Virtuous Deception 2

by Leiann B. Wrytes

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. She’s gone.”

  Chapter 42

  Temporarily relocating to the center provided Micah with a unique opportunity to exercise his bourgeoning perspective. Setting the stage for the next phase in his life, Ms. Vida’s presence was lively, indicative of how very different this span of time would be. Before her, he had no one but his fickle love, Brianna.

  The first day at the center was simple enough. After briefly meeting with his team of professionals to discuss his therapeutic plan, he spent the remainder of the day acclimating himself to his new surroundings. His room was about the size of the average private hospital room, fitted with the latest in medical equipment, a 32-inch flat screen mounted on the wall, positioned so that he may view it easily from his bed, and a few items Ms. Vida brought to make the space feel a bit more like home.

  There was a large window on the longest wall, separating him from the parking lot outside. The view of the parking lot was nothing to marvel at, but he was glad to see the sun rise and set each day. This routine quickly became a favorite of his. The natural light refreshed him, as did counting the handful of stars visible in the night’s sky, an activity he fell in love with. Staring into the vastness of the sky settled his mind, offering time for him to reflect on how fortunate he was to still have his life. He could have easily died, and perhaps he should have. Some very brave bystanders had pulled him to safety, and he didn’t even know their names. For a spell each night, he descended into a gratuitous space as a way of paying homage to them, sending his thank-you into the universe in hopes that it would reach them.

  Each morning, he woke before the rooster crowed, excited to start his day. This was a completely new Micah. Even he was surprised by the degree to which his attitude had improved since leaving the hospital. The center’s staff embraced him from the onset. He knew that his condition was not nearly as bad as some of the other patients there, but he was not made to feel any less important. Everyone had an encouraging word, a smile, and made it clear that they were rooting for him. He did not know if their niceties were a matter of policy or if they emerged from a genuine place, but he didn’t care. The daily chorus of voices offered him a high-octane energy that propelled him far beyond the mental limitations he had lived with for so long. He could not recall a moment in his life when he had worked so fervently toward achieving one singular goal.

  Ms. Vida, his “hype (wo)man,” did not stay overnight, but returned each day, presiding over his sessions and hounding him about taking his medication, just as she had during his hospital stay, bringing her vibrant spirit and no-nonsense demeanor right along with her. It was not lost on him the profound affect she had on him.

  Micah, no longer shirking his responsibilities to himself, took his bipolar medication without coercion and without shame. This shift in his perception was solely thanks to her. His father had taught him that needing medication meant that he was weak, convincing him that acknowledging his disorder signified cowardice, but his father had been wrong. Ms. Vida helped him to see and understand. His disorder was no fault of his, but pretending like he did not have it had left him susceptible. Refusing to embrace all of himself had poisoned his psyche and left a fatal imprint on everything he did. Nothing good in his life had ever lasted for long—not that it was not a possibility, but his attitude had precluded him from holding on to those memories. Embracing what some would perceive as flaws, imperfections, was an essential part of learning to love himself, a vital step in his recovery. Possibly for the first time in several years, Micah was in a healthy space.

  Team Harrison, his therapists, were each at the top of their respective fields, in his opinion. With no major physical impairments, Micah had already completed his work with Jimmy Keith, whom he saw for physical therapy, after only one week. The first few days were grueling, when his attempts to corral his gelatin legs to hold his weight proved frivolous, but it wasn’t long before he regained his strength. He walked with a noticeable limp from the injury to his leg, but Jimmy was satisfied with his progress. His chest still hurt like he had worked out for the first time in a decade, but he considered it a minor irritation compared to the alternative. With the first hurdle firmly in his rearview, Micah figured that the worst of it was behind him.

