Just Physical

by Jae

  TJ was still staring at her. After a while, he asked, “What are you going to do about it?”

  “There’s not a damn thing I can do about the MS,” Crash grumbled.

  “Not about that. I mean…are you sure you want to take on that kind of responsibility?”

  Crash caught the swinging bag and held on to it with both hands. She looked TJ in the eyes. “I think I’m ready.”

  “You think?” he echoed. “You’d better be damn sure about it. Remember Jimmy?”

  Of course Crash remembered. Their colleague had broken his neck during a wire stunt and was now paralyzed from the chest down. His fiancée had been supportive during his recovery, and they had even gone through with the wedding but then had divorced after less than a year. It had devastated Jimmy.

  TJ was right. She needed to be sure before she tried again to convince Jill. “I’ve been racking my brain over this for weeks, but I still don’t know how I can be sure before I’m actually in the situation.”

  She sank next to TJ onto the weight-training bench, and they sat there mulling it over for some time.

  “Therapy?” TJ finally suggested.

  Crash shook her head. “I don’t think talking to someone who has no idea about MS would help.” But his suggestion sparked another idea. Her fingers were smarting a little as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, brought up the small browser window, and typed, MS caregiver support group.

  “What are you doing?” TJ asked.

  “Making sure I’m sure,” she mumbled while scrolling down the list of search results. When she found what she’d been looking for, she pocketed the phone, jumped up, and gave the punching bag one final tap with her bare fist. “See you later.”

  On Friday, Jill didn’t have any scenes on the shooting schedule, so she stayed home and lingered in bed until eleven. She wasn’t sleeping, but she didn’t seem to have the energy to get up today. For once, her fatigue wasn’t to blame.

  The constant mental replay of last Sunday sucked the energy out of her. She couldn’t forget the hurt and frustration in Crash’s eyes before she’d walked out, and her words kept echoing through her mind.

  I don’t have a choice either because you won’t give me one.

  Had that been wrong? Could she offer a choice, maybe some kind of don’t-ask-don’t-tell relationship in which neither asked about or mentioned the MS? But multiple sclerosis had an ugly way of making itself obvious. It wouldn’t work, at least not for long. She couldn’t have a relationship without the MS, and she couldn’t be a true partner for Crash with it.

  She rolled over in bed, onto her back, put the pillow over her face, and screamed her frustration into the feathers.

  That didn’t work either. All it did was make Tramp come running to see if that noise meant she was finally ready to get out of bed.

  “Okay, okay. I’m getting up.” She wriggled the toes on her left foot, making sure it would hold up, then crawled out of bed.

  Thoughts of Crash followed her into the bathroom and then downstairs. Her house was full of memories. Here, on the top step, Crash had kissed her with such passion that Jill had felt like one of the swooning ladies in a historical drama. In the hall, Crash had squared off with James, defending Jill. And in the kitchen, they had sat sharing pancakes and easy banter.

  In the five days since, nothing had been easy. They had barely talked. She tried to tell herself it was better that way. Things between them would end after the wrap party anyway, so what if it ended four weeks earlier?

  She let out an unladylike snort. Even an actress in a cheap B movie could have portrayed indifference more convincingly. “Let’s hope you can do better when you’re in front of a camera, Jill Corrigan.”

  Okay, time for a distraction. All that moping around was disgusting. Watching TV was out; she wasn’t in the mood and any action scenes would only remind her of Crash, so she marched to the hall closet and took out the cleaning supplies. Maybe cleaning the house would help declutter her mind too.

  She had just gotten started when the front door opened. Susana stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Jill froze, a duster in one hand. “Um, isn’t it obvious? I’m dusting.”

  Susana tsked and bustled over. “You’re paying me to do that. Besides, I just dusted yesterday. Give me that thing.”

  Jill held on. “What else am I supposed to do?”

  “What other people are doing on their day off—relax, have fun, enjoy life.”

  Sighing, Jill let go of the duster.

  “Here.” Susana pressed Tramp’s leash into her hand. “Take him for a walk so I can hide the cleaning supplies while you’re gone.”

  They both chuckled.

  When Jill returned an hour later, she headed straight for the kitchen, filled Tramp’s bowl with fresh water, wrenched open the door of the fridge, and noisily rummaged through its contents. She needed chocolate. Lots of it.

  Susana looked up from scrubbing the sink. “The walk didn’t help?”

  Jill smashed the fridge closed and ripped open the wrapper of a chocolate bar. With her mouth full of chocolate, she mumbled, “A little.”

  “Is this about Kristine?”

  “About Crash? Why would you think that?” Jill bit off another big piece of chocolate.

  “Because you have been moping around ever since she took you on that date last Saturday,” Susana said. “Did something happen while you were out with her?”

  “It wasn’t a date,” Jill said. “And I’m not moping.”

  Susana folded her arms over her apron, gave her a look, and muttered something in Spanish.

  Had she just been called a stubborn mule?

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Susana asked, her expression softening.

  That motherly tone was nearly Jill’s undoing. Her nose started to burn as if she was about to cry. Quickly, she shook her head.

