, sliding further down her seat once more.