  The majority of his time belonged to Hannah Nguyen, his eccentric occupational therapist. Together they traveled through what would amount to an ordinary day of life on his own, so that she could assess his independence. Early on, he had balance issues, but even that had improved to a significant degree. The importance of having the ability to stand upright without wavering to the left or the right had been lost on him, until he realized how truly difficult it was to do even the simplest of things without it. Moving around was one thing, but even a task as thoughtless as washing dishes, wiping a table, or putting groceries away after shopping were exhaustive. If she was not satisfied with his progress by the projected discharge date, she had the power to retain him. Micah was not necessarily concerned with this, but he did not want to disappoint Ms. Vida. She had rearranged her life for him, and he wanted to continue to make that decision a bright spot for her.

  Mayesha Stills, cognitive therapist, made pulling his memories out of storage the focal point of their time together. Since the accident had remarkably left his speech and, for the most part, his mental processes intact, she could forgo the need to help him relearn the complicated mechanics of speaking and delve directly into the commission of his memory. To Micah’s dismay, Dr. Ramvi’s foreboding rang true. Each day of his demanding schedule exhausted him physically, mentally, and emotionally. Nevertheless, Micah was progressing well ahead of schedule, and much of that he credited to Team Harris.

  Things had moved relatively smoothly until yesterday. Admittedly, the time with his speech therapist was the most challenging, mostly because the task felt improbable to him. That had changed yesterday. Near the end of their time, something had returned to him. It was one sliver of a memory, a glimpse into his past, revealing Brianna expressing her desire to slow things down between them. He could only remember that moment, something he was certain that he must have taken to mean she wanted to part ways.

  He deduced this to be true. It was the exact feeling that swallowed him after the memory surfaced. Brianna had a lot of rules, and he abided by them, hoping to earn a place in her life, but even before her admission, he had started feeling the distance between them. Needless to say, the memory was not a pleasant one, but it did explain her absence.

  Mayesha highlighted that, although the news hurt, its recovery meant that he stood an excellent chance of full restoration over time. The news was intended to encourage him, but Micah was not sure if he wanted to remember. Maybe not knowing was better. He went to sleep with these things on his mind and awoke in this morning, greeted by the same sadness.

  He continued his work and powered through. He tried to stay upbeat, but he couldn’t deny how the news had zapped much of his energy. He loved Brianna and missed her. He really thought they could have had something special, and it hurt to know that he was wrong. He couldn’t even be certain how much time had passed. Even if he could find her, it may be far too late to win her heart.

  Some part of him hoped that she would seek him out, but he fully understood how unlikely this was. He had not fallen to pieces or slipped into the same kind of numbness that had caged him his last day as a resident of the hospital, but he worried about his proximity to doing so. It was easy to put his grief to the side while he was working by focusing on the task, but in moments like these, when he was alone in his room, the sadness reached through his rib cage and pummeled his heart.

  The sunlight of midday poured into his room, making everything on his left visually off limits to him. The plasma was on, but no sound escaped the speakers. The quiet was necessary. The turkey sandwich had lost its fresh appeal, as the Dijon mustard turned the ciabatta bread into some mushy matter, steadily pushing its flavor into his nostrils.
The sandwich was made at his request, fuel for his body, but he could not eat. The aroma turned his stomach into knots. He forced the fruit portions to go down, and he hoped that would be enough to soften the blow to Ms. Vida’s expectations. Surely, she would understand the hurt he was feeling. His appetite simply was not there.

  “Micaaahhh?” Ms. Vida sang, drawing his eyes to her peppered bun and Mother Goose glasses as she entered the room, allowing the large, wooded door to close with a loud clang behind her. “Micah Harris, what are you doing?”

  “Thinking, Ms. Vida.” Micah watched her grab the rolling chair, covered in cloth, stained with a floral design from the seventeenth century, and push it to her “area,” the space where she sat each day, beside his bed.

  “Just thinking.”

  “Not eating, I see.” She spoke plainly, but with a hint of tenderness, speaking like she knew he needed her to be gentle.

  “I ate some. I cannot . . .” Micah did not finish his sentence. Her eyes silenced him. He knew that look. She knew he was hurting but did not care to hear any excuses. She left no room in his world for them, and he wouldn’t force one on her.

