by Faith Potts
James watches me, eyebrows wrinkling. “Why would your miraculous uncle care about me and my problems? And what is he, a searcher of lost persons?”
“No.” I shoot him a frustrated glare for the retarded suggestion and move toward the door. “He’s a veteran. And he has a heart for helping returning servicemen get a fresh start if they don’t have family or don’t have healthy family relations.”
James’s eyebrows pinch together as he shifts on his foot, leaning harder on his crutch. “You said something about that last night, but I wasn’t really listening.”
I really want to roll my eyes. “Well, he has a small apartment complex where the guys can stay as long as they need to. He lives at one end, and the rest of the condos are completely accessible—not to mention, within fifteen minutes of downtown. A couple evenings a week, he has group meetings where the guys can talk and bond…if they want.”
By the smirk pasted on James mouth, he’s not missing a thing that I’ve said—or in this case, haven’t said.
“You mean he helps out the guys who come back messed up?”
I swallow, turning to look out into the crowded room behind him. “Everyone is messed up.”
“Except me.”
I whirl back to face him, surprised by the cheesy smirk. Good thing I already finished my java or I would be spluttering right about now. “Well, I bow in your presence, Mr. Perfect.”
He scoots back, crutch squeaking on the tiled floor, and nods to the ground as if expecting me to fall to my face. “Go for it, fair maiden.”
“Fair maiden, huh?”
He shrugs, blushing pink. Good. That tack-on made things awkward for me, too.
“Mere figure of speech.”
“Of course.” I allow a grin. “All right, back to business.”
“Do I have to salute?”
“It’s recommended.”
Glowering, he slouches further if that’s possible with one leg, being barely upright as it is. “Sorry, not happenin’.”
“Fine.” I set my hands on my hips and cock my head toward the door. “We have some more things to discuss before Kellon gets here. Come to think of it, he should be here by now.”
James squints at me. “You call the doctor by his first name? Isn’t that a bit friendly for a…whatever you are.”
I open my mouth to spout off something sassy in reply, but before I can so much as utter a sound, James shifts his hold on the handle of his crutch, wavering slightly with his precarious balance.
“Hey, uh, you want to sit down while I explain?”
He doesn’t answer—only maneuvers to the nearest table and sinks into a chair, looking relieved.
I sit across from him and prop my elbows on the tabletop, bouncing right back to his question. “I refer to Doctor Lorance as Kellon because ‘big bro’ isn’t very professional.”
James shakes his head, looking down. “I should’ve guessed it. So that’s why y’all ganged up on me so quickly last night.”
“Guilty as charged. And as for my purpose in being in this place—”
“Another thing I’m confused on.” He leans his elbow on the table and props his chin in his hand. “This is proving to be a revealing morning.”
“It’s impolite to interrupt a fair maiden.”
“My apologies.”
I roll my eyes—he is so not sorry. “I’m a PTA. I work in the far wing of the hospital.”
James scrubs the stubble along his chin with his hand, maintaining eye contact with me. I like that about him—he makes me feel like our conversation is of importance even though we’re discussing the stupidest things.
“Last time I checked, the Parent-Teacher Association doesn’t have a stinkin’ thing to do with hospitals, or yanking foolish Marines off rooftops, or consuming large amounts of caffeine in the early mornings hours or…” He stops, biting his lip to suppress a smile. “Or whatever else you specialize in.”
I reach across the table and whack his arm. “PTA is physical therapist assistant, you dope.”
He grins—he already knew that. “Oh, an assistant? So you’re not the real thing?”
Does this guy ever stop? I turn my gaze toward the door. A white coat catches my eye. I’ve been saved from this one at least. “Doctor Lorance has finally arrived.”
James twists on his seat to face the doorway where Kellon has just appeared. My good-looking doctor-brother waves to us on his way to the cafeteria’s coffee nook.
While he’s facing away from me, I take the opportunity to let my gaze linger on James’s empty shirt sleeve…then the crutch sitting at his side. I can’t imagine being in his place—I have no idea how I would act. But I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be so upbeat, not hours after trying to commit suicide.
Maybe he wants to give life another try. Maybe he really didn’t want to end it all in the first place. Maybe, after the harsh blow his father dealt him, he just needed to know there was someone out there who cares. I, of all people, should know the effect that one person’s words can have on your emotional health and self-esteem.
As James glances around the room, still not facing me, he reaches his remaining hand up to his other shoulder. Massaging the stump that remains as a testament to what once was.
I can’t do it; I have to look away. He’s lost so much, yet he puts up the front of one so strong. But his eyes, haunted beneath the layer of tease, tell another story. One of hurt and anguish and—
This time James is the one to whack me. “Sorry, but I think he’s a bit old for you.”
Blinking out of my stupor, I realize I’m staring at a seventy-plus-year-old volunteer on the far side of the room.
I turn back to my breakfast partner with a fierce glare. “I was staring off into space and he stepped in the way.”
“Whatever.” James brushes it off as Kellon approaches.
