by Jill Kemerer
If he’d never been in the accident, he would have pursued Celeste from day one. With or without Parker. He liked how he felt when he was with her. He liked her smile and the way she made him want to be a better person. He liked the kisses she showered on Parker’s cheeks. He liked her courage and tenacity. She worked hard and expected little.
And that was exactly what she would get if he pursued her now. Hard work and little to show for it.
He wasn’t husband material. He wasn’t father material, either.
But, oh, how he wanted it. All of it. Celeste and Parker were the family he wanted.
Had he fallen in love with her?
“Dada.”
“Hey, little buddy, I’ll pick you up, but I have to sit first.” Sam headed to the couch. After he settled in, he patted his lap for Parker to join him. Parker toddled over, and Sam picked him up, hugging him tightly, breathing in his baby smell, and tucked him onto his lap. “What should we do while your mommy is at her appointment? Want me to read you a story?”
Sam stretched to grab the pile of picture books Stephanie had dropped off a few days ago. He opened one about a bunny all alone at Christmas. Parker helped turn the pages. Good thing they were made of heavy coated cardboard, otherwise the kid might have ripped them. After the first book, Sam read another. Parker got bored, so he helped him off his lap. He ran straight for the plastic hammer, and once more, he banged it on the coffee table.
Maybe Parker would build houses when he grew up. Sam’s brother-in-law Reed could hire him. Sam smiled at the thought.
He turned the television to a cartoon and swung over to the table to find a snack for Parker. The diaper bag revealed wipes, half a dozen diapers, baby pain reliever, a thermometer, several plastic toys, a sealed bag with animal crackers, containers of baby food—no prunes, thankfully—and three changes of clothes. Celeste had left two sippy cups in the fridge. She certainly was prepared. He slung a tote bag over his shoulder, put the crackers in it and walked to the kitchen. He kept his crutch secure as he slipped one of the cups in his bag. Then he returned to the living room.
A quick once-over didn’t reveal Parker. Sam frowned, searching for him.
There, behind the Christmas tree. Parker crawled around under the tree, snagging the tree skirt.
“No, Parker!” All he could envision was the tree toppling on the baby. “Come here.”
Parker paused, staring at Sam through startled eyes that began to fill with tears. “Waah!”
As his wail picked up volume, Sam debated his next move. He needed to get him out from under the Christmas tree to keep him safe. But if he took the time to get into the wheelchair, Parker could try to pull himself up by a branch or break a glass bulb and get cut or...
What should he do? His brain froze. His body did, too.
Parker rocked back and forth on all fours, crying loudly.
“Come out here,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing tone. Sam hopped as close as he could with the crutches and tried to bend. “Let’s get a snack, buddy. I’ve got crackers.”
Parker didn’t crawl out. Instead, he shifted backward, his head hitting the bottom branches of the artificial tree in the process. Two felt reindeer, a candy cane and a glass bulb hit the ground. His cries grew even louder.
Sam heaved a sigh of relief that the bulb didn’t break. He turned quickly, knowing he needed to get into his wheelchair so he could salvage this. But as soon as he took two steps, Parker crawled out, howling at the top of his lungs. The boy stood, stumbled toward Sam and tripped, hitting his forehead on the edge of the wooden dining chair near the tree.
Sam watched in horror as Parker bounced off the edge of the chair, falling backward and smacking the back of his skull on the hardwood floor. Sam lunged forward, dropping his right crutch and instinctively trying to bear weight on his right leg so he could pick up Parker. But the knee wasn’t strong enough, and his right leg collapsed beneath him, sending him sprawling on his side.
Pain ripped up his thigh. He clutched the leg as he inched his way to Parker. An angry purple goose egg had already formed on the baby’s forehead. His cries were hysterical. Waves of helplessness crashed over Sam as he writhed in pain, wanting more than anything to take Parker in his arms and assess how badly the child was hurt.
Sam pushed himself to his elbows, dragging himself to the end table where he’d left his phone. He speed-dialed his aunt.
* * *
The paper crinkled as Celeste shifted on the examination table. Dr. Smith typed notes on the laptop. He hadn’t said much as he examined her. The questions had all been expected. No surprises there.
The only surprise would be his verdict.
Yes?
No?
She wanted yes.
How she wanted yes.
Dr. Smith swiveled on the stool. “You’ve healed remarkably well. The scars are flat, with the exception of the slightly raised one above your left temple. They’ve faded nicely.”
Celeste’s pulse raced, ticking as furiously as a bomb about to detonate.
“So what does that mean?” She wrung her hands together, daring to hope. And trying not to hope. “I can get more surgery?”
He frowned, shaking his head. “You don’t need more surgery.”
Didn’t need more surgery? The ocean roared in her head, and a tidal wave drowned out all thoughts.
She did need more surgery.
Didn’t he understand? Didn’t he get it?
“The nerve endings are too damaged for two of your scars, but the other ones could benefit from...” The doctor droned on but he might as well have been speaking gibberish.
She’d have to look like this the rest of her life. Have to face the reminders of that night every time she glanced in the mirror.
“...the treatment I recommend...” His voice sounded far away, in another county, another life.
She wanted to laugh—let out a high-pitched scream. She’d applied the silicone gel sheets for months. Massaged the prescribed ointment into the scars for as long as the doctor ordered. Still lathered on vitamin E cream before bed. Whatever treatment he recommended was not going to make these lines disappear.
“Why?” She cut him off. “Why can’t I have more surgery?”
He took a deep breath. “Celeste, more surgery wouldn’t help. I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”
Wouldn’t help? Did this guy have any idea how much this meant to her?
Her cell phone rang. She set it to silence. It vibrated over and over, and frustrated, she yanked it to see who was calling.
Sally.
“Hello?”
“Celeste, hon, I don’t want to worry you, but Parker took a little tumble, and Sam did, too, so I’m at the ER to make sure they’re okay. Parker has an ugly bump on his forehead, but he’s sipping some milk and I’ve got him calmed down.”
Her heart stopped beating. “And Sam?”
“I’m not sure.”
Oh, no. Oh, no.
Parker. Sam.
“I’ll be right there.” She clicked End, sliding off the examination table, ripping the paper she’d been sitting on in the process. Parker needed her. Sam needed her. “I’ve got to go. My son...”
“I hope everything is all right.”
“Me, too.” She clutched her purse and opened the door.
“Wait. Take these pamphlets about the laser treatment I just outlined.”
She wasn’t interested in anything except her guys right now. She swiped the pamphlets Dr. Smith held and marched out of the room, down the hall and outside to the parking lot.
Forcing herself not to freak out about Parker, Sam or her diagnosis, she sped all the way to the hospital. Maybe if she drove fast enough, the pain stabbing her heart would vanish. If she could
, she’d drive all the way back to last year, before the accident. She’d cancel her and Brandy’s plans. Reschedule their shopping date. Then Brandy would still be here, and Celeste wouldn’t have to worry about living with her scars, Parker being hurt or Sam not walking.
She’d gotten too close. She couldn’t bear it if Sam was badly injured. And what about Parker? What could the side effects of bumping his head lead to?
God, take care of them.
* * *
“The good news is you don’t need surgery.” Dr. Curtis refastened the ice pack wrap around Sam’s knee, which had swollen considerably. “Your quads weren’t strong enough to support your weight and that’s why your leg buckled. The ligaments aren’t torn. The X-rays show no broken bones, and other than some muscle strain, your knee should be fine.”
Sam could barely think about his leg right now. Aunt Sally had texted Sam and told him she thought Parker would be okay. Just a bump on the head. She couldn’t come up yet, because she was waiting for Celeste to arrive. The hospital needed Celeste’s authorization to treat Parker. And, yes, Sally had called her.
