A Life Worth Living

by Lorrie Kruse

  She often called on her lunch hour, but he didn’t understand why the call hadn’t registered in his phone’s history. “Stupid piece of crap.”

  The next line in the itemization showed another call on January 28, this one from the local Ski-Doo dealer. Another call missing from his phone’s history.

  And another call, again from Crystal’s work number, this one at 2:40.

  He frowned as he looked at the next entry showing another call from Crystal, just before quitting time. Then, five more calls, all within an hour, all from Crystal’s cell phone.

  “No, this can’t be right.”

  Still holding the bill, he grabbed his cell phone and thumbed his way through the menu. Scrolling through the history, the incoming calls still skipped over the day of his accident.

  “Frigging piece of crap.”

  He looked back at the bill. The calls from Crystal seemed to jump from the page. Eight calls. Why hadn’t she ever said anything? Like when he’d asked her about the accident.

  “Hi, honey,” Crystal said from the doorway.

  Instead of eagerly wanting to share the good news about his recovery, all he could think of was that Crystal had called him eight times the day of the accident. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

  “Your dad got a call just when we got here. Your mom’s guarding him to make sure he doesn’t kill anyone in the hospital with cell phone death rays.”

  He should have laughed. He couldn’t.

  She frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure. Peachy.”

  “So, anything new today?”

  Finally, he had a positive response to her question. Instead of sharing, he pushed the table out of the way. “Sit. We’ve got to talk.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on the bed near him. Even though they were close enough that his feet nearly touched her leg, it felt like she was miles away. Or maybe it was him.

  “What’s up, honey?” she asked.

  “Why’d you call me the day of the accident?”

  “I don’t know.” Crystal wasn’t looking at him. She fiddled with the zipper pull on her jacket. Up. Down. Up. “I can’t remember that far back. I’m not sure I even called you.”

  He held up the bill. “You called. Eight times. Why?”

  The zipper pull kept traveling up and down. He pulled her hand off the zipper. “Look at me.”

  Her head stayed tipped down, but her eyes raised and met his briefly.

  “What’d you call me for?”

  She reached for the zipper but changed paths and crossed her arms instead. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t remember. It was weeks ago.” She looked toward the doorway. “I wonder what’s keeping your parents. Maybe I should go check on them.”

  “Eight times, Crystal. It had to be important for you to call that many times.”

  “It was nothing.” She stood and moved away. She picked up his water cup from the table, set it back down, and then moved a pencil away from the edge. “Probably something about the wedding. About the flowers, maybe. Or, what you thought of a song.” She looked up. “I don’t know, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay. What aren’t you telling me?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw his parents in the doorway. Crystal’s shoulders relaxed. He could almost hear the relieved sigh she didn’t actually utter. Without taking his eyes off her, he told his parents, “Crystal and I need a few minutes alone.”

  “They came to visit you, not to stand out in the hallway.”

  “I’m sure they can use some time alone, too.” He shifted his attention to his dad. Even with how confused he was about Crystal, he noticed how tired his father looked. “Right, Dad?”

  His father’s gaze bounced from his son to Crystal and then back again. “Yeah, sure.” He put his arm around Matt’s mom. “Let’s check out what’s new in the vending machines.”

  Matt speared Crystal with his gaze again. “Talk.”

  She turned the pencil in circles on the table. “It was nothing, really. I wanted to know if you preferred roses or carnations or both.”

  “Flowers, huh? Sure it wasn’t the music?”

  She stopped moving the pencil.

  She hadn’t called eight times to ask about flowers. Or music. He’d bet his life on it. And he was damn sure she knew exactly why she’d called. It was just more of her refusing to talk to him, just like whenever she’d cry for no apparent reason. What’s wrong? he’d ask. Nothing, she’d say.

  “Do you want out?” he asked, wishing the second the words left his mouth that he could pull them back.

  Where a moment ago she was a bundle of constant movement, she was now still. She seemed to not even breathe. She didn’t say yes, but she hadn’t said no, either.

  He put his head down and rubbed his forehead. Every worry he’d had over the last two weeks disappeared for the moment—except for one. He was losing Crystal. He felt it. Deep in his heart. He felt her slipping away.

  She crouched in front of him. She put her hands on his knees, and he realized it was the first time since the accident that she’d purposely touched his legs. “I don’t want out,” she whispered.

  He tipped his head up, locking eyes with hers. She didn’t look away. He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he wanted to. Going with it, he pulled her into his arms and buried his face against her neck. A different answer to his stupid question and he wouldn’t be holding her now. Or ever again. “I love you, Crystal.”

  She tightened her arms around him.

  I don’t want out. The answer should have satisfied him, but he couldn’t shake free of the fact that he’d actually expected her to say she did want out. Or how about the fact that even though she’d said she didn’t want out, he didn’t fully believe her? What did that say about their relationship?

  Stop it. Stop looking for problems.

  Despite his little pep talk, he wished time would stop right now, with her in his arms having just declared she didn’t want out. If time stopped now, he wouldn’t ever lose her. But time wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t hold her forever, so he kissed her neck and loosened his grip.

