by Lorrie Kruse
Still crouched down, she looked up at him. “Want, Matt. You want to walk again.”
He snagged the fingerless faux-leather gloves off the wheelchair seat and pulled them on. “No, Abby. I need to walk again. I’ve got too many people depending on me.”
Before she could lecture him on the definitions of want and need, he grabbed the chair and hurled his weight into the seat.
“Matt—”
“Save it for someone else. I’m done listening to your psychobabble about not getting my hopes up.” It wasn’t until he was out the door that he realized he’d gotten into the wheelchair without the use of the transfer board. His first impulse was to turn around, to go back to Abby, to bask in his milestone with her. A heaviness pressed on him. From here on out, he’d be basking in the milestones with someone else.
Didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting well again.
He gave the wheels a hard push. Within minutes, he was back at his room. He turned the chair and gave a final push through the doorway.
Derrick stood at the bed with his back to the door. Even though he was happy to see his friend, he thought about putting the wheels in reverse. He didn’t want company right now.
Derrick looked over his shoulder. “Hey, bro.” The ceiling light glinted off the glass covering the framed picture of Crystal that Derrick held.
“Hey.” Matt nodded at the picture. “Not thinking of stealing that, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Derrick put the frame back in place on the nightstand and then sat on the edge of the bed. He looked tired. More than tired. He looked…sad.
“You okay?” Matt asked.
His friend laughed. “You’re the one in the hospital and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
“Yeah? So? You doing okay?”
“Just fine. Just a little tired, is all. Enough about me. I hear we’ve got something to celebrate.”
Matt saw Abby with her this-doesn’t-mean-anything look. “I wouldn’t go polishing up my tools quite yet.”
“Damn.” Derrick grinned, his dimple deepening. “Wish you’d told me that before I spent all morning doing just that.”
“Like you had time.” The truth of the statement settled in. “I should be there with you guys, instead of here.”
“You will be. Just give it time.” Derrick raised his chin. “Pops said you’re transferring to Milwaukee. I think that’s a good move, especially now that you’re recovering. We need you back, good as new.”
He liked that picture—him, back, good as new. But it felt like a lie, even with as many times as he’d told Abby he was going to walk again. “And what if I don’t come back good as new?”
“Don’t think that way.”
“I have to. Abby says there’s less than a two percent chance of my having a full recovery. Two percent. That’s nothing.” Good lord. He was starting to sound like her.
“No. Zero percent is nothing. She didn’t give you zero. She gave you two, and you can be one of those two percent as easily as the next guy.”
Matt wiggled his one toe while he rubbed his leg in a spot where the sensation had spread from this morning. Derrick was right. He could be one of those lucky two percent. No, not could. He would be one of them. And now that Abby was going to be in Milwaukee as well, he could prove it to her without having to hunt her down.
§
By Monday morning, after a weekend in Milwaukee away from Crystal and his family and a full day with no further recovery, Matt was losing confidence that the two percent was within his grasp. His hands lay limp in his lap as the CNA wheeled him to his first therapy session. Without Abby.
He lifted his head. He was at the best spine care center in Wisconsin. He was going to have a therapist who only worked with spinal cord injuries. The best treatment at the best center. So what if he’d had a day without any recovery? He’d be walking out of this place, and he’d make sure Abby watched him do it.
The CNA parked him just inside the gym doors. He looked around the busy room filled with all the equipment he’d hoped for back at St. Luke’s. Parallel bars. Weight equipment. Everything state-of-the-art. Everything he needed to get him walking again.
A plump older woman walked toward him. “Hi. I’m Esther Roper. I’ll be your physical therapist.”
The woman looked old enough to be his grandmother. If she’d ever touched a pair of ns, it’d been back when gas was a penny a gallon. Her lips curved into a warm smile, but he didn’t feel any uncontrollable urge to buy into whatever she might be selling.
“I see from your records that your last therapist already had you working on wheelchair transfers. You even managed a transfer without a board. I’m impressed.”
He didn’t bother to point out that his progress in wheelchair transfers had been unplanned, anger-induced events.
“I think our best course of treatment would be to get you out on the wheelchair obstacle course. Get you working on wheeling up ramps, to start with.”
Wheeling up ramps. Just like on St. Luke’s flyer. Where were the braces and crutches? “I’m going to walk again.”
“Of course you are.” Mrs. Agreeable.
He waited for her to spout off some statistic to put everything in perspective. Instead, she said, “Until then, you need to be able to master whatever challenges stand in your way with the wheelchair. Speaking of which, I notice you haven’t ordered a chair yet. I’ll contact the medical supply store and have them send over someone to explain the differences in wheelchairs, so you can get that taken care of.”
“I don’t need to order a wheelchair.”
She crossed her arms over a wide belly. He waited for her to protest. Instead, she said, “Well, then, how about we work on wheeling up some ramps?”
“Sure. Fine.” Shouldn’t she have told him how important it was that he have a wheelchair made just for him? “Sounds like loads of fun.”
Loads of fun, it wasn’t. Not in his morning session and even less so in the afternoon session. It was hard work, plain and simple. No harder than anything he’d done with Abby. It just felt harder without Abby’s encouragement.
Back in his room, too tired and sore to move, he stared out the window at the parking lot. Four more days without Crystal or his parents. It felt like a lifetime.
He rubbed his right leg, just above the knee—a spot without sensation. He widened out the circle. When he felt the tingle of sensation where there hadn’t been any before, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Thank God. He searched out more spots and found another new location. News this good he had to share, and he knew just who he wanted to share it with.
Ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulders and upper arms, he wheeled over to his cell phone and dialed Crystal’s speed number. Listening to the ringing, he propped his elbow on the nightstand and leaned against the phone. Hearing her voice filled him with peace.
“I’ve missed you, babe.”
“Me too. Anything good happen today?”
He touched the new area of sensation. One more patch didn’t guarantee anything. He gave his head a quick shake. Positive thoughts only, he told himself. “The sensation’s spreading again. I’ve got two new spots.”
“Matt, how wonderful.”
Wonderful indeed. All of it. The sensation spreading. The excitement in her voice. His mouth curved into a smile he couldn’t hold back, even if he tried.
“What did your doctor have to say? This has to be a good sign, right? Oh, gosh, Matt. This is so great.”
Her lips were flapping a mile a minute. So fast, he couldn’t do anything but sit there with a sappy smile, soaking up her excitement.
“Soon, all of your sensation will be back. And you know what comes next, don’t you? Walking. You’ll be walking in no time.”
His smile fell. She wasn’t saying anything different from what he’d planned on himself. His believing this was proof he’d walk again seemed like a natural progression. Her believing it felt like a ton of responsibili
ty dropped on his shoulders.
“Babe, it’s just a couple patches of sensation. It could stop right there.”
“No, honey. It won’t. You’re going to walk again. I know it.”
His shoulders sagged with the excess pressure. He rested his head against his fingers pressed to his forehead. Like a recurring nightmare, the question pestered him. What if he didn’t walk again? Would she be content being saddled down with him and a wheelchair? He rubbed one of the new patches with sensation, trying to get the happy feeling back.
“Matt?” The excited tone was gone.
Rubbing his leg reminded him of how far he had to go. He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “So, what’s new in Fuller Lake?”
“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Nothing as good as what’s happening down there.”
He wanted to yell at her that it wasn’t that great. Just two small, possibly insignificant, patches of sensation. Instead, he let his eyelids slide shut. His head pressed into his fingertips. “You have a good day at work?”
“It’s work. What can I say?”
Silence filled the air. Silence that left him free to think. And worry. What if I don’t walk again? What’s going to happen to us?
“Got any plans for tonight?” he asked, hoping to quiet his mind.
“Nothing much. Just watching TV.”
More silence.
“What are you going to watch?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever looks good.”
Talking to her was becoming a chore. “What’re you having for dinner?”
“Just a salad.”
Like pulling weeds, one question at a time. Sad thing was, he couldn’t think of anything else to ask. And she wasn’t supplying any conversation on her own.
In the background came the sound of a doorbell. “Sorry, Matt. I have to go. Someone’s here.”
He was almost relieved to have an excuse to hang up. “Okay. I love you.”
“Take care. See you Saturday.” The phone went dead.
“I love you, Matt,” he answered for her. Before he could bog himself down in self-pity, he dialed again. “Hi, Ma. Remember me? Your long-lost son.”
His mother’s laugh made him smile. “Which son would that be?”
“Dad there?”
She hesitated. “No. Not yet.”
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. There was no winning. Without the nightly trips to Bakersfield to visit Matt, his father was filling his spare time working. “How is he?”
“Fine.”
“No, Ma, don’t lie to me. How is he? ”
“You know your father. All he says is that he’s got a little cold.”
“Cold, my ass.”
“Matthew, don’t swear.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m worried about him. He’s so damn stubborn.”
“He may be stubborn, but he’s not stupid.”
No, his father wasn’t stupid. But he tended to think he was invincible. “Promise me, if he’s not home in an hour, you’ll go drag him home?”
“I promise. Now, tell me about your therapists.”
Forty minutes later, he was still on the phone. He knew everything that had happened in his mother’s day, right down to how many colors Kaylee used in the latest picture she’d drawn for him.
He didn’t want to hang up, but he knew if he didn’t, they’d stay on the phone all night. And his mom had something important to do. “Do me a favor. Go get Dad. Make him come home and relax.”
CHAPTER TEN
At nine-thirty on Saturday morning, Abby exited Eastlawn Manor with her mother for what would be the last time. A fine dusting of snow covered every surface, turning the old, dirty snow to white. A fresh start.
Their feet slid on the slick pavement as they walked to her car. Abby shuddered at the thought of the trip ahead. One hundred eighty-three miles of snow-covered roads dragging a trailer. Would have been nice if the weatherman had warned her.
Her mother stopped moving the second the car and trailer came into view. She took a backward step. “Not moving.”
Abby’s shoulders tensed. “We have to. I have a new job.”
“You go. I’ll stay here.” Her mother turned back toward the nursing home.