“Good morning, Corporal Greene. Sis.” Inhaling the rich steam that wafts up from his Styrofoam cup, Kellon gets straight to business. “James, the head nurse informs me that she has scheduled an appointment for you with the prosthetist at ten-thirty, and you’re expected in therapy today as well. Though currently not your own therapist, the lovely Miss Alex here is going to show you around to those places.”
James nods. “Thanks, Doctor. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
“Ah, I haven’t done much.” Glancing from James to me, Kellon asks, “Is there anything you need to tell me?”
Oh great. He thinks I’ve already obtained contact information for James’s family.
“Don’t think so.” I glare back at Kellon, hoping he gets my warning message—this isn’t a cheery topic.
Kellon only nods and takes a step back. “All right. Well, don’t be too hard on our new pal.”
Sighing, I stand. “You act like I have a history.”
“You do,” Kellon mumbles. “Did you get a wheelchair, by the way?” he asks, waving his arm in the general direction of where such things are kept.
“Uh, no. I offered and was turned down.”
“Actually…” We both turn as James’s voice enters the conversation. “It wouldn’t hurt to offer again.”
I smile, propping my hands on the table. “Corporal Greene, could I interest you in a chauffeured tour of the hospital grounds on our way to the therapy wing?”
He nods, allowing a small smile that’s more in his eyes than the upturn of one side of his mouth. “Much as I dislike it, I’m not sure I could get any farther like this.”
After bidding Kellon good-day, fetching a wheelchair, and getting James situated, we set out down the hallway. I halt my self-assigned patient in front of the elevator and step around him to press the button.
“I’m not stupid, Miss Alex.”
I roll my eyes at the name. “You can drop the formal address. And what are you talking about?”
“I’m pretty sure you have better things to do than be my personal tour guide of the hospital.”
I release a small laugh, stalling for
time as I clamber to come up with a believable excuse. “Like you said, I specialize in dragging foolish Marines off rooftops.”
He cringes. “Did I really say foolish?”
“You did. And after I do, I prefer to make sure they stay true to the course. Can’t just abandon my projects, you know.”
He eyes me suspiciously as the elevator door slides open. “That doesn’t even make sense. And still, don’t you have real work to do? PTA and all that?”
“To be perfectly honest… this is my day off.” I wheel him a few feet back from the opening as a middle-aged couple with a little girl exit the elevator.
“So you’re here voluntarily?” He poses the question carefully, averting his eyes from the young child’s curious stares.
“Yep.” I wheel him inside before the door closes on us. “But it’s not so unusual. I usually volunteer twice a month.”
“Just can’t get enough of the place, huh?”
More like I don’t have a life outside of this place, but I’m not about to tell him that. Turning to press the button, I see that he’s already beat me to it.
“Which floor?”
“Ground. You’re getting the full tour.”
“I would expect nothing less.” His face twitches in what would be a charming smile if he let it. Not that I notice.
Silence claims the cramped space in the minimal moments before we reach the ground floor.
“Did you see that little girl?”
At his suddenly subdued tone, I look up from picking at the edges of my fingernails. “The one that got off the elevator?”
He nods, jaw shifting back and forth. “That’s why I was on the roof last night.”
My stomach pulls off a flawed somersault—or it would have, if stomachs were capable of such rambunctious activity. Chills race up my spine and across my shoulders. Lord, give me the right words.
“James, I—”
The elevator door slides open with a cheery ding. James glances from me to it and back again. “Onward, if you please, Miss Lorance. I have an appointment to keep.”
“How could I forget?” The attempt at lightness in my voice feels forced even to my own ears. I grab the handles of his wheelchair and start out the door.
We’re across the hall and entering the lobby before James breaks the awkward silence between us.
“I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
I shake my head—although he can’t see me—and steer past the front desk toward the main entrance. Maybe we need a tour of the parking deck. “No, it’s really okay. I just…wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”
“Alexandria Lorance!”
A shrill voice meets my ears and I growl under my breath, pausing near the lobby windows. Perfect time to show up, Mom.
“You’re being paged.” James turns, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly at the sight of the rhinestone-and-heels clad woman strutting across the carpet.
“That…” I murmur, “would be my mother.” I’m half-wishing she would have caught me before I came in or just called. She hardly ever shows up here.
I don’t miss the way her eyes stay on James as she clambers toward us. Certainly not the company she would have me keeping.
Hands still gripping the back of the wheelchair, I bite my tongue and whisper a prayer that she’ll at least be civil—and that I won’t say something I’ll later regret.
Chapter Three || James
By the way Miss Lorance makes no moves to greet her mother or even verbally acknowledge her presence, I can’t help wondering if she has any better of a relationship with her parents than I have with mine.
The woman reaches us, flapping a hand laden with gaudy jewelry. “Didn’t you hear me, Alexandria? Never mind, you obviously didn’t.” Her eyes drop to me and then bounce back up to her daughter. “Do you have a minute?”
Alex turns to me, a strained but polite smile pasted to her face. “Could you excuse me for just a second?”
“Of course.”