  “Why aren’t you eating?”

  Micah shrugged his shoulders and took a deep breath, readying himself for what he knew was coming.

  “Are you quitting? Are you throwing your progress into the abyss? Undoing all of the changes you have made?”

  He winced as her demands packaged in these questions sliced into his pain. “No ma’am. It’s just a sandwich.”

  “No, Micah, it is not just a sandwich. This is your life. This is about the commitment you have to make in order for this new Micah to find permanent residency within your heart, your mind. You cannot do this.” She motioned toward his half-eaten meal. “You cannot leave work undone and expect to win. Halfway will not get it done. Just enough is never enough, Micah.”

  Her indictment of his manhood, of his desire to heal, hurt like cool water on scorched skin. He shrugged off the sting as one last visage of resistance scurried to his lips. “Ms. Vida—”

  “Listen to what I am telling you. Pull yourself together. I understand you received unfavorable news yesterday, but this is a new day. This new day requires all of you. All of you, Micah. Do not lose out on what is available in your present, harboring sentiment from your past.” Pointing to the sandwich, she said, “Take that and eat.”

  “Ms. Vida, the last thing I want to do is disappoint you, but—” The glare in her stare paused his thought, sent him scrambling for a new angle. “I ate the fruit. Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, it is not enough because you still have a sandwich there. If you lack the discipline to eat a measly sandwich, how do you expect to face real obstacles? Consider this practice: you are creating mental muscle memory intended to help you finish any and every task before you. Developing an attitude consistent with a drive to finish what you begin. To finish.”

  Micah did not respond. He picked up the sandwich and ate it quickly. Even if he failed to comprehend all of what Ms. Vida said, one thing was perfectly clear: she was unwilling to let this pass without his compliance. He felt like a child in her presence from time to time, but he liked that. She lavished upon him the kind of mothering the hurt little boy living within him needed. Ms. Vida helped to heal him one lecture at a time, and he could feel it.

  “Good. Now clean yourself up as much as you can. I spoke with Ms. Nguyen, and she shared, with mild enthusiasm, that she was impressed with your progress. If you continue at this pace, you could be released to my care as soon as two weeks from now.”

  Micah perked up a bit. That was good news. “What does that have to do with me cleaning myself up?”

  “It does not have a thing to do with it.”

  Micah raised his brow in confusion. “Well . . .?”

  “You have a visitor. Two, actually, and you should not be seen like this.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Please keep your questions and do as I have asked. I probably cannot answer them anyway.”

  “Of course, Ms. Vida, but—”

  “No buts. Do not ask for my help with the mundane. As I told you, I spoke with Hannah. I want to see for myself what you are able to do. I will provide assistance if I feel you need it.”

  Micah chuckled. He was going to let her know that there was not much for him to do. He worked out first thing in the morning, showered, and dressed after. He was only in bed because he preferred the semi-softness of the mattress over the hard leather backing of the only other chair in the room. Micah pushed the tray out of his way and tossed the covers back, revealing his navy-blue basketball shorts and white T-shirt. “Ta da!” He stated as he swung his legs off the bed’s edge.

  “Comedy does not suit you,” Ms. Vida replied with a wide grin on her face. “I am going to retrieve your guests. While I am gone, please find your smile and a more pleasant demeanor.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ms. Vida stood and hurried out of the door. Micah tried to gather his bearings. He was in no mood to receive company, and faking it would be difficult. Nonetheless, when the shadows graced his doorway, he plastered a smile on his face. Looking up from the floor, he greeted them.

  “Hello, I—”

  Micah could not believe his eyes. If Ms. Vida had not been standing there, he would have discounted it all as a dream. Excitement bellowed within him like clouds of smoke over the mouth of a volcano. He wanted to break into a gospel number, a ridiculously difficult dance piece, and morph into the most expensive fireworks display ever, all at once. And just like that, the whole world opened up to him once again.

