A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  “I’m fine. Really.” She motioned him to lie down. “We should get back to work.”

  She looked about as fine as rough sandpaper, but he wasn’t going to push. He started to ease himself back down onto the mat when he saw a man walking up behind her.

  “You ready for me, Abby?” the man asked.

  “We’re just finishing up.” She put on a smile that lasted only a second and hadn’t looked anywhere close to natural. She motioned toward the newcomer. “This is Greg. He’s from the medical supply store that has a contract with your insurance carrier. He’s going to explain the differences in wheelchairs to help you select your permanent chair.”

  “Cool. My very own, permanent, forever wheelchair.” Heat radiated throughout him. Abby’s problems disappeared from his thoughts. “Thanks, but no thanks.” He pulled his temporary wheelchair into position and then slid the transfer board under his thigh. He pulled himself across the board as though he’d done it a hundred times on his own instead of this being a first.

  “Matt!”

  Five seconds ago, he’d wanted the excited Abby back. Now, just when he’d gotten his wish, he wanted nothing more than to be far away from her. He grabbed his left leg and plunked his foot onto the foot rail. The lack of sensation mocked him. It seemed like cruel torture to have to move his other lifeless leg, as well. He glared up at Greg and realized he was taking out his anger on an innocent person, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I—Don’t—Need—A—Chair.”

  He wheeled his way around the man. Matt’s arms stayed in steady motion as he pushed himself to his room. He parked in front of the window but paid little attention to the view. The wheelchair rolled backward a couple of inches as he slammed his hands against the windowsill. “Damn it. I’ve got to walk again.”

  An overwhelming sense of hopelessness pressed down on him. He wanted to give in to it. Just put his head down and cry. Instead, he slammed his hands against the windowsill again.

  “Matt?” Abby’s voice came from behind him.

  He closed his eyes and willed his heart to slow to an unnoticed pace.

  “You forgot your gloves,” she said.

  The gloves to prevent blisters as he grew used to wheeling the chair. The damn wheelchair he didn’t want in his life. He opened his eyes. His chest rose and fell at such a rapid pace that he felt lightheaded.

  She was behind him. He could feel her there. He didn’t want a witness to his weakness. “Leave them and go.” His voice came out husky. The words were choked.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Great. Peachy.” He stared at the metal frame at the base of the window and struggled to slow his breathing.

  “Good. I’d hate to think you were upset over anything.”

  Dirt had coagulated outside along the edge of the window.

  “Especially when congratulations are in order. You did your first solo transfer.”

  He shifted his attention to an old cobweb outside. The silky threads quivered in the wind. He didn’t remember getting into the chair. All he could remember was the intense feeling of fear. No, not fear. It definitely wasn’t fear. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

  Still staring at the spiderweb that was now perfectly still, he said, “Big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. I didn’t think you’d be ready to transfer on your own for another week. But you did it.”

  He finally turned and looked up at her. Although her expression was serious, there was a hint of a smile, like she was proud of him. She hadn’t thought he’d be ready to transfer on his own, but he’d done it. Maybe she’d underestimated his ability to walk again, too.

  With his gloves still gripped in one hand, she grabbed a chair and dragged it across from him, effectively blocking him in the corner. “I’m a good listener.”

  “Great. Glad to hear it. If I ever need a good listener, I’ll holler.” He wanted to back up, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d trapped him.

  “I caught my boyfriend with another woman.”

  The statement was like a gunshot in a quiet room. He couldn’t figure out why she’d told him. Even more, he couldn’t figure out why anyone would cheat on her. No wonder she’d been so quiet and on the verge of tears. The thought, alone, of Crystal with another man hurt. The reality would be ten times…no, a hundred times worse.

  “I figure I can’t expect you to discuss what’s bothering you if I’m not willing to do the same.”

  “He must be an idiot.”

