Strength in Numbers

by Charlotte Carter

  Gaping first at her leg, Ted slowly raised his gaze to meet Kirstie’s. “When you walked in, I couldn’t tell.”

  “That’s because I’ve worked hard on my gait so the prosthesis isn’t obvious, and I’ve been working at it since I was ten years old. At the time, I thought it was the end of the world.” She grinned at the young man. “Turns out it wasn’t, so I learned to live with it.” She knocked her prosthesis one more time, then lowered her foot to the floor.

  “Can you run on that thing or just walk?”

  “I can run with a different prosthesis, though I’m not likely to win any races. But then I’ve never been particularly athletic. I do have trouble jumping rope, which makes me a terrible failure in the eyes of my third-grade girls. I’m not that coordinated now, and I wasn’t all that good when I was in third grade, either.”

  The hint of a grin curved Ted’s lips. “So do you know any one-legged soccer players?”

  That stopped Kirstie for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a soccer player. I dated a basketball player in college who’d had his entire knee replaced. Is that close enough?”

  “Not really.” Some of the anger and tension had gone out of the boy’s expression. The lines of stress relaxed and he came close to giving Kirstie a real smile.

  Confident Kirstie could help Ted take a giant stride forward in his recovery, James slipped out of the room. He had other patients to see and a personal financial crisis to face.

  About a half hour later, Kirstie came looking for James and found him in the supply room.

  “How’d it go?” he asked.

  “Ted’s a nice kid.” She finger combed her hair back away from her face. “All that attitude he’s showing is to cover up the fact that he’s scared.”

  “Yeah, I got that. I was hoping you’d be able to reassure him things would be okay.” James returned an unused suture kit to its proper bin.

  “I did my best. My guess is he’d rather hear that from a one-legged male jock. Which I don’t happen to be.”

  James grinned. No one would mistake Kirstie, a petite young woman with delicate features, for a jock of any kind.

  “Guess he’s out of luck,” James said. “I’m fresh out of one-legged jocks.”

  Her eyes twinkling as though she had a secret she wanted to share, Kirstie said, “I know where I can find one. I’ve got a couple of contacts who are active with the Paralympics organization.”

  James tried to remember where he had heard about that. “Paralympics?”

  “Like the regular Olympics, only all the participants are physically disabled in some way. There are dozens of sports—almost every event in track and field, wheelchair basketball, volleyball and tennis, a sport called goalball played by blind participants.”

  “Really? I didn’t know the program was so extensive.” He logged the sutures back into the computer and logged himself out, his shift about to end.

  “The Paralympics are always held following the regular Olympics in the same host city.” Kirstie gave a wave to Anabelle, who was ready to call it a day. “I’ll be right with you, Mother.”

  “No rush, dear.”

  “Anyway,” Kirstie continued, “I’m going to contact these guys I know. If I can get one or two of them to come talk to Ted, it might give him something more positive to think about than simply dwelling on what he’s lost.”

  James’s spirits lifted on Ted’s behalf. The boy needed a mental boost. Kirstie could well have found the answer.

  “That would be terrific, Kirstie. It’ll have to be soon, though. I imagine Ted will be discharged soon and switch to outpatient services and rehab.”

  “I’ll make some calls tonight,” she promised.

  James’s spirits were still high as he headed home. The street-lights in town were all decorated for the holiday with garlands of holly. Store windows were painted in Christmas themes featuring everything from baby Jesus in a manger, the three wise men and angels trumpeting Christ’s arrival to contemporary visions of Santa and sugar plum fairies.

  Tomorrow, he and his family would go in search of the perfect Christmas tree.

  He grimaced at the thought. As much as he loved the holiday season and decorating a tree, buying a tree had become a major expenditure. Every year the price had gone a little higher.

  This year they’d have to cut back. A smaller tree would do just as well. Fewer presents too.

  As he turned onto his street, a few flakes of snow drifted down to land on the windshield. A white Christmas would make up for not having the biggest tree in town.

