by daisy harris
“What’s that?”
“They all push away anyone who tries to help.”
“Yeah. I get that.” Joe folded to standing. “Let’s get this over with.”
Dr. Soren’s smile was more than a little teasing, but he followed Joe to the parallel bars. “You know, there’s nothing to get over with. Even once you’re able to cut down on PT, you’ll have to do exercises daily to make sure you keep that leg as strong as the other.”
Joe set his cane aside to grab the bars. Yeah, he was favoring his good leg, but he kept his hips level so as not to show it. “That’s real encouraging, Doc.” With a frown, Joe forced himself onto his injured leg. The pain was just as bad as ever. He could balance on it now, but it felt like someone was holding a hot iron to his thigh.
When he got back on his good leg, Joe breathed a sigh of relief. Too bad he was going to have to take another step.
“Is it such a horrible thing to have to do exercises every day for the rest of your life?” Dr. Soren rubbed his chin pensively. “You’re in good shape. I’m sure you go to the gym when you’re able or do some form of exercise.”
“Yeah.” Joe spoke while getting through his next step. It still hurt like a bitch, but at least being pissed at the doctor took his mind off the pain. “Of course I work out, but that’s different.”
“How?” Dispassionately, the doctor took notes on Joe’s strides, though Joe was fairly sure the doc was assessing more than Joe’s walk. “You exercise to stay fit and to build muscle, so you can be strong and do your job.” He gave Joe a sly glance. “And to look good for your partner.”
Joe’s face heated, and he took another labored step. “Fine, I’ll do the PT stuff at the gym then. Are you happy?”
“Usually.” Dr. Soren shrugged. “I work pretty hard on being happy.”
That comment struck Joe as odd, so he paused, panting as he struggled to understand. “What do you mean?”
The way Dr. Soren smiled—slow and smug—told Joe he’d asked the right question.
“Well, I exercise daily. I spend time with my wife. I make sure to engage in hobbies and with friends.”
Joe shook his head. “Yeah, some of us don’t have time for that kind of shit.”
Dr. Soren took Joe’s cane and slammed it into the floor. “You think this is supposed to come easy, don’t you? A healthy body, a happy relationship? It’s all owed to you somehow?”
“No.” Joe’s chest burned worse than his thigh, but for once he didn’t want to sit down. Hell, he didn’t want his cane back, either. He wanted to get his muscles working again so he could run and jump—and yes, even fuck—the way he wanted. “I don’t think life owes me shit.” He said it, though he didn’t mean it. At least he’d never meant it until today.
“Well, good. Because it doesn’t.” Dr. Soren bent to his grab his slacks at the knee, and he pulled up his pant leg. Underneath, attached to his shoe, was a prosthetic calf.
A nice piece of machinery. Probably high tech and cutting edge. But Joe got the message. Namely, that Joe needed to suck it up and stop his whining, because a hell of a lot of people in this world had it worse than he did.
Joe walked the last few steps of the parallel bars barely feeling the ache because his head was full of ideas. Like how the faster he did what Dr. Soren told him, the sooner he’d be feeling like the guy he wanted to be instead of the guy he feared he was turning into.
“What’s next?” Joe caught his breath, and the doc handed him his cane back.
“I’ve got some balance exercises for you. Then we’ll move to weights.” The doc’s tone was distant and cool, but after the heat of their argument, Joe appreciated that the doc was backing off.
“Great.” As Joe headed to the next station, he felt like steel was being poured into his spine. He focused on every step, walking correctly and not the way that was easiest.
He’d had enough of taking the simple way out. With his injury and even with Dan, Joe’d let shit happen to him instead of having the balls to fight for what he wanted. Well, that was ending right the fuck now. “Let’s do this thing, Doc. I’ve got work to do after.”
Chapter Sixteen
Joe eased the hospital door open to look inside. Sara was still lying where she had been, though her IV had been taken out of her arm. Curled onto her side, she slept with her face partly covered by her scarf and a sheet pulled up around her shoulders.
Solomon sat next to her, cradling her hand. