Healing Our Hearts

by Grace Roberts

  “No, what I meant to say was I’m not a smoker.” I looked at the cigarette in my hand, and suddenly the words were released without asking for permission. “I used to smoke when I was in one of my dark moments, but I don’t anymore.”

  What was wrong with me? Why did I always end up opening myself up with her as if she could understand what I’d been through? Why couldn’t I simply lie my way out of her question, the way I’d always done with everyone?

  “Are you now? In a dark moment, I mean?” She looked up at me and her huge blue eyes widened in concern. Why did she have to be so sweet and so beautiful? It made lying so much harder and I couldn’t afford to let her get close to me, to break through the wall around my heart any more than she already had.

  “Well, you almost—we almost died in a fire. I have every right to be a little shaken, don’t you think?”

  She chuckled, and as I looked at her I realized I didn’t need that cigarette anymore. I stubbed it out in the plastic ashtray on the small iron table in the corner of the balcony.

  All I really needed was to see that beautiful smile of hers. The rest didn’t matter.

  “Good boy,” she said, nodding approvingly. “You’ll feel much better now.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. She was tearing down the wall brick by brick, and a fire broke out in my heart just looking into her eyes. I needed to break the spell, before it was too late.

  “Let’s get back inside.” I approached her and pushed her wheelchair out of habit. “I promised to take care of you, and I won’t be keeping my word if you get sick.”

  “I’m a big girl,” she said in a mocking tone. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Of course,” I replied, mimicking her tone and playing her game. “I tend to forget that, Your Majesty!”

  “Colin. Don’t start again!” She didn’t hide her exasperation, and I laughed.

  I closed the window and went to help her back to bed but when I turned she was already sitting on it, reaching for the blanket. She’d become much more confident since we’d arrived. Maybe it was because there was nobody else who could help her shower or get dressed like there was back in Dublin, or maybe she’d finally accepted her condition and started to understand how to live with it.

  “Are you ever going to get some sleep?” she asked me, pulling the blanket up to her chin and looking self-conscious.

  No, I want to spend the rest of the night staring at your beautiful face.

  I shrugged and slumped down on my bed, kicking off my shoes. Unlike Kathleen, who was wearing her pajamas, I was fully dressed—when the fire alarm went off I’d managed to slip into a pair of jeans and a sweater—and I intended to stay like that. I sure wasn’t going to sleep in my boxers and T-shirt like I usually did, although the thought of lying next to her in my underwear popped into my mind, bringing a hot flush to my face and causing another embarrassing physical reaction. I immediately reached for the lamp on the nightstand and switched it off before she could read my thoughts and understand what was going through my mind. What was she doing to me?

  “Good night, Icy,” I said, in my usual mocking tone. She giggled.

  Five minutes later I finally fell into a deep slumber, with images of me and Kathleen rolling on a bed flashing through my mind.

  Chapter 19

  Kathleen

  March 17

  When I woke up and realized it was March 17th, my spirits dropped. Declan had told me we’d spend St. Patrick’s Day celebrating in Irish pubs and see the Empire State Building, all lit up green in honor of the Irish. But Declan was dead, and I was in a wheelchair and would be spending the day in hospital, just like any other day, pretending nobody knew it was all a waste of time and I was never going to walk again.

  Colin had tried to help me take a few steps over the last couple of days to see if I’d really walked the night of the fire and maybe I was on my way to healing, but I’d never managed to take a single step. I was starting to believe that maybe I hadn’t walked at all that night, that I’d only had a beautiful dream and I’d somehow managed to crawl out of bed, guided by a self-preservation instinct.

  I’d been seeing Dr. Pearson every other day and when I wasn’t with him I was in the hospital gym with Colin. After the unsuccessful attempts at making me walk, he’d changed his approach to my therapy and I’d changed my attitude toward the whole thing, too. Since I’d sort of accepted my new condition, I’d started to follow Colin’s directions and I’d actually enjoyed it. He was very professional and he explained every single thing as if he was talking to a five-year-old. Every time he introduced a new exercise he’d tell me why I should do it and what benefit it would bring. I’d almost become an expert on muscles, tendons and bones.