  Chapter Seven

  SATURDAY MORNING JAMES MADE A BIG POT OF oatmeal for the family. He’d been up with Fern twice during the night. She’d had muscle spasms in both her legs, and he’d massaged them until the cramps eased.

  He glanced across the kitchen table. Fern toyed idly with her oatmeal but had eaten very little, despite the raisins and brown sugar he’d added. Dark circles of fatigue under her lovely brown eyes testified to her sleepless night.

  His eyes probably didn’t look much better.

  Gideon wolfed down his bowl of oatmeal, then made himself a slice of toast spread with peanut butter.

  “So when are we going to get the tree?” he asked around a mouthful of peanut butter.

  “Soon as we all finish breakfast and clean up the kitchen,” James said.

  “Some guys are coming over later to shoot some hoops,” Gideon said.

  “It snowed last night,” James pointed out. “You’ll have to shovel the driveway.” Both James and Fern had always wanted their house to be a place where the boys’ friends would feel at home. The basketball hoop mounted on the garage was part of the plan. That was still true even though Fern could rarely bake batches of cookies for them now or hand out sodas on a hot summer day.

  “No sweat.” Gideon carried his empty bowl and juice glass to the sink. His long-sleeved high school jersey was stretched out of shape and faded from black to gray, the result of dozens of trips to the washer. “The guys can handle it. Besides, I think it’s all gonna melt by noon.”

  “Don’t you want to help decorate the tree?” Fern asked, her words slurring.

  “I do.” Nelson carried his dishes to the sink. “Wouldst thou want your humble servant to fetch the boxes of ornaments ’n’ stuff from the attic?”

  Fern gave her thespian son a crooked grin. She was enjoying his interest in Shakespeare and eager to see him perform in the play.

  “That’d be fine, young Puck,” James said with a smile meant for both Nelson and his wife.

  “Great.” Nelson loped out of the kitchen and up the stairs, his feet thundering on each step. It sounded like the house had been invaded by a herd of woolly mammoths.

  “I figured we’d be done decorating by lunch,” Gideon said. “It’s kind of same ol’, same ol’ isn’t it? Shouldn’t take long.”

  James wasn’t sure how he felt about Gideon’s lack of interest in helping with the holiday decorations. The project had always been a family affair. But for teenagers, the lure of their peers had a powerful pull.

  “We’ll see how it goes,” James said. “For now, go help your brother bring down the boxes.”

  Unlike Nelson, Gideon sauntered out of the kitchen, slightly hunched, his arms dangling loosely at his sides, not an ounce of urgency in him. That would all change once he had his hands on a basketball trying to make a shot.

  Or when he put on his ROTC uniform.

  With a sigh, Fern put her spoon in her still half-full cereal bowl and pushed it away. “I don’t think I can manage the Christmas-tree lot this year. Not even with my walker. I’m sorry.”

  “Sweetheart, you can’t get out of helping us pick out a tree. No way.” He shook his head. “We’ve always picked out the tree as a family. Ever since the boys were little.”

  Her expression clouded with regret. “I can’t walk all over the lot.”

  “Not a problem. You can wait in the van where it’s nice and warm. We
’ll bring the trees to you.”

  “I’m such a bother.”

  Picking up his own bowl and Fern’s, he bent to kiss her. “It’s tradition, sweetheart. You’re the best tree picker-outer in the family. The boys and I won’t settle for second best. You need to help us find the best. Okay?” Actually, he was thinking of second or third best. Definitely smaller than usual. Given the high price per foot this year, he didn’t see any reason to buy a tree rivaling a giant sequoia.

  A little teary-eyed, she nodded. “I love you.”

  “Likewise, sweetheart.” The ache in his chest erupted like his heart was being ripped apart. He’d do anything to improve Fern’s health, and there was nothing he could do. Talk about feeling helpless.

  “Did you take your new meds this morning?” he asked.

  “Yes. They’re not helping much.”

  “If Dr. Chopra says they’ll improve your condition, they will. Give it a little time.”

  A half hour later, James carried Fern out to the van, lifted her into the passenger seat and spread a blanket over her lap. Nelson brought the walker in case she wanted to use it later. Gideon found some twine to tie the tree to the top of the van when they brought it home.

  Despite an overcast sky, most of the snow that had fallen overnight had already melted. Patches of snow remained in a few protected spots on lawns and under trees. Here and there someone had tried to make a snowman with limited success.

  James’s favorite Christmas-tree lot was north of Deerford halfway to Princeton. The Cottone family raised their own trees in Wisconsin, hauling them to Illinois every holiday season. Always the freshest and most expensive trees around, the trees were universally well shaped and the needles bounced back when you ran your hand over a branch.

  Making use of Fern’s handicapped placard, James parked as close to the entrance to the tree lot as he could. “Okay, guys. Let’s go find us a tree.”

  The boys clambered out of the van, their jackets unzipped. In an instant, they’d vanished into the forest of fir and spruce trees.

  James opened the driver’s door. “If you need me, honk the horn three times,” he told Fern.

  “I’ll be fine. You go ahead and referee the boys. We don’t want them bickering over which tree to get.”

  He hopped out of the van, blew her a kiss and hurried to catch up with his sons. The three of them set off to explore the entire lot, weaving in and out of the rows of trees.

  Dozens of families were doing the same thing. Toddlers rode on their fathers’ shoulders. Elementary-aged youngsters dashed among the trees, their efforts resembling a game of tag more that a search for the best Christmas tree.

  In contrast, teenagers did their I’m-bored-out-of-my-mind, my-parents-made-me-come shtick, but the act wasn’t entirely convincing. Their grins appeared too quickly, their whoop of I found one! too eager.

  “Here’s a good one,” James said, dragging a five-foot tree out into the aisle for his sons to examine. “Look how symmetrical it is. Perfect all the way around.”

  “Dad, that tree is shorter than me,” Gideon complained.

  “Yeah, we don’t want a runt tree,” Nelson said. “We want a big one with the angel way up on top.” He held his hand way above his head.

  “We could buy a shorter, less expensive tree and set it on top of the coffee table,” James said. “Then it would be tall enough and faster to decorate. Plus there’d be a lot more room for presents under the tree.”

  His suggestion fell flat. The three of them continued the search, James silently fretting about the expense.

  He found a six-foot tree that looked pretty good to him. Nelson and Gideon challenged his choice with a perfect eight-footer.

  James lifted his smaller tree. “Okay, guys, let’s take both of these trees to your mom and let her choose.”

  “You know she’s gonna pick the big one,” Gideon said.

  “Yeah, Dad, she likes to fill up our whole picture window.”

  He knew that. But maybe this year…

  Sitting sideways with the door open, she examined each tree in turn, a smile on her face. “They’re both gorgeous. No bad spots at all.” She gave James a questioning look, and he knew she was thinking about the expense too. He hated that he’d told her about the cut in pay. She didn’t need the worry.

  “We gotta get the big one, Mom,” Nelson pleaded. “We always do.”

  “I don’t know, honey,” Fern said, glancing at James. “Maybe this year we ought to try to keep things simple.”

  Despite her words, disappointment flickered in her eyes. The boys’ expression mirrored Fern’s. Regret curdled the oatmeal in James’s stomach.

  “The boys are right,” he announced. “We’ll get the larger tree. It’ll be a perfect fit for our living room.”

  Gideon pumped his fist in the air.

  Nelson cheered. “‘Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon,’” he quoted from Shakespeare.

  Fern’s forehead furrowed. “Are you sure, James? It’s a lot of money.”

  “I’m sure.” It was only money. Saving a few bucks wasn’t worth disappointing his wife and children. “Okay, guys, get that tree tied down good on top of the van and I’ll go pay for it.”

  “I don’t need a new dress!” Brooke all but stomped her foot in rebellion in the middle of the girls’ department of the discount store.

  Nearby shoppers eyed Brooke with disapproval and Candace with censure.

  Candace reined in her anger both at Brooke and the nosy shoppers. She could almost hear them thinking that she should have raised her daughter better, taught her not to have tantrums in public.