  Susana walked over and pulled her into a hug.

  “The chocolate is melting,” Jill protested but still sank willingly into the warm embrace.

  Susana held her for a few seconds, then pulled back and took the chocolate bar out of her hand.

  “Hey! My chocolate!”

  “You can’t eat it. We’ll need it to decorate the cake.”

  Jill frowned. “What cake?”

  “The cake we’re going to make. Come on. Baking helps with everything, even lovesickness.” She opened a drawer, took out another apron, slid it over Jill’s neck, and tied it in the back for her.

  Tears burned in Jill’s eyes. Jeez. Stop it. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No thanks necessary,” Susana said. “I’ll make you do all the work. Now shoo! Get the eggs!”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Crash shut off the engine and sat there in silence for a moment, staring at the house across the street. Being here felt strange and inappropriate, as if she was fulfilling a morbid curiosity. Last Thursday evening, she had sat in her car, hesitating for a long time too. She hadn’t been sure if she had a right to participate in the caregiver support group meeting since she wasn’t a caregiver.

  But the people there had been very welcoming, especially Sally, the leader of the group. She had even invited Crash into her home so she could meet her husband and see for herself how they managed their everyday lives.

  Before Crash could gather her courage and head over, the front door of the house opened and Sally stepped onto the veranda. She waved at Crash, whose cheeks started to burn.

  Quickly, she climbed out of the SUV and willed her blush to disappear while she crossed the street. Oh, the things we do for love.

  The thought made her pause. Love?

  But she had no time to obsess over it, because she’d reached Sally now. “Hi. I was just…” She gestured back to the SUV
.

  Sally smiled, the crow’s feet around her eyes deepening. “It’s okay. I imagine it must feel a little weird to be here.”

  “Isn’t it weird for you?” Crash couldn’t help asking.

  “A little,” Sally said with the same honesty that had impressed Crash at the support group meeting on Thursday. “But I really don’t mind. And it’s good for George to feel he can help other people.” She led Crash to the door. “Ready?”

  Not really, but Crash nodded anyway and followed Sally inside.

  The house was completely wheelchair-accessible, with wide doors and no thresholds or carpets. A chair lift provided transport to the upper floor. In the past, Crash might not have noticed these little details, but now she was paying attention, hoping to learn as much as she could.

  Sally led her into a spacious living room, where a thin man, whom she guessed to be in his mid-fifties, sat in a recliner. Crash eyed a nearby wheelchair. Did Sally transfer him back and forth all on her own?

  “Look who I found outside,” Sally said to him. “George, this is Kristine Patterson. Kristine, this is my husband, George.”

  She stuck out her hand. “Thanks so much for having me. Please call me Crash.”

  He smiled up at her but didn’t reach out. “Um, I’m not much for handshakes these days. Not that I don’t want to, but…” He nodded down at his hands, which rested limply on his lap.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Crash quickly pulled back her hand and shoved it into her pocket. Maybe this visit hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

  Sally pressed her down onto the couch. “Sit and tell us how you got a nickname like Crash.”

  Grateful for the innocuous topic of conversation, Crash told them.

  “Wow! You’re a stuntwoman!” George’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “I was into motocross racing when I was younger, but nowadays, I confine my racing to this.” He nodded over to the wheelchair.

  Crash didn’t know what to say to that. She couldn’t tell if he was bitter about no longer being able to race.

  “It’s for the best,” Sally said. “You get into enough trouble with the wheelchair as it is.”

  “Hey, you were the one who steered me into the flower bed and ruined Mrs. Baker’s beloved zinnias!”

  “Me? I’m just the engine in our little operation; you’re the navigator, Mister.”

  Crash looked from one to the other as if watching a tennis match, observing their banter and the loving look in their eyes as they teased each other.

  This, she thought. This is what I want. For her and Jill to make the best of what life threw at them—together. Watching them made her hopeful that it was possible. Now the only question was: Would it be possible for Jill and her too?

  Only when Sally looked at her expectantly did Crash realize that they had stopped their bantering and she had missed a question directed at her.

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  “I asked how you take your coffee,” Sally said.

  “Please don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

  “It’s no trouble at all. We have one of these fully automatic coffee machines that have more electronics than a spaceship.”

  “Then I’d love to have a cup,” Crash said. “Plain old black, please.”

  Sally nodded and walked away, leaving her alone with George.

  Swallowing, she turned to him.

  He gave her a smile as if sensing her nervousness. “So,” he began, “Sally says you’re thinking about becoming involved with someone who has MS.”

  “You’re not going to tell me to think twice about it, are you?”

  He gave a rueful smile. “Didn’t do me any good with Sally, and since you’re here, it probably won’t do me any good with you either.”

  “So Sally never hesitated?” Crash asked.

  “Oh, yeah, I did,” Sally called from the kitchen. “Have I told you our last name?”

  What did that have to do with anything? “Uh, no, you didn’t.” In the support group, only first names had been given.

  George rolled his eyes. “My last name’s Dork. There are worse. I went to school with someone whose name was Loser.”