  I got out of bed and took my time getting ready. As usual, I’d woken at the crack of dawn, and Colin wouldn’t pick me up before half past seven to have breakfast and go to the hospital.

  When he knocked at half past seven, as usual, I wasn’t surprised to find a grinning Colin standing outside. I’d grown used to his morning cheerfulness and, although at first I’d hated it, it was something I’d now come to love. But I was surprised when he walked inside my room instead of pushing me toward the elevator like he did every day. The traffic at this time of day was terrible, and we couldn’t waste a single minute if we didn’t want to be late. He was the one who worried about it, but today he seemed strangely relaxed, and it didn’t feel right.

  “Shouldn’t we be going downstairs?” I raised an eyebrow when he sat in the armchair by the closet.

  “Happy St. Patrick’s!” he said, laughing. Had he been drinking first thing in the morning? This was a little too cheerful, even for Colin.

  “Are you drunk, Colin?” I asked, seriously worried, and he laughed again.

  “Of course not!” he said, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. “But I’m half-Irish and I celebrate St. Patrick’s even if I’m not in the country. I’ve celebrated every year since I was born, and this one won’t be different. Why,” he continued, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you gonna spoil the fun, Icy?”

  I rolled my eyes and snorted, folding my arms across my chest. He’d never stop calling me that, no matter how different I was from the person who’d earned that nickname; to him I’d always be “The Ice Queen”.

  “No, I’m not!” I huffed. “I just don’t want to be late for therapy, and you’re the one who’s always worrying about getting stuck in traffic.”

  “Guess what,” he said, with a conspiratorial grin on his face. “Today we’ve been officially relieved from any activities that don’t include celebrations.”

  I stared quizzically at him, still not quite convinced he was telling the truth.

  “So what are your plans, then?” I didn’t put the slightest note of enthusiasm in my voice. “Are we gonna spend the day drinking Guinness in some cheesy Irish pub, singing ‘It’s a great day for the Irish’?”

  “That sounds like a very Irish way to celebrate St. Patrick’s, but I did say I’m only half-Irish. The American part of me thought I’d show you around my hometown instead.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at that; he’d been annoying me for days, bragging about being a New Yorker and saying he wouldn’t be showing real American hospitality if he didn’t take me on a tour of the city to show me the best tourist attractions.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see New York, but in a way, I felt as if touring the city with Colin would be betraying Declan because I hadn’t been able to keep the promise I’d made of checking out New York with him. I didn’t want my brother to think I’d already gotten over him and was ready to enjoy life again.

  “I still think we should go to the hospital and follow protocol. I didn’t come here to have fun; I came here to get back on my feet.”

  His shoulders drooped. “A little fun never killed anyone, Icy. It would do you good, it would lift your spirits and maybe make you more receptive to therapy.”

  “Don’t go al
l psychological on me now, Dr. Byrne.” I hated it when he was so pushy. “You and I both know the therapy isn’t working, and wouldn’t be working even if I spent days partying.”

  He snorted, sitting upright and staring me straight in the eye. “Listen, Your Majesty. I’ve already told Chris we’d have the day off, and I won’t take you to the hospital even if you beg me. So it’s either you go out and have fun with me, or you stay cooped up in your room, brooding over life.”

  The way he stared at me gave me the chills, and I didn’t know whether it was because I felt somehow ashamed for my behavior and lack of enthusiasm or because he looked so gorgeous when he stared at me like that. It made me forget everything else.

  “What are your plans, anyway?” I asked, not wanting to pull down the Ice Queen mask just yet.

