But he couldn’t. A thought niggled at him. Finally, it crystallized in his head. He was getting the tiniest taste of what it meant not to be able to do physical activities that had been a big part of his life. How on earth did Dana stand this, live with a permanent disability, after being so active? He didn’t think he could do it.
She must be such a strong person, a sane one. It made him ashamed to think he might not be able to get past her disability in order to date her. His father would be ashamed of him, too.
Later that day, when Joe got home, the notion of his dad being ashamed of him drove him upstairs. The box of letters was on the bed. He sat down and opened the lid. Long ago, he’d written the subject of each letter on the envelope and put them in alphabetical order. He started with First letter.
#
"Dear Joey,
I’m writing this series of letters because I want to share my thoughts with you and help guide you through adulthood since I won’t be here to do it in person. I’m hoping that you’ll grow up to be a good man, someone people can depend on, look up to. I think those are important qualities to possess in life. I won’t be able to tell you exactly how to do that, but remember those traits when you make choices for your future and in your daily life."
#
Huh, Joe thought. In most ways, he had grown up to be the kind of person his dad wanted, even though he’d done some things where he didn’t live up to his own expectations. He hoped he wouldn’t falter with Dana. Leafing through the stack, he came across a letter labeled embarrassment. Would Joe be embarrassed by Dana if they began to date? Jesus, he hated the thought.
#
"Dear Son,
I want first to address an issue of how you’ve been embarrassed by me at your ballgames. I know you are, and I want you to know your reaction’s understandable. Don’t try to squelch your feelings. If you stuff them, they’ll surface at bad times. You have to admit how you feel. You have to face what’s going on inside you. On the other hand, know that you can get over feelings like that, too. Think about who really counts in your life. If they’d be embarrassed (by me or any situation you get yourself into), are they really worth spending time with?"
#
Well, that helped him some. He went on to another letter. Its topic was helplessness.
#
"Dear Joey,
I saw again today how my being in this chair, how my disease, is affecting you. You feel helpless and you hate it. I truly believe you’re going to grow up to be a fearless individual, one who affects and controls things. That’s good, Joey, really good, but you’ve also got to remember that you can’t fix everything. Some things are way beyond your control…I know this now."
#
Joe sat back into his pillows and sighed. This piece of advice was important. Because Joe knew in his heart he’d struggle with Dana’s condition—hell, he’d already felt it when they’d left the restaurant.
Joe had to stop reading. The letters were always hard to get through, but he did it because it made him feel closer to his dad. This time, however, was completely different from before he knew Dana. His dad’s advice took on a whole new meaning. Once again, he was mesmerized by his dad’s strength of character, his wisdom from working on the streets, and the utter sensitivity the man had gained toward people. On the other hand, Joe felt like so much less of a person than his father for considering dropping out of Dana’s life because she was in a wheelchair. As he’d thought earlier, his dad wouldn’t be proud of him. With every word he read, Joe was sure of that fact.
He also knew if he didn’t give his relationship with Dana a shot, he wouldn’t be very proud of himself either.
***
TEN DAYS HAD passed since their lunch at The Red Apple, since Dana had confessed all to Joe, and he hadn’t contacted her with a decision. He’d emailed her once after the congratulatory one, saying he was thinking things over—he wanted to be sure, make the right choice—and he’d be back in touch.
He hadn’t been. So when she was feeling particularly low one night, Dana accepted an invitation to meet Craig, whom she’d continued to email. Before agreeing, though, she told him about her disability. He said he was okay with it, that he still wanted to meet. He had a cousin in a wheelchair, so he’d understand her situation realistically.
Unlike a certain cop.
This time, she’d let him pick the place and was pleased that he’d chosen a beautiful city park. As always, she was early and pulled into the handicap parking space, noting there weren’t many cars in the lot. Usually, she was wary of grass—most people didn’t think about terrain in regard to wheelers and she’d had some bad experiences—but Craig knew better. He’d directed her to an accessible, paved entrance and told her he’d arrive early to claim an appropriate table, hopefully under a tree. The August evening registered eighty-five on the thermometer.
Buzzing down the windows, Dana turned off the engine and sat in the van, letting the warm air soothe her. She’d put on a pretty, sleeveless, white blouse and seersucker-striped pants—the coolest she had. As always, she wore slip-on shoes that covered her feet. She wondered briefly what it would feel like to dress for Joe, then chided herself for the thought.
A gentle knock on the side of the van. "Hi, there."
Startled, Dana looked over to see Craig had come to the door. Though she’d seen pictures of him online, he was much more attractive in person—tall, over six feet, with longish blond hair, blue eyes and a nice smile. He gave her a big grin. He didn’t have JoeyD’s dimples, but his smile spread pleasantly across his face.
She returned it. "Hi, Craig."
"Hey, Dana. I gotta say you’re even more beautiful in person."
She blushed.
"You found the spot all right?"
"Easily." She glanced at the sidewalk cutting through the grass. "I haven’t been on a picnic in twelve years."
She’d never even tried. Since the accident, new experiences made her anxious. She’d found a way to cope in the insular world she’d created for herself but not always outside of it. Those times had been frightening as well as embarrassing. And one thing she was certain of, JoeyD would require her to live in that world.