  She picked at the Velcro closure on one of the gloves. “Thanks. I know you’re right, but it still hurts. I keep seeing him with her, over and over, like it’s stuck in my head and won’t go away.” Her fingers stopped moving. Creases formed across her forehead. Her eyes took on the same sad quality they’d had back in the gym.

  “In time, it’ll get better,” he said.

  “I should be happy, really. Being mad at him should make it easier to leave…”

  Leave?

  “…but instead of being excited about my new job, all I can think about is Paul.”

  She was leaving? The cheerleader was abandoning him?

  She blinked twice and then rubbed her finger beneath her eye, leaving a moist track. “Enough about my problems. Your turn.”

  He still couldn’t believe she was leaving. The news left him dumbfounded.

  “Does this have to do with your hoping to walk again?” she asked.

  Oh, yes. His hasty retreat from the gym. “Hoping? No, Abby, it goes beyond hope. I’m counting on it.”

  Her eyes locked on to his. “You know that might not happen, don’t you?”

  She didn’t say it like it was an obscure possibility but rather like it was a given. His heart thumped uncomfortably, bringing back all the fear of moments ago. “Yeah. And the guy who just won the lottery might decide he doesn’t want the money. The snow might not melt until late May. Crystal could decide to join the circus. Lots of possibilities out there, but I’m not banking on any of them.”

  “I’m serious, Matt.” Her fingers cinched around the faux leather gloves, but her eyes never wavered from his. “The sad fact is that less than two percent of all patients have any significant recovery. Every day you go without any sign of recovery makes it less likely there will be a recovery.”

  “It hasn’t even been three weeks.”

  “Yes, I know. Almost three weeks.”

  The way she said it made it sound like three weeks was a lifetime. Maybe three weeks was a lifetime. Too long to hope to be one of the lucky two percent.

  No. He refused to accept that. “I am going to walk again.”

  She leaned toward him, invading his space. “Matt, I hate to see you so focused on what might never happen that you’re missing out on what has. Your first solo transfer.” Her smile refused to be hidden. “Without any coaching. A week ahead of schedule.”

  He couldn’t hear her praise. All he heard was her saying he’d probably never walk again. “Is it better for me to be so focused on what’s happening now that I miss what could happen?”

  “Does the phrase one track mind mean anything to you?”

  “What?”

  She held out the gloves. “I have some phone calls I need to make before it gets too late. If you change your mind and decide you actually do want to talk, I’ll be in the gym. Page me. Come down. Whatever.”

  “Damn it,” he muttered as he watched her leave. He lowered his head and stared at his lifeless legs. “Damn it.”

  §

  Abby’s mother chewed on air, pushing her tongue across dry lips, reminding Abby again of Paul with Cara and the kiss she’d caught them in. Paul claimed he’d only been comforting her. Said he’d have Cara reassigned to another department. If only Abby would stay.

  He’d sounded so sincere that she’d almost bought into it, until she realized what she was doing. If she believed he’d been telling the truth, then, if only for a little while, she could believe she could be lov
ed.

  Realizing she was clenching her jaw, she forced her mouth to relax and then she forced her attention back to her mother and away from her thoughts.

  A pitcher of water sat inches away from her mother, but Helen’s disconnected brain couldn’t reason out that all she needed to do was pour herself a drink. Instead, she snapped her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

  “Are you thirsty?” Abby asked even though the answer was obvious to at least one of them.

  “Thirsty,” Helen said.

  The therapist inside Abby saw this as a perfect learning opportunity. “Your water pitcher is full. Pour yourself a glass.”

  Her mother looked at the pitcher as though she’d never seen it before.

  “All you have to do is pour yourself a glass.” Abby demonstrated with an invisible glass and pitcher.

  Her mother reached for the pitcher. Abby nodded, pleased at how well her mother had picked up on the suggestion. She might not be worthy of love, but she’d make one hell of a damn fine therapist in Milwaukee.

  Helen picked up the plastic cup. With her coordination compromised in the accident, she had a difficult time managing the two objects. She tipped both the cup and the pitcher.