  He took out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his faded jeans, and started to read aloud, putting on a very serious tone. “First up on our agenda, Your Majesty, is a touristic carriage ride in Central Park. A real queen always has to travel in style, even the Ice Queen.” He winked and I rolled my eyes, although I’d found it really funny. “Then a matinee show on Broadway, a ferry ride to Liberty Island, and I left the best for last but I ain’t gonna tell you, because it’s a surprise. And if you behave, I might even take you to a great Irish pub owned by real Irish folks.”

  He folded the piece of paper and fumbled aimlessly with it, turning the corners dog-eared while waiting for my reaction.

  I was stunned, to say the least. He’d organized everything behind my back, picked every single thing I’d told him I would have liked to do if I weren’t stuck in a wheelchair. He’d been so sweet and thoughtful I almost wanted to cry.

  How could I possibly refuse now? Even if I explained the reasoning I’d probably hurt his feelings, and that was the last thing I wanted. He was always so caring, and I owed him at least one day without that awful mask I always wore.

  “Do you really think we’ll be able to do all that?” I didn’t want to sound ungrateful but I knew my condition didn’t make it easy to be a tourist. “I mean, with this?” I indicated my wheelchair.

  He grinned. “This is America, Icy. Everything is possible in the Land of the Free.”

  This time I couldn’t stifle my laugh. He was so funny when he played the part of the full-blooded Yankee, strong accent and all, just to make me smile. I really appreciated his efforts and I couldn’t wait to spend the day touring the city with him.

  “So, any more objections or can we start our tour?” he asked, standing up and staring at me from all of his six-foot height.

  I smiled and nodded. “Let’s get the ball rolling, Dr. Byrne!”

  He laughed as he walked behind my wheelchair and began pushing me at the speed of light, just like he did every time he wanted to make me laugh.

  Chapter 20

  Colin

  March 17

  In the two and a half months I’d known her she’d never looked so cheerful and carefree. She hadn’t stopped smiling ever since we left her hotel room. I’d found myself getting lost in the sound of her laughter, suddenly realizing how much I’d longed to hear it. I was sure this was the person she’d been before the accident, and I loved her even more than the Ice Queen.

  She was everything I’d always wanted in a woman: smart, funny, gorgeous, and sweet. She was stubborn and strong, but also fragile and in need of protection, and it was getting harder for me to keep my distance. I loved her and wanted her all for myself. I wanted to hold her and stroke her silky brown hair; I wanted to kiss her lips and cup her cheeks; I wanted the whole world to know she was mine.

  I knew I had to get the thought out of my mind before it drove me crazy, but I simply couldn’t get over the feeling—this new, overwhelming, breathtaking feeling that had poisoned my brain. I wanted to get sucked into this whirlpool, get lost in it, because it felt so good.

  She’d loved the ride in Central Park. She had a long conversation with the coachman and I enjoyed listening to them, speaking only when he asked me a question. I watched her get excited as he showed her the parts of the park she’d seen in movies. She looked so beautiful, I found it hard to breathe; her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were sparkling, and I could swear they’d turned a deeper shade of blue, the same shade as the Irish sky in summer. Her bangs came out from underneath her woolen beret and her hair flew around her whenever the wind blew, making me long to reach out and stroke it.

  When we’d reached the end of our ride and she’d said goodbye to the coachman, he’d given her a shamrock he’d found that morning, and told her it’d bring her lots of luck and love.

  He’d looked at me when he’d said “love” and I’d blushed. Was it so plain to see that was how I felt about her?

  She’d smiled and thanked him, then we’d stopped a taxi and headed to Broadway where we enjoyed watching the Billy Elliott musical. When I’d caught her crying and handed her a tissue she’d blushed and I’d simply grinned at her, saying I cried every time I watched the movie so she shouldn’t feel ashamed. She’d understood I was lying, but smiled at me all the same while dabbing at her eyes.

  Now we were on the ferry to Liberty Island and, in spite of the cold, she’d insisted on staying outside on deck because she wanted to feel the salty air on her face. We stared out at the bay in silence at the gray-green waves lashing at the boat.