She steps away, following her mother to an out-of-the-way spot on the outskirts of the lobby. I can’t help noticing the way her shoulders slump as she follows the woman, arms crossed. Where Alex is authentic and funny, her mother appears to be ritzy and demeaning.
Well, looks like I’m stranded now. I absentmindedly tap my fingers along the armrest and stamp down the sense of panic at not being able to do anything at the moment. As long as no one approaches me, I’ll be fine. The stares make me want to kill someone.
A stand of outdated magazines, random brochures, and business flyers is sitting behind me. Rolling my chair backward with my toe in the carpet, I reach over and take hold of a magazine without even looking at the cover. I don’t even like magazines, but I’m in need of something to hide my face in.
Except for one small detail… It’s stuck. I give the magazine a quick yank, expecting it to come loose from where it’s cemented into the rack—probably by some kid’s bubble gum. The stupid thing comes free in my hand, but only after avalanching the rack and the rest of its contents into the floor.
My face colors in embarrassment. I’ll never be able to pick all these up. I swallow hard, forcing aside the ideas that flood my head. Those suggestions of being rid of my excuse for a life in any way I can. Those thoughts, those whispers in my head that say it’s not worth it. I’m not worth it.
You’re not enough… you never will be…
The sound of someone’s off-key whistling makes me sit up straighter and glance around. An elderly woman—a hospital volunteer, according to her name tag—is coming toward me, her arm and nose stuck down in her purse as she rummages through it.
I see the disaster coming before it actually happens. The lady not watching where she’s going and the fall hazard I’ve created…not a good combination.
She steps on top of the scattered magazines, her feet flying out from under her. Her attempt to grab hold of the counter behind me is in vain and somehow—in a flash of 90s prints and granny-perfume—she lands in my lap.
“I’m, uh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. A-are you okay?”
Wobbling back to her feet with my pitiful assistance, the lady giggles—her voice and manner all girlish and free. “Oh, don’t you worry another minute about it, sugar. After all—” she gestures to my lap “—you still caught me.”
Movement on my left catches my eye, and I look up to Alex. Eyes wide, she gives me a thumbs up and a look of question, obviously not listening to whatever her mom is chattering on about.
I nod and turn back to see if I can help the older lady any further. Instead of collapsing breathless into a lobby chair, she kneels, collecting the magazines and pamphlets I’ve strewn across the floor.
“Oh, that’s really not necessary, ma’am. I can—”
No, Greene, you can’t. Suck it up and accept the help.
Without even looking my way, she finishes her task, then stands and holds them out to me. Swallowing the shattered remnants of my pride, I accept the disorganized stack with a smile. “Thank you, ma’am. And I’m sorry, again, about what happened.”
She titters again, tucking a loose wisp of hair behind her ear with a daintily gloved hand. Who even wears gloves like that anymore? “You really needn’t apologize, sugar. It’s been ages since I was swept off my feet by such a dashing young man.”
Not knowing what I’m supposed to say to that, I just smile and return her ‘have a good day.’ I lean over and pick up the rack off the floor, wedging its base in the footrests while I cram all the upside-down brochures and wrinkled flyers into the pockets. No one reads this stuff anyway.
“Was that lady okay?” Alex appears at my side and helps me return the rack to its rightful position.
“Yeah, she said she was. Thankfully, she didn’t hit the floor.”
Alex doesn’t answer, but I see the way she’s biting her lip when she moves past me. She takes hold of the wheelchair handles and we start toward the door.
“Go ahead and laugh.”
&n
bsp; She does, but more of a polite chuckle. “What are you talking about?”
“My incident with the sweet little ol’ grandma. You look like you’re about to bust.”
“Well, it was kind of…amusing.”
“Mmhmm.” I squint at the bright sunlight as we leave the covering and set out across the parking lot. “Okay, now that I’ve let you laugh at me, you have to tell me what your encounter was about. And where are you taking me?”
“What encounter? And we’re taking the long way around to your therapist appointment. I thought you wanted a tour of the grounds?”
“I never said that.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She stops suddenly, and I grab the armrest to avoid being slung forward. “Would you rather go straight to the—”
I resist the urge to twist and look back at her, choosing instead to talk without facing her the same as she’s doing to me. It’s awkward, but there isn’t much I can do about it. This wheelchair business just isn’t going to cut it.
“I wouldn’t mind a tour of the grounds. A fellow whose days are numbered ought to see all he can of the world while he’s got the chance. Besides, you have to tell me about your visit with your mom. And who knows, maybe the sunlight will even improve my mood.”
She’s quiet for a moment, as if digesting my words, and then we start moving again. But she still doesn’t speak until we’re halfway across the parking area and away from anyone else. “That’s the most you’ve said in one mouthful all morning.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry for not talking before or sorry for talking now?”
I huff and drop my head back. Something I bump moves, and I quickly pull myself back erect. Idiot. Can’t even sit in a wheelchair without doing something stupid.
“Sorry,” I mumble. Again.
“That’s okay.” Her voice isn’t the same as before, isn’t the same bubbly, energeticness that it was this morning.
“Am I the only one noticing that the air suddenly got really tense?”
