“Don’t know what happened. I feel real weak.” Walt sucked in deep, heavy breaths.
This was her fault. Why had she left her patient alone? She’d only done that one other time and had learned a hard lesson in the process. She knew why she’d left this one by himself. She’d been too distracted with being late, and right, that she didn’t access her patient the way she should have upon his arrival home.
“Your body’s been through a lot. Weakness is not uncommon.”
Lil scanned the room. Metal cabinets with Formica countertops ran across the length of the room and ended just before the bedroom door. If he could make it over to the counter, it would give him something to lean against for support while he rested. Then maybe she could leave him alone long enough for her to get a chair.
With her body as security, the heaviness of Walt’s breathing lessened along with the rattle of the walker.
“Do you think you can make it over to the counter? That will give you something stable to hold on to or lean against while I get you a chair.” Lil bent down further, trying to adjust her height to his to keep from stretching his body at an upward angle. She turned her face to Walt’s, his squared jaw set at a defiant angle.
“I think I can make it to the bedroom, if you let go of me.”
The words snipped out of Walt, but his head remained down with his body weight still transferred to Lil’s shoulders.
His spirit was willing but his flesh was weak. “Don’t try to be a hero.”
“Too late for that. It’s what got me in this predicament in the first place.”
The warm breath from Walt’s huff of disgust tickled her hand resting on the walker.
“Let go. I feel fine now.” Walt tried to shake free of Lil’s grasp. She felt a small tremor in his muscles and tightened her hold.
“Nice try. You move the walker, then we’ll take a step together.” Dampness soaked through his shirt where her hand rested on his waist.
To her amazement, he didn’t argue but scooted the walker a few inches, then took a shaky step. She baby-stepped with his pace, mindful of the space between their feet so she didn’t trip him.
“You’re doing great,” Lil encouraged, even though his struggle was revealed in his white-knuckled grip on the walker and the tremble in his leg that brushed up against hers.
Walt stopped. More weight shifted to Lil’s shoulder as he lifted his left hand from the walker. Lil watched him swipe a trickle of perspiration from the side of his face by his ear, wishing she could swat her own drops of exertion away.
“Ready?” With his jaw set and eyes focused on his destination of the bedroom door, Walt scooted the walker a few more inches.
Thank goodness for the cozy quarters and a bedroom just barely big enough for a bed and dresser. Just a few more steps to the doorframe. Once they cleared that hurdle, they’d be home free. The bed sat a mere two steps into the room.
Lil’s muscles joined Walt’s in the shaky rebellion of extra exertion. The pallor of her patient gave her stamina a boost. Minutes passed as their feet crawled across the short span of the kitchen. Two steps, then rest. Two steps, then rest. Walt’s body rebelled with a cold sheen of sweat. So did hers.
Stubborn determination showed on Walt’s face, and Lil guessed it was what fueled him to continue on.
“We’re almost there,” Lil said, her encouragement breathier than she’d have liked.
“Yep.” Walt’s answer was released on a sigh of relief as he eased the walker to a stop in front of the raised wooden threshold.
The walker was wider than the narrow doorway, Walt reached a hand out and pressed his palm against the frame then repeated the gesture with the opposite hand. No instruction necessary, Lil ducked under his arm, turning the lightweight walker sideways to allow entry into the room.
Once inside the door, she righted the walker for Walt to hold and finish the last two steps into the room. She started to smile her encouragement, but when their eyes met, she saw a spark of fear cross his hazel eyes just before they seemed to lose their elevation.
Lil dropped her gaze. Walt’s arms shook as he held tight to the opening, weakness taking control and bending Walt’s knees deeper and deeper.
“Hold on.” In a flash, Lil squeezed between the walker and the door. They’d made it this far. Walt couldn’t fall. She couldn’t let him.
He released the burden of his weight against her as soon as she looped her arm around his waist. He grasped the walker with both hands.
“Let’s go,” he said and the walker banged down on the hardwood. One large left step, then a right hitched step and they were beside the bed.