"That’s a damn shame." His voice pitched low, he added, "I’d never put you in a position where you couldn’t function."
"Of course not. You know, from your cousin."
"Who’s like my brother. We’re both only children."
Again, a weak smile. "Then let’s get to it."
Without having to be told, he stepped back and allowed her the physical and emotional space to maneuver herself out of the van. Again, she thought of Joey watching her get into her vehicle that day at The Red Apple. The look on his face, the way his fist had clenched and unclenched had told her he was restraining himself from coming to her rescue. Something she absolutely hated.
As they wheeled and walked down the path, Dana was glad she’d brought her manual chair. She had three, but this one was smaller, weighted at the bottom and navigated the terrain perfectly. Craig made innocuous small talk, and Dana was able to concentrate on where she was going. When they emerged from a copse of trees, she saw the picnic table.
Perfect. No attached benches. Height designed for wheelchair access. On a concrete slab. It sported a red-checked tablecloth—real, not paper—dishes and cloth napkins. Food, still wrapped, had been set out, and a cooler kissed the legs of the table. "How sweet, Craig." More than sweet. Thoughtful, insightful, impressive, making Dana feel really special. She’d missed that feeling from a man, too.
"I’m trying to impress you," he said as if reading her mind. A really cute smile now. "How am I doing so far?"
"Great, just great."
Now, if she could only get JoeyD out of her mind, tonight would be perfect.
Chapter 5
* * *
INSIDE ONE OF the studio’s classrooms, Dana wheeled in front of the mirrored wall and barre. She favored this room because it had an expanse
of windows facing the instruction area. Positioning herself in the middle, poised in front of the mirror, and because she was in the specially equipped wheelchair she used at work, she pressed the pneumatic lever which raised the seat—and her—into a standing position. She didn’t need the chest bar to stay straight, but she activated the one around her thighs for support of her lower body. Due to the nature of her injury, she couldn’t sustain an upright position all day long. The stance put too much pressure on her thigh and back muscles for getting around, though it was a Godsend for her dance instruction. With it, she could demonstrate some moves for the students.
She stared into the mirror, recalling vividly how she’d cried when she first stood like this because it underscored the woman she used to be. Her physician had recommended the chair and at first she’d balked. Any kind of dancing was off-limits. But a patient, insightful psychologist had helped her get over the "if I can’t be what I used to be in dance, I don’t want any part of it," syndrome. And besides, the lure had been too great; eventually, she’d overcome the absolute humiliation of her limitations. Now, years later, she took pleasure in her five-eight frame standing erect, how her leotard—which she’d put on this morning so she could practice—gloved her upper body, showing curves, muscles and sinew to be proud of. Her hair was up in a knot and she wore an ankle-length skirt to cover her legs but allowed herself dance slippers. Squaring her upper torso into the traditional dance stance, she moved.
Regardless of the class level, she began each workshop or semester with a review of the classical dance movements. As natural as walking, her arms drifted low in front of her body, barely touching her dance skirt. Palms rose into the air, thumbs turned inward, fingers supple, arms tracing an ellipse. She held the pose as she had thousands of times in the past. Then she went into first position. Her arms extended forward horizontally, hands at the level of her chest, kept carefully curved. Her shoulders automatically remained low and her chin stayed steady.
Dana continued to watch herself as she went through the arm movements of third, fourth and fifth positions, some of which meant twisting at the waist. When she was finished, she began the head movements with a téte de face, face toward the front. When she went to profil, head to the right in profile, she stopped abruptly. Because she saw a man—big and beautiful—near the doorway.
She was about to speak when he said, "I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life." His voice was hoarse and full of emotion.
She’d been called brilliant, extraordinaire, and a Paris critic had used the ultimate compliment by comparing her to a touted French prima ballerina. But Joe’s one simple sentence, uttered passionately, slid into her heart, her soul, softening her all over. She smiled at him. "Thank you, Joe."
When she reached for the controls to lower the seat, he said, "No, finish what you were doing. Let me watch a little longer."
Her hand stilled on the lever and something inside Dana shifted unwillingly. Unconsciously. Unwanted. But she did as he asked and, dear God, danced for him.
***
JOE HAD ONLY cried a few times in his life since his father had died: when he got the news that his football career was over; when the divorce from Leona was finalized, and when his partner had been killed in the line of duty while Joe himself lay bleeding in an alley. But he felt like bawling as Dana continued her routine. She was breathtaking. Her movements were so fluid, they melded into each other. He was mesmerized by each angle of her arms, each tilt of her head, each subtle shift of her torso, outlined in dance garb. He was in some sort of trance, when he heard, "Joe? I’m done."
He blew out a heavy breath and grasped the doorjamb. "Wow."
She smiled, and he wondered briefly how she could take pleasure in doing so little when she’d once been able to do so much. Though he played other sports, he’d never participated in a pickup football game again after he’d gotten hurt. He watched as she lowered the chair into a seated position. Striding over to her, he bent down and kissed her on the cheek. "Wow," he reiterated, then dropped onto the floor, leaned against the mirror and stared up at her.