Sam ground his teeth together. Aunt Sally wasn’t a doctor. She might think it was a bump, but what did she know? Why wouldn’t the doctors look at the kid? Why did they have to wait for Celeste? Parker could have a concussion. Bleeding on the brain.
What if Sam’s negligence caused Parker long-term damage?
“The test results were promising. You still have good reactivation in your leg muscles, but the electrical signals passing through the nerve don’t have the speed we’re hoping for. There is also mild inflammation in there.” Dr. Curtis folded his hands.
“What does that mean?” Sam tried to sit up. Dr. Curtis pressed the button for the bed to rise.
“It means your mobility depends on continuing physical therapy and protecting your leg at all costs. When you tore the ACL in June, it set you back. In my professional opinion, it’s unlikely you’ll restore full range of motion in your right knee. My guess is seventy-five degrees. That doesn’t mean you won’t have a functional leg. You’re young and healthy. The more therapy you do, the more strength you’ll regain.”
“What does ‘functional’ mean? You’re saying I won’t walk normally, is that it?”
“Your chances weren’t good after the boating accident. A torn ACL didn’t improve them. Do I think it’s possible you’ll need to use a cane when you leave the house? Yes. If you’re diligent about strength training and PT. Who knows? Another year from now, you might surprise me by walking in on both feet unassisted.”
“Why am I sensing a but?” Dread dropped in his gut.
“The knee injury compromised your recovery. It’s hard to make a knee stable. You were already at a disadvantage to begin with. Healthy patients with torn ACLs struggle to completely heal. Protecting your leg—your knee especially—must be your top priority. I’m not talking weeks. I’m talking months. Years.”
Sam tried to take it all in. He knew he couldn’t reinjure the leg or knee again. It might permanently disable him, and he couldn’t face the not knowing, the uncertainty of another operation. Another fall could put an end to his dream of walking unassisted. But what about his other dreams?
“It’s been almost eighteen months since I’ve worked. I planned on returning in January.”
“Remind me again what you do.” The doctor took a seat in the chair next to the bed, his white lab coat spilling to the sides.
“I own an auto dealership.” Sam shifted his jaw. “I’m on my feet a lot.”
Dr. Curtis locked eyes with Sam’s. “Last time I saw you, you weren’t walking at all due to the pain.”
“I’m still in pain. But I’ve been using crutches for over a month now.”
“Yes.” He clicked a pen. “And here we are.”
Frustrated, Sam let his head fall back to the pillow. “You and Dr. Stepmeyer are the ones who wanted me out of the wheelchair.”
“We still do. But we also want you to be smart. You weren’t wearing your brace when you arrived. I know you can bear a limited amount of weight on your right leg, but until your quads can bear your full weight, you need the brace.”
“So can I go to work or not?” He sounded annoyed. He knew it. Couldn’t help it. He was annoyed. Desperate, even.
“It depends.” Dr. Curtis pulled his laptop to him. “I think returning to work is possible, but only if you take it easy. Consider part-time for the first couple of months. Expect it to be exhausting, and don’t be a hero. Crutches are unstable under ideal conditions. An oil-soaked shop floor and an outdoor car lot during a Michigan winter are not ideal. My advice is to use your wheelchair in the shop and outdoors when it’s snowing, raining or icy. Only use crutches on non-slippery surfaces. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but if you overuse your leg, it will swell. Keep an ice wrap on site. Most of all, remember what I said—protect the knee.”
The advice hit home, but Sam didn’t want to acknowledge the truth. He glanced at his swollen leg encased in a hefty black brace. He’d better tell the doctor everything. “I wasn’t planning on bringing the wheelchair to work.”
The doctor looked up from typing on his laptop and sighed. “Do you want to schedule the knee surgery now? Because one more slip with the crutches and you’ll be bedridden. Again. I don’t think you realize how fortunate you were to avoid tearing anything today. We could be in surgery right this minute.”
Sam let it sink in.
Unrealistic—that was what he’d been. The doctor was right. Why had he thought he’d go back to working a full shift on crutches when he could only put a fraction of his weight on his bad leg? And the shop floor was slippery. It would be stupid to attempt hobbling around on crutches through it.