Walt pushed the walker to the side and hopped on his left foot to turn his body. Although this went against her medical training, Lil let this battle go and followed Walt’s movement until the backs of their thighs butted against the bed.
Lil released Walt and, knees buckling, he dropped onto the bed in a sitting position. His head hung down, his back heaving as he caught his breath. A sheen of moisture gleamed on the salt-and-pepper hairs of his arms.
“Scoot back a little,” Lil instructed as she bent to lift his legs. Once Walt was settled on top of a well-worn, hand-sewn, rail-fence patterned quilt, Lil removed his athletic shoes and raised his legs enough to free a knobby afghan at the foot of the bed to cover him.
With his eyes closed and breathing returning to normal, Lil assessed her patient. Faint pink trickled back to the high angle of his cheekbones. The white ring of shock no longer traced his lower lip. When she removed his eyeglasses, his lids fluttered but never opened. The possibility that he had already dozed off caused her to whisper, “You rest now.” She touched his forehead with the backs of her fingers. Cool, no fever.
Lil patted Walt’s shoulder and stepped to the door.
“Guess I was wrong. Sometimes there is a reason to hurry. Thanks, Speedy. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
Lil closed the bedroom door, fighting the urge to slide down it and let the brimming tears flow freely. “Thank You, Lord,” she whispered as she wiped the dampness from her eyes with the buttonholed corner of her sweater.
No doubt God had been with them, giving Walt that extra burst of strength to get to the bed and reminding her that you never leave your patient alone.
Palm to her chest, she surveyed Walt’s kitchen. One crisis averted but some safeguarding remained.
A kitchen towel lay loose on the edge of the counter. That could be a problem if Walt lost his balance and sought stability from the sturdy cabinets as he rested between steps. Placing his hand on it with force could slide it back, throwing him off balance.
Lil pursed her lips, marched over to the counter, snatched the towel up by one end, and snapped the loose end against the Formica, punishing it for her imagined crime against Walt.
Walt, what an anomaly. First he chided her for speeding, then he thanked her for speeding. Of course, she’d sped for different reasons a few minutes ago. Walt’s life might have been in danger. Then again, she could have endangered someone else’s life earlier, driving so recklessly.
Maybe she was the anomaly. Lil shrugged. She had been her entire life when it came to men. Why would Walt be any different?
Opening the cupboard door under the sink, Lil found what she expected, a three-bar hinged towel rack. Tri-folding the terry cloth rectangle, Lil hung it neatly across the top bar and closed the cupboard door.
Speedy? The downy lilt of Walt’s voice implied it as a nickname. An endearing one, not like the taunting middle-grade schoolyard names that stuck with her through school—Amazon, Giant, Godzilla. A tingle of pleasure wrapped her heart in a hug.
Maybe this case wasn’t so bad after all.
Work. Lil’s mentality reminded her heart that that’s what she was here to do. She pushed her silly emotions out of the way so she could focus on getting Walt well. She wanted him to get a good report in four weeks so she could head to her winter home.
Returning t
o her safety inspection, Lil noted shoes lined up, like soldiers waiting for inspection, in a corner by the door. Her knee joints creaked as she bent and tucked the errant laces into the shoes’ openings.
Using the wall for leverage, Lil straightened and looked around. Satisfied the kitchen held no malice toward Walt, she entered the living room.
The dark paneling and heavy drapes shadowed the room. Lil sought a light switch before noticing there was no overhead fixture.
Lil walked to the window, grasped the plastic wand, and pulled the rubber-backed drape open. The afternoon sun filtering through the window didn’t chase the shadows from the corners but did brighten the center of the room so Lil could see what she was up against.
A pole lamp with three bell-shaped metal shades stood in the corner behind his recliner. Two bright orange lamps sculpted to look like genie bottles, sporting oversized pleated and age-yellowed lampshades, sat on matching laminate shelf end tables.