  She leaned away from him but stayed crouched in front of him. “I don’t want out.”

  Putting the subject to rest, he moved her hand to the tiny spot on his leg with sensation. “I can feel that.”

  She looked up at him with wide eyes. Her jaw hung slack. Questioning him if it were true. He nodded.

  “Oh, Matt,” she whispered. Her eyes glistened. She looked down where she touched. “Thank you, God.”

  She sounded more relieved than happy.

  Relieved. Happy. The same emotion. Just different levels. But he wanted her to be happy. Not relieved.

  By the doorway, his father peeked his head in. His father looked older than Matt remembered him ever looking before. His eyelids sagged, even as he raised one eyebrow at Crystal, all folded over in front of Matt, and then shifted to his son.

  Matt put on an everything’s-cool grin. “What can I say? She worships the ground I…” The smile fell away.

  Crystal stood. Keeping her back to the doorway, she swiped a finger beneath her eye.

  “May as well come in and relax,” Matt said. He raised his voice. “Ma, you can come in, too.”

  His mother stepped into view while his father deflated into the closest chair. His father’s head pressed back against the chair as though it had become too heavy to hold upright. He eyed Crystal for a moment before moving on to Matt. Apparently curious, but not asking.

  Pulling forth that initial burst of joy from this morning, Matt managed a genuine smile. “I’m recovering.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Matt’s father popped up from the chair, crossed the room in three strides, and clapped Matt on the back. “I knew you’d be okay.”

  His mother gave him a hug so tight it took Matt’s breath away.

  Matt peered between his parents at Crystal’s profile. What was so damn interesting outside that she
was staring out the window instead of crowding him like his parents?

  “You’ll be able to walk down the aisle at your wedding,” his mother said.

  Crystal’s head dropped and her hands went to her mouth. He wheeled forward an inch, the closest he could get to Crystal with his parents in the way. He nudged himself forward a bit more, hoping his parents would move.

  “Did the doc say how long until you’ll be back to work?” his father asked. “To think, I was worried you wouldn’t be back in time for the group home build.”

  Matt’s hands froze on the push rims. His dad had him fully recovered and back to work. His mom had him walking down the aisle. All because of one quarter-sized tingly patch of skin that might not progress any further.

  Now he was sounding like Abby. It would progress further. Far enough to get him walking again.

  His father smiled at him with a grin so big it threatened to break his face. What would that grin do if Abby was right? What if one tiny, tingly patch of skin was all he got? “Recovering might have been a bit strong.”

  “Peshhh,” his mother said, brushing away his statement. “This is just the start of things to come. You’ll be walking out of here. I know it.”

  “You’re too stubborn to let it stop here,” his father said.

  Like how stubborn he was would make a difference in this case. “It’s just one little spot of sensation, that’s all. Not even as big as a quarter.”

  “Tomorrow it’ll be—” His father coughed a phlegmy cough.

  “Dad.”

  “It’ll…” Carl Huntz coughed into a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. “It’ll spread…huhhgh…Don’t you…huhhgh…worry.”

  “You okay, Dad?”

  “Of course, I’m okay.” The rattling phlegm, when he cleared his throat again, made him sound anything but okay. He coughed deeply into the hanky, wadded up the cloth, and stuck it in his pocket. “Just like you’re going to be okay. Like I knew all along.”

  Matt watched as his father settled into the chair again. This time, his father stayed upright, leaning slightly forward. Crystal looked equally relaxed standing by the window with her arms wrapped around herself. Two parents who had him speeding toward a recovery Abby didn’t think would happen and a fiancée who looked seconds away from crying. Made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Without thinking about what he was doing, he grabbed his ankle, brought his leg up onto his knee, and rubbed the patch of skin. Looking for affirmation that this was just the start. Three sets of eyes watched. All with expectation of things to come, a recovery he had no control over.

  He put his leg back down, fitting his foot on the foot rail. The expectation was still there. Aiming for a distraction, he said, “Dad, you got those cards with you?”

  “Of course.” His father pulled the cards from his shirt pocket. The handkerchief came out with it and landed on the floor. He snatched up the hanky and shoved it back in his pocket.

  Matt’s mother set about clearing the over-bed table while Crystal remained perched by the window with her arms wrapped around herself, uttering not a single protest to the idea of playing cards. Neither of them saw what Matt had seen. He focused on the lump in the flannel pocket at his father’s chest. Had it really been blood? Or, God willing, only a trick of poor lighting?

  He gazed at his father’s face. His dad stared back. The look was one Matt knew well. His father’s just-leave-it-be look. Matt flashed a smile to cover up what he felt deep in his stomach. “Good thing you didn’t need that lung anymore.”

  Instead of a witty comeback, his father gave him one of those smiles laced with another silent leave-it-be warning.

  Leave it be.

  His father dragged his chair closer to the over-bed table and opened the card box. “Crystal, you going to play?”

  “I don’t want to, but I will.”

  Matt looked at her, wondering what that comment meant. The entire day was wearing him down, bringing on a headache. For only a moment, he wished it were just him and his empty room. No expectations that the quarter-sized patch of sensation meant good things to come. No evidence that Matt’s present condition was causing havoc with his father’s health. No cryptic comments from Crystal that he just didn’t have the energy to decipher. And then, he thought about how long the evening would stretch without his family to break it up. In roughly two hours they’d be back on the road. He could have his peace and quiet then.

  Carl Huntz dealt the cards with much less enthusiasm than a week ago. This close, Matt could see all the fine lines in his father’s face that had appeared over the last several weeks. Then, he saw something else that hadn’t been there before. A speck of dried blood at the corner of his father’s mouth. Sure bet it hadn’t come from shaving.

  His father’s coming here night after night wasn’t good. His father’s trying to cover the work of a laid-up employee wasn’t good, either. If he knew his dad, he was getting up before daybreak, working through his lunch, and then coming here directly from the jobsite. He wouldn’t put it past his father to be putting in a few hours after getting back to Fuller Lake, either. No, this wasn’t good. None of it. “You guys don’t have to come here every night.”

  His father paused mid-deal. “Of course we don’t have to.”

  “Maybe you should cut back to every other night.” A drop in the bucket. “Or even every third night.”

  “Matthew, it’s only for another month or so,” his mother said. “We can survive just fine making the drive every night for that amount of time.”

  “And I can survive just fine being alone a couple nights a week.”

  “Of course you can,” his father said. “But there’s no need for that.”

  And there was no need for his father to work himself into an early grave, but as long as Matt was within driving distance, that’s exactly what his father would do.

  Driving distance, Matt thought as he eyed the blood at the corner of his father’s mouth. Milwaukee wasn’t within daily driving distance. He’d decided to have rehab at St. Luke’s because it’d been what he’d thought was best for his family instead of being what he wanted for himself. Could he really do that again? Go against what he wanted for himself because of what was best for his family?

  He looked at his mother. She thrived on taking care of her family. He shifted to Crystal. Their relationship might not survive time apart and a dose of paralysis. He looked at his father, who looked old and worn down. He could very well lose his father in trying to hang on to Crystal.

  He stared at the wall, but he could still see all three of the people he loved. He grabbed Crystal’s hand. Their fingers fit together so well. His father was an adult. He could take care of himself.

  Except, he wouldn’t.

  Tightening his fingers around Crystal’s, he said, “The social worker told me they have an opening in Milwaukee. I’m going to ask for a transfer.”

  §

  With his eyes closed, Matt concentrated on the impression of Abby’s hand on his leg when she worked his joints the next afternoon. She moved her hand, sending a tremor up his calf. He almost moaned from the sheer pleasure of the feeling. Something that felt that damn good had to be a good sign.

  “I can’t believe you’re transferring to Milwaukee, of all places,” Abby said.

  He opened his eyes to find her grinning. Last time he’d seen a smile like that, he’d ended up as secretary for the pool league. Curious what this smile was going to get him into, he said, “It was either Milwaukee or a rehab center in Bermuda and Bermuda’s already got enough problems with lost items.”

  She lifted one eyebrow.

  “I have a reputation for losing things. Dad says I could lose an elephant in an empty room.”

  “David Copperfield gets paid big money for doing stunts like that.”

  He laughed. “I’ll have to tell Dad that the next time I lose something.”

  She pushed his knee toward his chest. “Well, I, for one, am happy you picked
Milwaukee over Bermuda. It’ll be nice knowing at least one person when I move there.”

  He lifted himself to his elbows. “You’re going to Milwaukee?”

  “Milwaukee Spine Care Center. Just like you.”

  She’d be there. He’d be there. A therapist in need of patients and a patient in need of a therapist. “What do you think the chances are that they’ll assign you to be my therapist?”

  “Not likely, unless you get a brain injury within the next week. I’m going to be working with traumatic brain injury patients while I continue my schooling.”

  He flopped back onto the mat. So she wouldn’t be his therapist. No biggie.

  Abby’s fingers brushed his ankle, sending a tremor up his leg. His toe jerked inside his too-white tennis shoe. “Oh, God.” He pushed himself upright.

  “What?”

  He grabbed his left leg and dragged it closer.

  “Matt? What’s wrong?”

  Ignoring her, he ripped off his shoe and tossed it. “Move,” he whispered to his sock-covered big toe. “Move, already. Move.”

  His toe barely moved a sixteenth of an inch, but it was enough for him. “Did you see?”

  “You own a sock without a hole in the toe?” Her lips puckered just enough to show she was teasing.

  “You are such a pain in the ass.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She flashed him one of her buy-these-gloves smiles. “This is good, Matt.”

  Her. Saying it was good. The first words of encouragement he’d heard in weeks. “I’m going to walk.”

  She picked up his shoe from the floor where it had landed. The task obviously required every bit of concentration since she wasn’t talking, for once.

  “Abby. That’s what it means, right?”

  “It’s a step in the right direction.”

  “I don’t want just a step. I need a full recovery.”

  She busied herself with putting his shoe back on even though he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. Avoiding him is what she was doing. He could tell. “I need to walk again, Abby. You understand? I have to.”