“Do you have any other questions?” Dr. Curtis stood.
Sam shook his head. The doctor nodded and said goodbye.
It was sheer arrogance to think he could resume life on his terms just because he wanted to. Forget returning to work. He’d told himself over and over he wouldn’t go back there in a wheelchair. And he’d been wrong to babysit Parker today. He couldn’t handle a toddler. He cringed remembering how the little guy had crawled under the Christmas tree when Sam turned his back. The way he’d run after Sam. Hitting his head.
My fault.
Sam closed his eyes, his heart burning.
He wasn’t fit for work. He certainly wasn’t fit for taking care of a child.
And now Celeste would know it, too. The huge purple bump on Parker’s forehead was proof enough. Sam wouldn’t blame her for seeing him for what he really was—incapable. He’d been right all along. Celeste deserved someone who could take care of her, someone who would shoulder the care of their children, who could carry groceries for her and drive a car.
He was not that man. It was time to put her needs first, which meant stepping away. Even if it destroyed him.
Chapter Thirteen
Celeste raced through the sliding doors of the hospital, halting at the information desk. Her mind hadn’t stopped spitting out nightmare scenarios since Sally called. What if Parker had gotten worse? What if Sam had broken his leg?
After being directed to the waiting room, she scurried down the hallway and spotted Sally rocking Parker. Celeste slowed to catch her breath. “How is he?”
Sally looked up and smiled. “Almost asleep. He took a hard hit to the noggin. The nurse gave me an ice pack.” She held up a round gel pack shaped like a frog. “I’ll hold him while you check him in.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right back.” Celeste pushed her hair back behind her ear. The waiting room looked inviting with sage-green chairs, a television and a large fish tank. It was also surprisingly quiet. Only a handful of chairs were occupied. Maybe she wouldn’t have to wait long for them to treat Parker. After talking to a nurse,
she filled out paperwork and returned. She lifted Parker out of Sally’s arms, kissing the purple bump on his forehead.
“Mama,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her neck.
“You poor thing. Looks like you got an owie.” A double-chocolate, frosted brownie couldn’t be sweeter than this boy. She hugged him tight and met Sally’s eyes. “Have you heard from Sam?”
“He was waiting to get test results last I heard.”
“Do you think he tore anything? Broke anything?” Celeste moved Parker so he was sitting on her lap. She gently felt around his skull, finding a bump on the back of his head, too. Parker seemed okay. They’d find out for sure as soon as a doctor could see him. But Sam? Fear twisted in her abdomen.
“I don’t know.” Sally’s kind eyes dimmed. “I hope not. He’s been through enough.”
Celeste agreed. He’d been through so much. Why did he have to fall? Today of all days. They were supposed to be going to the Christmas parade Saturday. It was all she’d looked forward to since he’d asked her to go with him. It was unlikely he’d be able to go now.
“Thank you for taking care of Parker until I could get here.”
Sally patted Celeste’s hand. “I’m glad I could, hon. I love babies. Parker is a sweetheart, and I’d do anything for Sam.”
She would do anything for Sam, too. She loved him. And it was eating her alive not knowing if he’d seriously hurt his leg. He’d made so much progress since she’d met him.
Dear Lord, please let Sam be okay. Keep his leg safe. Heal him. Comfort him.
“What are your Christmas plans?” Sally asked.
“Parker is going to be baby Jesus in a children’s service at his mom’s old church.” Celeste frowned. “I should call the director and tell her Parker won’t be at practice tonight. I’m sure he’s had enough excitement today.”
Sally gestured to her. “Go ahead. If you’re like me, you’ll forget to do it later.”
Celeste called Sue Roper and told her Parker wouldn’t be there. Then, as she chatted with Sally about the Sheffield Christmas traditions, Lake Endwell and the big parade, she began to calm down. Parker rested on her lap, and before they knew it, an hour had passed.