  Chapter 43

  Fear gripped her heart. She may have run away were it not for Dr. Baxter. His eyes reassured her that she was safe. Javan could not hurt her. This nurse spoke very kindly of Javan, but she called him Micah. Micah did not sound anything like the Javan who had forced her to flee in the night from his home. This Micah did not even seem real. Yet there he was, sitting on his bed, staring at her with eyes brimming with questions. She could only imagine the things roaming through his mind. Dr. Baxter nudged her back with his forefinger, pushing her out of her head.

  “Please have a seat, child.”

  Ms. Vida’s voice was kind, inviting. She instantly felt at ease with her. Ms. Vida spoke with an eloquence Brianna could appreciate. She found it peculiar that she didn’t use any contractions, but for some reason, the odd fact made her even fonder of her. It was a sentiment that Brianna did not hand out to many.

  “Sure, thank you.” Brianna made her way to the floral-patterned chair Ms. Vida ushered her into. She could feel Micah’s eyes recording her every move.

  “Micah, do not be rude to your guests. Speak.”

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me. I’m just . . . shocked. I cannot believe you are really here. I didn’t think that I would ever see you again, Brianna.”

  “Trust me. That makes two of us.” Brianna watched his eyes shift from her to Dr. Baxter and then back. “You remember Dr. Baxter, Javan? I mean, Micah.”

  He took a moment, squinting his eyes in thought. “You were my neighbor at a house I purchased in Allen. Some kind of special obstetrician?”

  Dr. Baxter ventured away from the sink area where he had been standing and conversing quietly with Ms. Vida. “Maternal medicine, and it’s . . . nice to . . . good to see you again. Too bad it’s under these circumstances but . . . at least you . . . survived.” Dr. Baxter laughed uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and retreated back into his previous position.

  “That is very true. I am fortunate,” Micah stated, settling his eyes again on her. “Where did the two of you meet? I can’t . . . don’t remember introducing you.”

  She did not want to be as uncomfortable as she was. Clasping her shaky hands together tightly between her legs, she fought through her fear, reminding herself of why she was there.

  “Javan—I mean, Micah, that is a long story, but he helped me to find you.” Brianna tried to laugh as she
spoke, removing the sting of ambiguity.

  “Oh, okay. I’m glad for that. I’d like to hear about it someday. If you . . . if you are up for it. I mean, you don’t have to tell me—”

  “Micah, may we speak privately?” Brianna noted the relief on his face after her interruption. He was fumbling over his words, perspiring, fidgeting. He seemed even more nervous about this than she was.

  “Of course. Whatever you want.” Micah looked over her head, behind her body, to where Ms. Vida and Dr. Baxter stood. “Ms. Vida, can we get a moment?”

  Brianna did not look back, but she felt a hand on her shoulder. Dr. Baxter spoke softly in her ear. “I’ll be just outside the door.”

  Squeezing his hand to reassure him, she released him to exit. A private conversation had been a part of the plan. Though Ms. Vida had been pleasant in their phone communication, she was a stranger. Brianna did not want to discuss this with anyone else in the room. The fright that had blanketed her upon their arrival was unexpected. Dr. Baxter was reacting to that change in her, offering her a chance to call an audible. She had been convinced, and so convinced him, that she was no longer afraid, that she had healed from the experience enough to be alone with him. She was no longer certain, but still determined to do what she came to do.

  She locked her body to keep from jumping at the sound of the door closing behind them. Swallowing hard, Brianna was visibly shaken. Finding herself alone with Javan again sent her back into their last moments together. Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t speak.

  “Brianna, are you okay?” Micah inquired. Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he asked again. “Brianna, is everything all right?” He did not move from his seat on the bed, but he leaned toward her a just a bit.

  She spoke reflexively. “I’m fine.” The words rang out to create distance. She did not want him closer. In her mind before her, a monster stood, covering her with his shadow—an angry, vengeful monster. These images collided with the man who sat before her now. Her emotions were all over the place. Taking a deep breath, she once more focused on the task at hand.