  She took the millionth picture of the day with her digital camera, making me wonder just how big that memory card was. When she looked up at me she ignited something inside my chest and, before I could move, she’d snapped a picture of me while I jokingly complained about my hair being messy because of the wind.

  She laughed and told me her hair was in a worse state than mine since she’d forgotten to wear an elastic band to keep it at bay, and I had to bite my tongue before the words came out. I wanted to tell her she looked gorgeous and that I’d give anything to run my fingers through her hair if she needed to smooth it down.

  “Excuse me?” a voice behind me asked, and I turned to find a tanned, dark-haired man standing in front of me, a camera in his hand. “Please, can you make photo?” He gestured toward a woman beside him and I nodded.

  He hugged the blonde and they smiled at the camera while I snapped a couple of times.

  “Grazie,” he said when I gave the camera back to him. “Do you want I make photo of you?” he said, pointing at Kathleen.

  The thought of having a picture of her was exciting. I’d been secretly trying to figure out all day how to inconspicuously snap a photo of her, and this was just perfect.

  I turned toward Kathleen and took the camera from her hands. She quirked an eyebrow and I told her what the man had said. She blushed, and after I gave the camera to the tourist I helped her stand from the wheelchair, holding her by the waist and supporting all of her weight so her feet barely touched the ground. She tried to object, but I made her see that if we wanted to get the Statue of Liberty in the background this was the only way to do it.

  I could feel her body tense but I loved holding her close and I knew it wasn’t something that would happen again soon. I tried to enjoy the moment, glad she couldn’t feel the effect her nearness had on me because that would’ve been slightly embarrassing, to say the least.

  We smiled when the tourist said “Cheese!” and he took a couple of shots before handing the camera to Kathleen, saying “Ciao,” and going back to his girlfriend.

  “You’re gonna have to give me a copy of that,” I said, crouching down beside her. “I want to make a poster and hang it in the gym back at the hospital for everyone to see.”

  I grinned when she blushed and, before I could stop myself, I tucked a lock of hair that had flown in her face behind her ear. My fingers tingled when they touched the skin on her cheek and when she winced I jerked my hand away and tucked it back in my pocket.

  We didn’t say a word for a few minutes and, while I looked out at Lady Liberty getting closer, I realized how impossible staying away from
Kathleen was going to be.

  We reached Liberty Island and disembarked the ferry, both of us still silent until Kathleen saw the green statue towering above us and couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

  “This is so amazing!” She repeated as if on a loop, as I pushed her around, and all the awkwardness was quickly forgotten.

  On the ride back to Battery Park we stayed inside by a window she looked out of for most of the trip. She’d lost all her enthusiasm, although I could tell by the way she was sprawled on her chair, her hand supporting her head, that she was tired. It had been a long day with lots of excitement and emotions, but I was sure she’d love the little surprise I’d left for last.

  I closed my eyes and dozed for a few minutes, knowing she wouldn’t be speaking to me anyway. When the ferry reached the docks, I stretched my legs and she smiled, saying I was too old to endure a full-day tour of the city. I probably was, she was right; but I hadn’t had so much fun in years.

  We drove in silence until the taxi reached our destination. Excitement grew inside of me like a kid in a toy store. If she’d had fun today, she was going to love this last attraction. She looked around while I paid for the ride and, when I finally helped her out of the cab and she realized we were outside the Empire State Building, her eyes grew as wide as saucers. I caught a glimpse of what might have been tears of joy, but she blinked and they disappeared.

  “I thought it’d be best to leave this one for last since the view just before sunset is quite amazing from up there,” I said. I pushed her inside and retrieved the tickets I’d booked yesterday. We headed toward the elevator and, when the attendants saw the wheelchair, they let us move to the front of the line.

  “This feels like Sleepless in Seattle!” Kathleen said excitedly when we were heading skyward. “I’ve watched that movie at least twenty times, and I love the part when Tom Hanks goes up to the top floor looking for his son and meets Meg Ryan at last. I’ve always dreamed of coming up here.”