  She’d brought both Howie and Brooke to the shopping center just outside of Deerford to buy new outfits for the holidays. Howie was easy—a new pair of slacks, a nice long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of shoes to replace the ones he’d started school with in September and had already outgrown. His selections were already in the shopping cart. He was good to go.

  Brooke was impossible.

  “I always buy you a new dress for Christmas,” Candace patiently explained. “You’ll want to look nice when you play the piano on Christmas Eve.”

  “These styles are all dorky.” To emphasize her point, Brooke shoved at the clothes hanging on a round rack, setting them in motion.

  Howie went down on all fours and into hiding underneath the clothes.

  “We can go to a different store, if you’d like.” She’d started with the biggest discount store in the shopping center hoping to find a bargain. No such luck. She hadn’t even gotten Brooke to try on a single dress.

  “The clothes I have are fine.”

  “Two days ago you were looking at the ad for this store and thought the dresses were cute.”

  “I can change my mind, can’t I?”

  The clothes on the rack began swaying wildly back and forth.

  “Howie, stop whatever it is you’re doing under there.” Candace was losing her patience. Crowds of shoppers filled the store jostling each other, parking had been nearly impossible, Howie was getting bored, Brooke mutinous and Candace was hanging on by a thread. She longed for the days when she could pick out a dress for her daughter, and Brooke would be thrilled. The days when shopping was fun.

  Now Brooke was eleven going on sixteen and impossible to please or understand.

  “Can we just go home?” Brooke pleaded.

  Candace rolled her eyes. Fighting Brooke’s volatile moods was an exercise in futility, a fruitless effort leading only to frustration.

  “All right, young lady. We’ll go home. But don’t whine to me next week when you realize you don’t have anything new to wear for the Christmas Eve service at church.”

  Brooke whirled toward the checkout lines but not before Candace caught a glimpse of her daughter’s chin quivering with the threat of tears.

  What on earth is going on with Brooke? First she started having those nightmares, twice in the past week. Now, right in the middle of the sto
re, she pulled a temper tantrum.

  It was as though someone had switched her sweet little girl for an alien child Candace didn’t recognize.

  Please, Lord, I can’t handle this without Your help.

  “Come on, Howie.” Separating the clothes on the rack, she found Howie grinning up at her, his blond hair mussed from his adventures. Unable to stop herself, she grinned back at him. Boys were so easy, at least as far as shopping went. “Time to go home, honey.”

  Howie jumped up like a jack-in-the-box and raced after his sister. Candace followed more slowly.

  When she got home, she was going to have a talk with her mother. Maybe she’d know how to handle Brooke’s wild mood swings.

  At the mall, Elena stood in a long line of mothers and their children waiting to talk to Santa Claus. Christmas carols played over loudspeakers as young girls dressed as elves escorted children up a few steps to see Santa. Another elf snapped a photo when the child sat on Santa’s lap.

  Elena bent down to confer with Isabel. She wore a cute little smock over a red, long-sleeved jersey. Elena had tied a red bow in her hair. “You know what you’re going to ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?”

  Izzy nodded her head vigorously. “A new doll with a red dress and a two-wheel bike with training wheels and a cake baking set that makes real cakes and a—”

  Elena laughed. “Goodness, that’s quite a list.”

  The child looked up with her big, light gray eyes. “I’ve been good this year, haven’t I?”

  “Yes, sweetie. You’ve been very good. But the most important part about Christmas is remembering why we celebrate it.”

  “Oh, I know why!” Isabel said with a hop. “We learned about Jesus’ birthday in Sunday school. Buela, how many candles does Jesus need on his cake?”

  Elena laughed; Isabel sounded so sincere. “All Jesus wants for His birthday is for us to love each other and be good.”

  As the line moved up, Elena wondered if she should take a turn on Santa’s lap and ask him if he could do something about the pay cut at the hospital. Or, if he’d rather, a couple of airline tickets to Spain for her and Cesar would do nicely too.