Jane had spent most of the weekend on the sofa, knocking back soft drinks and snacks. She'd weigh a ton if she kept that up. "You'll drive, or should I?"

“Have you checked your car insurance?" Shelley asked.

“My car insurance?"

“I'm told most insurance companies won't payfor an accident if the driver has a cast on the right foot."

“Are you really telling me I can't take myself anywhere at all? For weeks! I'll go mad!"

“Be ready in about ten minutes," Shelley said. "My cast is wet."

“Oh? Will that slow you down?"

“No, I'm just complaining. I put a plastic bag around it like you said to do before showering. Taped it up with masking tape that turned out not to be waterproof. When we go out, could we stop and let me get something better to tape it with?”

Jane was waiting in the driveway in eight minutes. She'd experimented with an old purse with a long strap, and Shelley was right that it flapped around and unbalanced her. The pockets of the baggy, much-pocketed shorts Shelley had bought her were full. Checkbook, ballpoint pen, notepad, lipstick, billfold, a box of tissues, house keys, a bag of lemon drops in case she suddenly felt weak with hunger.

“You do look a bit like the Michelin Man," Shelley said, opening the car door for her. "Watch it. You just cracked my shin with that crutch. Want a boost? That step into the van is high."

“Sorry," Jane said. "Everybody in my house is afraid of me. Especially Willard the Cowardly Dog and the cats." She fumbled around for the seat belt to drag herself up. "I've accidently smacked all of them a couple times when they got underfoot, and Willard got goosed when he stepped in front of me. I think they've decided crutches are some sort of threshing machine and will never come near me again. Max and Meow still sleep at the foot of my bed, but when I get up to go to the bathroom at night, they scatter for shelter.”