  “Maybe you should set the glass on the table.” Abby guided her mother’s arm, moving the glass toward the table.

  Her mother’s arm swayed as she held the pitcher above the glass. It pained Abby to watch her mother struggling. She kept her hands to her sides and instead encouraged with her voice. “Good job, Mom. Keep it steady.”

  Water drizzled down the outside of the glass as her mother’s hand shifted before correcting her aim. “Good girl.”

  The water reached the top of the glass. The surface tension swelled above the rim and then broke, spilling over. Her mother frowned, but didn’t stop pouring. “The glass is broken.”

  “No, the glass is fine.” Abby grabbed the pitcher from her mother, interrupting the lesson as she let her impulses take over. “When the water gets to the top, you have to stop pouring.”

  Her mother lifted the over-filled glass, spilling water all over the table. Unaware of what she was doing, she tipped the glass before reaching her mouth. More water splashed over the rim, soaking Helen’s dress, drizzling a line down her chest and over her stomach.

  The flowing water was one straw too many. “Mother! You’re making a mess!”

  Without even a drop of water reaching her mouth, Helen threw the glass at the wall, spraying the remaining water on Abby in the process. “Sorry, I’m not perfect.”

  Abby breathed deeply. She’d lost her cool, which was unacceptable. As a therapist, she knew better. She was tired. So tired. All she wanted to do was go home. And cry.

  The memory of Paul with Cara struck again and it struck hard. Tears burned her eyes. She tried to hold them back while wishing at the same time for her mother to comfort her the way a mother was supposed to comfort a daughter. Instead, her mother mumbled, “Nobody’s perfect.”

  Abby pressed her trembling lips together. There was nobody she could turn to. Not her mother. Not Paul. Not her father. None of the foster parents she’d lived with. Nobody.

  Milwaukee could be a fresh start. She’d be a better person this time.

  She drew in one last deep, shaky breath. Her mother’s mouth moved, chewing air once again, trying to work up spit to moisten her tongue since she’d never gotten any of her water. Abby wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you.”

  “I try, but I can’t do it. I can’t do anything.”

  “We’ll just have to work harder, Mom. Both of us.”

  “Is that why Danny doesn’t come? Because of me?”

  Abby settled on the bed next to her mother, offering the comfort she needed herself. “No, Mom. Don’t ever let yourself think that.”

  “Then, why?”

  Because of me. “I don’t know.”

  There was a knock on the doorjamb. One of the CNAs stood there. “Abby, Mrs. Addams would like to see you about your mother’s transfer.”

  Helen stiffened in Abby’s arm. “Transfer?”

  “We’re moving, Mom.”

  Helen stood. “No.”

  “You’ll like Hot Springs Villa.”

  “I like it here.”

  She had no patience left. “We’re moving, Mom. That’s all there is to it. Like it or not, we’re moving.”

  §

  Matt stared at Abby’s hand against his knee as she worked his legs the next morning. Soon, it’d be someone else. He wondered which of the other two therapists he’d be assigned to. There was ol’ Gloom-and-Doom, the therapist he’d wished to work with on his first session. The one he’d since discovered never smiled. Or The Slug, who moved with all the energy and enthusiasm of a death-row prisoner running out of time.

  Finding neither alternative pleasing, he pushed his thoughts to something more appealing. Like the bills sitting in his room that he’d been ignoring since Friday. Every time he thought about paying them, something distracted him. Things like Abby pushing him to order a wheelchair. Or wondering how he could get his father to confess that he’d paid Matt’s loans. Or how they’d ever get the group home built with one guy short. Important stuff like that. No more putting it off. As soon as he got back to his room this afternoon, he’d write out the checks. Get it done.

  “Matt?” Abby said as she rotated his hip.

  “Umm?”

  She straightened his leg and set it down against the mat. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I hope you’re not mad about my forcing the truth on you.”

  Surprised by the apology, he worked himself up on to his elbows and stared at her. “I pushed you.”

