There is a certain, almost tangible substance to the sound of something breaking. A ceramic plate falls on the tile and there is a definite crack. A glass crashes to the floor. The dropped egg splats when it hits a hard surface. Last week, I retrieved a hot cookie sheet from the oven sans oven mitt and the pan fell to the ground with a hard clang. All of these palpable noises, however, pale in comparison to the sound I heard yesterday as I was locking the front door of one of my active listings after having shown some interested buyers as a favor for an agent who had gone out of town.

This engaging and pleasant couple had flown in over the weekend from their home state of Wisconsin. They were both retired and had a long-standing relationship with a reputable Realtor who was helping them see some vacation homes they were interested in purchasing. They had booked a flight out for Monday following a weekend of showings, one of them being my listing. Monday morning, their agent contacted me and asked if I could get them through my listing one more time. It was on the top of their list and they wanted to get some measurements. However, he had just flown out that morning for a short trip with his wife. I agreed to meet his clients at the listing and have them take a second look. This was a hopeful sign for my sellers, so I was happy to accommodate.

After measurements were made, we chatted for a bit until they realized they needed to leave to catch their flight in time. This is when it happened. The noise. It was a sharp snap followed by a loud groan. I was no less than 40 feet away, yet it was sharp and brittle, like the crack of a twig breaking underfoot, only louder — more forceful. It sliced through the air and echoed briefly before fading. It was nearly painful to hear.

“I think I broke my ankle,” she cried. She was sitting in the gutter, the small gap between the car and the curb. Both legs were extended; however, the top foot had a grotesque and unnatural twist to it. Her foot was facing the wrong direction.

“We need an ambulance,” calmly declared her husband, who was standing behind her back holding her upright with his knees.

“I got it,” I responded, trying to mirror her husband’s composed state on the outside, while understatedly freaking out on the inside. I called 911, dropped my keys and papers and ran over by their side repeating everything aloud that the emergency operator was telling me. After being told the ambulance was on the way, I hung up and kneeled by her side, feeling quite helpless. She was in obvious pain and was beginning to display some sign of shock.

While I have no medical skills, apart from having worked for Primary Children’s Hospital throughout my first years of college as a nutritional educator, I could only advise her to remain fasting until help arrived, a discernibly useless and unsolicited bit of advice.

The EMTs arrived quickly and began splinting her ankle and getting her prepared for transport. Meanwhile, my client’s phone started blowing up with calls. She was peppered with questions about what happened, who was hurt and how they could help. The town’s fire chief even called her to ask her why his crew had been dispatched to her home. My client, of course, had no idea about the accident. She and her husband had vacated the home for the showing and were not set to return for another 20 minutes or so.

After having loaded the injured party into the ambulance, with her husband following behind, they headed to the nearest hospital, right next to my office. I returned to the house and made sure it was locked up and called my client to explain what happened. She was speechless. I assured her that things would be okay, and I would check in on these guys at the hospital later that afternoon and report back.

As I entered their assigned hospital room later that afternoon with a small flower arrangement in tow, they invited me in and we proceeded to chat for some time. They assured me that they had no intention of suing the homeowner (he had been in the insurance business and was cognizant of the possibility and concern) and told me they were still very interested in the home. We chatted more about their hometown, sharing all that they love about it, and they invited me to come visit.

Although their trip was delayed, their plans for skiing this year significantly altered, and an impending surgery in an unfamiliar hospital, we both parted ways grateful for a new friendship, even though I’m not their Realtor. That is a sound you cannot describe.

Jen Fischer is an associate broker and Realtor. She can be reached at 801-645-2134 or jen@jen-fischer.com.