  Becoming Mrs. Dork… Crash grinned. Was his last name really all that had made Sally hesitate to marry him?

  Sally came back into the living room with a tray of mugs. “We had the longest engagement in history before I finally agreed to marry him.”

  George snorted. “Agreed to marry me? You were the one who proposed.” He glanced at Crash. “Four times.”

  Sally balanced a plastic cup with a lid on George’s chest, tucked his hands around it to hold it in place, and then put a straw through a little hole in the lid. “There you go. Careful, it’s still hot.”

  “Thank you,” George said.

  She kissed his cheek before settling down at the end of the couch closest to him.

  Crash watched them. They both seemed so at peace with their routine. Would she do as well as a caregiver? And would Jill ever become so comfortable accepting help if she became this disabled? Finally, she asked, “So she was the one who proposed to you?”

  “I had to,” Sally said. “Aptly named Mr. Dork here kept wanting to do the honorable thing by not tying me to him.”

  That sounded very familiar. “What did it take to finally convince him?”

  “Time,” Sally said.

  At the same time, George said, “A baseball bat.”

  “He’s a bit old-fashioned, you know?” Sally reached over and patted her husband’s arm. “He felt as if he, as the man in the relationship, should be able to take care of me, and if he couldn’t, he wasn’t worthy of being my husband.”

  George pressed his lips together, and for the first time, the light in his eyes dimmed. “I couldn’t even carry you over the threshold. I felt like a terrible excuse for a husband.” He lowered his voice and added, “Still do, sometimes.”

  So it wasn’t all roses and sunshine for them either.

  “You’re the best husband I could wish for,” Sally said.

  They looked into each other’s eyes, seeming to forget about Crash for a moment, before George said, “Maybe your boyfriend is struggling with the same.”

  “Um, actually…” Crash cleared her throat. “The person I’m interested in is a woman. Her name is…” She hesitated. While she didn’t want to lie to them, violating Jill’s privacy felt wrong. “Lucy.”

  Sally smiled knowingly. “I thought you might be gay, but I didn’t want to stereotype. Don’t worry. We’re fine with it. Two of the few friends who still stand by us are lesbians.”

  “So your girlfriend’s issues are probably different from mine,” George said.

  Crash shook her head. “No, I think she’s struggling with some of the same things. She hates feeling dependent and unequal. Getting her to accept any help is like pulling teeth. She isn’t used to relying on anyone. Her parents and her brother are too busy judging her for being gay, for being an actress…and maybe even for having MS.”

  “I’ll never understand people.” Sally sighed and got up. “Let me get us some cookies.”

  They were silent for a moment after she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “She’s a great woman,” Crash said quietly.

  George’s eyes held a mix of love, pride, and sadness. “Yes, she is.” He bent his head to take a sip of his coffee, but the straw escaped him.

  It was hard to observe him chase around the straw with his mouth. The thought of watching Jill be as helpless made her stomach hurt. Should she offer her help? She didn’t want to take away the little bit of independence that he still had, so she remained where she was.

  Finally, he managed to grasp the straw with his lips and took a healthy sip. “Damn. That’s hot,” he gasped out and started coughing. Coffee drenched his mustache and dribbled
down his chin.

  Crash jumped up. She looked around helplessly and then took one of the paper napkins from the coffee table. Hesitantly, not wanting to hurt him, she dabbed his chin, preventing the coffee from dripping down onto his shirt.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice a little rough, either from coughing or from embarrassment.

  Sally rushed back into the room. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine,” George said with an innocent expression.

  Crash sat back down, hiding the wet paper napkin behind her back.

  George grinned at her, and she smiled back, like two co-conspirators.

  “You two aren’t fooling anyone,” Sally said. “I told you that coffee was hot.”

  She had probably developed some kind of sixth sense when it came to her husband, always aware of how he was doing. Crash wondered if she would have the same kind of strength.

  They sat, talked about Jill and life with MS, and ate the cookies, with Sally feeding him in between taking bites of her own cookie.

  Crash had worked with some of the most heroic stunt people in the business over the years, but she couldn’t remember when she’d last been so impressed by two people she’d just met.

  Finally, when the last cookie was gone and George seemed to get tired, Sally walked her to the door. “So?” she asked. “What did you think? I hope we could help you.”

  Crash nodded. “I think so. I’m not sure I could handle it as well as you do, but I’m ready to try my best.”

  Sally patted her arm. “I didn’t get there overnight. You should have seen me in the beginning. Besides, it doesn’t just matter how ready you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lucy has to be too,” Sally said. “She has to be ready to accept your love and your help.”

  A sigh escaped Crash. Jill had a long way to go—if she’d ever get there.

  “Why don’t you bring her along the next time you visit us?” Sally suggested.

  Crash tried to imagine Jill having coffee with George and Sally but couldn’t. “I don’t think she’s ready for that either.” Seeing George being fed by his wife would only remind Jill of her own uncertain future, and Crash wasn’t sure if that would help or make Jill even more determined to avoid tying another person to her.