Abby grabbed her mother’s sleeve. A layer of snow already clung to the wooly fabric. Why today, of all days, did the weatherman have to be wrong? “You can’t stay.” She pulled just a little to urge her mother toward the parking lot. “Please, Mom. We have to get on the road.”
“Not going.” Her mother stood firm.
Abby tugged on her mother’s sleeve. Her feet slid. Just a little. The snow seemed to be coming down harder. Wet, heavy snow. Coating the roads. And her mother refused to cooperate.
She wanted to let go of her mother’s sleeve, hold up her hands, and say “fine, stay if you want.” She wanted to get in her car and drive away and leave her mother standing there. It was thoughts like these that made her a bad daughter—a bad enough daughter for a father to leave behind.
She let go of her mother’s sleeve, but she didn’t leave. She put her hands on her hips. “We’re moving to Milwaukee. You have five seconds to get in the car, or I’ll go inside and get one of the orderlies. One.” Her cheeks stung from the cold. “Two.” Please. “Three.” The snow covering her mother had thickened noticeably. “Four.” Her eyes watered. She wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or her frustration or both. Didn’t matter because she refused to cry. “Time’s up. I’m going for the orderly now.”
Abby made it one step when she heard a very soft, “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
§
“Aw, hell,” Matt grumbled as he looked outside before leaving for therapy. The snow was falling harder now. The flakes were no longer fat and fluffy. They’d become wet and heavy, the kind that accumulated more quickly. He hated to wait yet another week to see his family, but he’d hate it even more if they had an accident on the way.
He flipped open his cell phone and dialed his parents’ house. The answering machine picked up.
“I’m thinking you guys shouldn’t come down today. Not with the weather like this. I’ll call you after I’m done with therapy. Love you. Bye.”
He had to leave for therapy, but he wouldn’t be able to concentrate until he knew for sure they weren’t coming. He dialed his father’s cell number. After two rings, the voicemail picked up. He got the same result with Crystal’s cell phone.
“You all disappear into the Twilight Zone?” he muttered as he dialed his brother’s cell phone only to get his voicemail, as well.
“Damn it.” Calling off a visit shouldn’t be this hard.
Giving it one last shot, he dialed Derrick’s number and got an answer of a quick, “Yo.”
Thank God. “What’s the weather like up there?”
“On a scale of one to ten—shitty.”
“I’m late for therapy. Can you get a message to my parents?”
“Sure.”
“Tell them not to come this weekend.”
“That would have been a good message to have about an hour ago. They’ve already left.”
Damn.
Having already left, he could understand why his father, who was probably driving, wasn’t answering his phone. But why wasn’t anyone else answering? “Do me a favor. Keep calling Dad’s cell. Make them turn back, okay?”
“Sure thing.”
He hung up, linked his fingers together, and hung his hands on the back of his neck. Camouflaging his prayer. Let them be okay. Please, let them be okay.
§
Abby turned on the wipers to brush away the snow that had accumulated while she’d buckled in her mother. Helen sat beside her in a tight ball, her mouth pinched as tightly closed as her arms. She’d stay that way until Abby cajoled her out of her grumpy mood.
She hated seeing her mother like this, but there wasn’t time to placate her. At least she was being quiet. Which was probably a good thing,
she thought as she came to the first stop sign and heard her brakes chirp while her car barely skidded to a stop. This trip was going to require every bit of her concentration. She thought about postponing their move but dismissed the idea. Going back to Eastlawn would confuse her mother and create a bigger tantrum tomorrow. Besides, she’d turned in her key to her landlady and, as of ten minutes ago, her mother was no longer an Eastlawn resident. She’d driven in snow before, plenty of times. They’d be fine.
Coast clear, she stepped lightly on the gas. The tires spun and the car shifted slightly to the right before finding traction and bolting forward. With her cheerful mother pouting beside her and the beautiful road conditions, this was guaranteed to be a fabulous trip.
On the radio, Rascal Flatts sang about what hurt the most, about never knowing what could have been. A perfect theme song for her and Paul. Never knowing what could have been. Her eyes burned. She pinched her lips together. You will not cry. You will not cry. You will not cry.
Her chest ached. Her nose burned. She bit her lip, but the road blurred in front of her.
“Abby!” her mother screeched.
§
Pulled up close to the fake curb, Matt paid little attention as he tipped backward, bringing the casters off the ground. One second he was thinking about Crystal and his family, wondering if they were okay. The next, he was aware of the room shifting off kilter as he flipped over backward. His head bounced against the floor, and stars sparkled before his eyes.
“Matthew,” Esther cried out as she crouched beside him. “Are you okay?”
His head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but there was no way he’d let on. “Dandy.”
She peered into his eyes. “Are you sure?”
He put on a smile he had to work hard to keep in place. “Just fine.”
She hesitated for a second before she stood and planted her hands on her hips. “Good, because now you can practice getting back into your chair after taking a tumble.”
“My idea of fun.” He’d prefer to just lie there. At least until his head stopped pounding. Instead, he worked himself out of the fallen wheelchair.