The three lamps sitting in close vicinity of each other were the only source of illumination for the rectangular room. She huffed. Walt needed a clear, well-lit path.
Rearranging the room wasn’t an option. Two doors cut into the far narrow wall, leaving little room for a piece of furniture. There was a closet and perhaps the entrance to the hotel office, Lil guessed, then closed her eyes to picture the outside structure in her mind. The office door faced north. Definitely the entry to the hotel office.
All of the furniture pointed to the opposite wall, where a flat-screen television, a stark contrast to the mid-seventies gold-plaid couch and matching recliner, was mounted to the wall.
Walt needed to update his décor. A trickle of fear ran up her spine as she collapsed onto the sofa. Surprisingly for the age of the couch, the cushions provided support. The short back hitting her at her shoulder blades, she rested her head against the wall.
Many Vietnam vets had trouble moving forward with their lives, preferring the past. Was Walt one of them? Except for the television, it appeared that he was.
Wake up. Walt internally commanded his stuck-closed eyelids while his dream continued in the projection room of his mind.
Open. Asleep but aware, he raised his brows until his forehead crinkled, yet his eyes didn’t pop open. Instead he dreamed on. Running toward green eyes that led him through the jungle, promising the safety of home. As he ran on uneven ground, his right foot came down and twisted. He began to fall. An involuntary jerk jarred his body.
His eyes popped open. Sweat beaded his brow and upper lip, his breath and heart still keeping up the frantic pace of his feet during the dream.
As he blinked to clear the sleep-hazed focus, the familiar planes of the plaster ceiling and frosted-glass light cover in the center of the ceiling eased his sense of place.
His finger rubbed across the soft cotton dips and bumps in the quilt he used as a bedspread, a long-ago gift from his sister-in-law, Gert. The afghan that once covered him was hanging off the bed, held to him by fingers lassoed in the loose gaps of the afghan’s pattern.
A nightmare—even though the late afternoon sun peeked through the east window, assuring him he was in the comfort of his own room, not running through a field.
Walt released a ragged breath as his heart rate steadied. He’d been having this same dream for forty-five years. He should be so used to it that it wouldn’t ignite his adrenaline anymore.
It was the worst of his two recurring nightmares. Living and dying was a black-and-white affair. Not love. It held too many shades of color and changing emotions. With love, nothing was cut and dried.
Discomfort pulled at Walt’s right hip, not the normal burning pain that had become a part of him. He shook his hand to free his fingers from the chain links of yarn. Palms down, he pushed himself up, bearing the weight on his left hip until he was in a sitting position. Holding both legs together, he swung them over the side of the bed.
The coolness of the oak floor provided solid ground, anchoring him in the present, clearing the dream’s cobwebs out of his mind.
A clench of emotion filled his chest. He hated reliving the pain of that day. Before Nam, he’d spent hours gazing into those blue eyes. He’d spent every second of his tour of duty dreaming of coming home to those blue eyes. He spent decades running away from them in his dreams.
His Nancy, so sweet and shy when he’d left. The thought of making a life with her got him through the dark days of war. But while he was serving his country, his country and Nancy changed.
Two short years turned Nancy into an outspoken war protestor. Instead of welcoming him home, she hurled his promise ring and insults at him. Yet the names she’d called him weren’t as hurtful as the contempt those blue eyes reflected when she looked at him.
Walt rubbed his own stinging eyes with the palm of his hand before running his fingers down his face. He reached for his glasses on the bedside table. His mind flashed to the end of his dream. Green eyes had surrounded him. He couldn’t outrun them.
He blinked, now fully awake. He slipped his glasses on as if the prescription lenses could help him clearly remember his dream.
The eyes in this dream had been green. They weren’t clouded with disgust but sparkled with something else. Challenge, maybe?
A soft rap on the door interrupted his recollections.
“Walt, are you awake?” Lil opened the door and stuck her head through the crack.
“Yeah,” he croaked, his throat dry. He swallowed hard. No relief. It’d been that way since his surgery.
“Sounds like you need a drink of water. Stay right where you are.” Lil’s head disappeared.
Walt gritted his teeth at Lil’s commanding tone before scrubbing his hand through his hair. Green eyes. Nancy’s eyes were blue. Could the effects of his pain meds cause a color change in a dream?
Lil swung the door wide, bringing an overflow of the kitchen’s sunlight with her. She handed him the glass.
“Do you want to put your shoes on, or do you prefer slippers?”
“Slippers.” The second syllable rose an octave, making it sound like it’d come from a pock-faced teenage boy.
Walt took a sip of the water. The cool liquid soaked his throat like the summer rains quenched the sun-dried soil in the field surrounding the RV park.
“They’re in my bag.” The water restored his voice tone, which came out just as irritated as he felt.
Lil released the closet’s doorknob. What was wrong with that woman? She had no boundaries, planning to rummage through his closet!
The mattress gave a bounce as Lil lifted his bag to the foot of the bed. The whooshing clack of the metal zipper filled the room. Before he could say stop, Lil, in her tunnel-vision pursuit of the slippers, moved the top contents to the bed.
He had private items packed in that bag.
Walt gulped the last of his water as he reached for his bag with his free hand. “Scoot that over here. I can do it.”
His fingertips grazed the rough tapestry on the side of the bag as Lil, elbow deep in his valise, pulled the bag closer to her.
“You need to save your strength.” She paused long enough to shake a warning finger, then returned to her invasion of his privacy.
Walt gritted his teeth as a wave of weakness washed over him. Humbled at not being able to care for himself, his palms ached with the engraved memory of the slick varnished doorframe when his fingers, digging into the grooves of decorative trim work for traction, became no match for his legs, growing limp like noodles in boiling broth.
“Here they are!” Lil’s booming voice bounced off the walls of the tiny room. She held up the worn leather Romeos and clapped the slipper soles together as if applauding her victory cry.
Could a woman be any louder and pushier? He shouldn’t feel that way. After all, without her broad shoulders to lean on, literally, he’d be zipping north on the interstate, en route to the VA hospital. He preferred a slight slice of a woman like his Nancy, but the sturdiness of Lil’s structure was just wha
t he’d needed to take the last few steps to the bed. His body’s husky pressure would have laid a slender girl low like prairie grass bucking gale-force winds.
Lil might grate on his nerves, but she’d proved her nursing abilities, earning his respect.
The intruder rounded the end of the bed, knelt down, and held a Romeo steady for him to slide on. “Right foot first?”
“Put those down. I’ll slip them on myself.”
“No, now lift your foot up.” Lil reached down and lifted his heel for him.
He fisted his hands at her clipped words. A man should be able to put on his own slippers.
“I want to make sure they’re on secure.” She guided his right foot into the soft leather then held out the other Romeo.
Walt placed his slippered foot on the floor and stretched out his other foot.
“Do you feel like Cinderfella?”
A Jerry Lewis fan. At least they’d have that in common. He owned the DVD. Maybe she’d like to watch it tonight. Before he could respond, Lil began talking again.
“Remember that movie? It was a comedy but I can’t place the star.”
Ready to jump into the one-sided conversation, Walt opened his mouth.
Lil lifted her head, perhaps searching his face for an answer before looking directly into his eyes.
His reply lodged in his throat. His heart started beating at marathon speed as if he was running through that field again. Lil had green eyes. Just like the ones in his latest dream.
Chapter 3
Aloud tsk stopped Walt in the middle of a hitch step.
“What are you doing?” Lil’s megaphone voice sounded behind him.
He flattened his right foot as she quick-stepped around him. Irritated at having to be reminded, he drew his brows together and shot her a look.
She raised a brow and crossed her arms over her chest, catching and tossing his attitude back at him with her deep green eyes. His heart fluttered as his dream scene played through his thoughts.
The upper tips of his ears warming, he dropped his focus to the front bar on the walker.
Dakota Love Page 32