  “Still, I had no right to say the things I said.” Her shoulders slumped slightly and her head tipped forward. Like a little kid who’d just broken her mother’s expensive vase.

  He did a mental laugh. “That’s right. You had no right to tell me the truth.” He let a smile creep into his voice. “You evil bitch.”

  She grinned and motioned him to lie down again.

  He watched as she bent his leg and then pushed his knee to his chest. She adjusted her grip. Her fingers brushed his calf, sending an electric tingle down his leg. So quick, it took him a moment to understand what had happened.

  “Do that again,” he said. He raised up on to his elbows.

  She frowned. “This?” she asked as she rotated his ankle.

  “No. My leg,” he said too loudly. Fearing he’d been given a small window of time in which to feel the sense of touch again and that time was running out, he ordered, “Quick, touch my leg again.”

  Her frown deepened. She pressed her fingertip against his leg where she’d had her hand earlier. “Here?”

  Nothing. She was doing it wrong. He pushed himself up all the way and leaned forward, feeling his leg in random locations. “I felt it. I know I did.” His breaths increased with each deadened response. “It was real. I’m not making it up.”

  “Maybe you can’t feel it now because you’re trying too hard. Lie back.”

  He kept pressing against his leg, pushing harder, frantically. “No. I’m not giving up. I felt it, damn it. I felt it.”

  She gripped his hand with amazing force. “Matt, listen to me.” Her grip softened, along with her voice. “I believe you.” She gave him the lightest push against his shoulder. “Lie back, now. Relax.”

  The part of him who had to prove he’d felt something wanted to resist. The tiny bit of him who remained rational knew she was right. He wouldn’t feel it again if he was all worked up. Rational Matt took over. He laid back and closed his eyes. All of his attention zeroed in on the area where he’d felt the tingle. His heart pumped so hard, he wondered how he’d ever feel anything over the pounding in his chest.

  For a long time, he felt nothing. Had he really felt anything earlier? Had it just been his wishful thinking?

  And then, he felt it.

  “Oh, God, Abby. There. Rig
ht there.”

  She touched the spot again. The tingle that spread from her fingertips made him sigh. He opened his eyes to find Abby smiling.

  “Do it again.”

  She did.

  “That feels so good.”

  Her eyes sparkled, giving him hope.

  “I told you I was going to walk again.”

  She pulled her hand away, and the tingling sensation stopped.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  Fiery heat flamed inside him. He wasn’t sure if it was anger or fear, but it was there just the same. When the words came out, he noticed the desperation in his voice. “I’m going to walk again. Got it?”

  “Sure, Matt.”

  At that moment, he wished she were already gone to her new job and that it was either Gloom-and-Doom standing there or The Slug. He touched his leg and felt the tremble of anticipation that came with the jolt of sensation. He was going to walk again. He’d prove it to Abby, even if he had to hunt her down wherever she was moving to.

  §

  At the end of his work day, Matt sat in his quiet hospital room with his left leg over his right knee and his fingers brushing over the quarter-sized patch of skin that tingled with his touch. Even though his parents and Crystal would be here soon, he wished they were here already. He couldn’t wait to share the good news, news too good to tell over the phone. He sighed with pleasure as he felt the twinge again.

  You’re going to wear it out.

  He laughed. It was impossible to wear it out. He could sit here until the end of time feeling the twinge in his leg and it’d never grow old. Still, sitting here feeling his leg wasn’t getting those bills paid.

  Reluctantly, he lowered his leg back into position and then wheeled over to the nightstand. He gathered up the envelopes, grabbed his checkbook, and wheeled over to the table. He flipped through the envelopes until he found the cell phone bill. The flap was already pulled loose on one edge from when he’d started to open it last Friday. He ripped it open the rest of the way.

  Still amazed that he’d actually had a day with zero calls, he scanned the itemization of incoming calls. He paused when he saw an entry on the day of his accident—12:02 p.m. from Crystal’s work number.