Whispered Courage

Chapter One

"Ouch!"

"What'd you do? Cut yourself?"

Tanna grabbed one finger where a bright red blossom had turned the paper towel pink, and applied pressure, all the while mentally cursing. "Darn it. That's dumb of me."

"Let me see." Leandra had stopped cooking and was at Tanna's side like any good deli manager should be. "How the hell did you cut it that way? What'd you do?"

Tanna let the pressure on her pinky finger go and watched the paper towel turn bright red. She felt a second of queasiness and then clamped the paper towel back down.

"I reached over the top of it."

"Why?" Leandra's voice was mockingly annoyed. She ushered Tanna around the front counter and back toward Jim's office down the cold tile hallway.

"I know. It was dumb. Why'd I do it? I don't know. It happened so fast."

"Bad timing, sister." Leandra smiled, implying with the one word of endearment how she felt about her friend.

They entered Jim's office. Meg, at the reception desk glanced up at the two women as they entered, Leandra with her hand covering Tanna's and the reddish paper towel showing through their clenched fingers.

"What happened?" she asked in alarm, her dark brown eyes turned away from the computer in immediate concern. "Jim! Jim's in his office."

Leandra didn't miss a step. "She cut it on the slicer."

Jim himself, looking a good deal younger and trimmer than his fifty-four years suggested, had heard the slight commotion and come to the door of his cubicle office. "Cut yourself on the slicer, young lady?" He reached for the offending hand wrapped in the paper towel. "How bad is it, Leandra?"

"Probably needs stitches."

"Then take her down to the clinic."

"I don't need stitches!" Tanna protested, suddenly finding her voice. "Just let me call my dad, he's ex-paramedic. He'll know if I need stitches."

Jim's compassionate eyes were drawn from the red and now dripping towel to Tanna's worried expression and Leandra's firmer one. "Yes, she does need stitches. I knew she'd protest, that's why I brought her back here."

"Leandra, you should know by now, if it needs stitches, take her over there yourself. Do you want me to call Joyce in early? Here, Meg, call Joyce in early." He glanced at his watch as Leandra shoved the bloody paper towel covered finger at him once again with a determined look at her patient. He observed the silent pleading in Tanna's eyes, knowing she disliked attention drawn to herself, and also knowing at the same time that Leandra had formed an attachment for this co-worker and didn't want to see her go without treatment if indeed treatment was needed. "You two are off in half an hour anyway." He said and took one step backward. "Lunch is over, isn't it? Marcille can handle it a few minutes on her own."

"Come on, sister, out to my rig." Leandra kept a firm hand on Tanna's back as she pushed her toward the door.

"Leandra, stop. I don't need to go to the doctor."

"Jim'll pay for it, hon, don't worry about that. I really think it needs stitches."

"I can call my dad."

They were to the door now. "I saw the cut, I saw it, Tanna. It needs to be looked at anyway." Leandra had opened the door and urged Tanna's protesting form out. The bright afternoon sunshine hit their deli darkened eyes and they both squinted as Leandra reached in her pocket for her truck keys.

Their eyes met, and the challenge was on, for all Tanna's timidity, she could be stubborn, and for all Leandra's gentle determination, she wouldn't take anything less than the answer she had already decided upon. Tanna didn't have stubborn over Leandra's ability to get her way.

The auto lock beeped and Leandra opened her own driver side door. "Get in." 

Tanna gritted her teeth, mentally stomping in rising frustration. "I don't want to go." She said sounding a little less like a thirty-nine-year-old than like an irrational teenager.

Her junior by three years, Leandra could mentally stomp with greater feeling than her friend. "Get in, I'm taking you."

Tanna put her free hand on the door handle and opened it, thrusting herself up into the black heat of the truck in annoyance. "You'll see, it isn't necessary."

"I'll let the doctor be the judge of that, missy."

They didn't speak at all on the short drive to the urgent care facility where the employees of Jim's Gas Station and Deli-Mini-Mart were customarily seen if there was an on the job problem. Tanna was resigned, Leandra determined. They waited a full half hour after filling out paper work for the doctor to see Tanna's injury, and determine that indeed it did need stitches, as she'd deeply sliced the outside knuckle on the smallest finger of her left hand.

With it bandaged properly and a sense of dismay clearly permeating both women, they returned to their place of employment and explained to first Jim, then the other deli girls, Joyce, and Marcille what had happened and that Tanna wouldn't be able to perform her customary duties for a day or two, at least in regard to slicing, or doing dishes. After that Leandra remembered she was supposed to pick up her grandson, Paul from pre-school, so her daughter, Jenelle could take Leandra's younger grandson, Jamie to get his baby shots. She was on her cell phone and out the same glass door in seconds with a wave for a job well done, her way once again prevailed in the deli, leaving Tanna sitting in a booth with a tired sigh and her own brand of a commiserate wave.

Kristi came by as she sat there and asked to hear what she'd done. "Well, are you going to go home?" Kristi asked.

"In a minute." Tanna affirmed. "I just need to catch my breath."

Kristi, who worked the cash registers, or what the deli girls referred to as "out front", swished her long blonde hair over her shoulder and went back to help a customer, just as another customer approached the deli counter.

At first, Tanna stared at her finger, all bandaged tightly and throbbing now that the pain medication was wearing off, but she became aware that the customer was not being helped with that same responsible sense of duty she would have had she been on shift. She pulled herself out of the green vinyl booth and wound her way quickly to the far side of the counter. She retrieved one of the light green order pads and a pen and then glanced behind her to where Marcille was bagging sub rolls that had been baked earlier that morning, her back to the counter, and Joyce was nowhere to be seen. Her eyes rose to those of the customer. "May I help you?"