She cocked her head, that movement as graceful as her earlier ones. "Not many people think to do that, right away at least."
"I’d hate having to look up at people all day."
Wiping a fine layer of perspiration off her face with a towel hooked over a bar of the wheelchair, she said, "Yeah, I do. It’s nice that you know to do it intuitively."
"Hey, congrats again on the award. After I emailed you, I looked it up online. It’s a real honor."
"Thanks." She held his gaze and he knew instantly she wasn’t going to play coy. "So?"
"So I want to see you. To date. To see where our relationship goes."
"Are you sure, Joey?"
"Absolutely."
Dana gave him a pleased grin, which made him wonder why it had taken him so long to come to this conclusion. "What made you decide?"
"A lot of things. I do have to confess that one of them was a date of sorts yesterday."
She didn’t seem upset about that.
"Don’t you care?"
"We never said we wouldn’t date others."
"No, we didn’t." Something occurred to him. "Did you date someone else?"
"Uh-huh. When I started to think you just blew me off. Tell me about your date. Of sorts."
"We went hiking, and I could only do half the trail, so while she finished, I laid in the grass and thought about you." And how she was able to handle her limitations when he hated not being up to par physically. But he didn’t tell her that, because he felt guilty about his reaction.
"What did you do afterward?"
"Uh-uh. You tell something about your date first."
She explained about a romantic dinner in the park and how this Craig guy had made her feel safe. He clasped his hands, which were dangling between his spread knees. "Ah, well, sensitive guy. Smarter than I am in these areas. Of course, he’s had experience. Time to prepare. Which you never gave me, babe."
A purely female smile curved her lips. "You’re not doing so bad, babe. You knew enough to sit. You have good instincts."
He rubbed his shoulder. "Sometimes."
"What happened after your date?" she asked again.
"We went to lunch in a place near Letchworth Park. Then I went home."
"That’s all?"
"I didn’t make another date. She asked, but I dodged the idea."
"Did you kiss her, like you did me?"
"No, but she kissed me at the car. I couldn’t stop it. How about you?"
"Same thing; he kissed me. Though I was in the chair and couldn’t get away." She arched a brow. "But you could have."
Amazed that she could joke about her disability, he smiled at her. "Okay, honesty now. I didn’t have a good time with her. I didn’t want to kiss her. I wanted to be with you. I have all week."
"That does my ego good."
"My ego could use something."
"I told Craig I couldn’t see him anymore. I shouldn’t have been with him when I wished I was with you." She gestured around the studio. "Why didn’t you just email me today?"
"I wanted to see you in person. In case you were pissed and might give me hard time. I remembered you said your new session started in a few days and figured you’d be here. Besides, I wanted to scope out the place where you spend so much of your time."
For a moment, she just watched him. "I have to admit, I was looking for an email from you."
"Thanks for telling me that. You didn’t have to."
"We need to be honest with each other, Joe. No secrets, including omissions."
Guilt for what he was omitting made him go cold inside. "I know." He rolled to his feet, bent over and kissed her on the mouth again, though this time he wasn’t so tentative. He grabbed the back of the chair. "This is different from the one you usually use."
She raised the arms from the side. "Yes."
"Why don’t you use it all the time? Stand
more."
"I have limits on how long I can be upright. It’s complicated medically. I use it all the time at the studio because it turns into a seated electric chair. I have three different chairs for all different purposes."
"I see."
"I also don’t use crutches and braces. The pain of trying to stand isn’t worth it. Even with this" --she touched the arms of the chair-- "I can’t even teach a whole class upright."
"Does that suck?" he asked honestly.
"You know, it does. But I’ll take what I can get."
He strolled around the classroom, stopping at the wall of windows. "This is a great room. Big." He put his hand on the glass. "Nice touch. Most studios don’t have natural light."
"Yeah, we’ve come a long way." She wheeled out ahead of him. "And maybe we’ll expand. The man from the National Board believes we’ll get a lot more applications and students coming in for the summer or special workshops. We’ve already got a long waiting list. Ruth and I are thinking about buying the space next door. It’s available."
"Would you be able to handle that?"
"I’d have to hire more demonstrators and instructors."
"You don’t teach all the classes?"
"No, seems like the Devlin name is enough. Let’s go to my office. I need some water." She led him down a hall.
"Did I tell you Kara, my eleven-year-old, is into dance?"
"You mentioned it online. I forgot where she takes, though."
Dana asked the question just as she reached her office. The studio had been set up to accommodate her. Every doorway was enlarged, no rugs, switches at waist level. He’d started to tell her about Kara’s dance school when a woman swiveled around from the computer where she was working.
Dana wheeled inside with Joe behind her. "Ruth Cosgrove, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Joe Moretti."
Ruth’s whole face brightened. "Hello, Sergeant. I’m a big admirer of yours."
"I wish I could say the same." The words were out of his mouth before he could censor himself. Damn it, he’d thought he’d changed his attitude toward this woman after Dana admonished him for blaming her and thinking about the situation for ten days, but apparently, his knee jerk reaction hadn’t caught up.
Wounded Heroes Boxed Set Page 28
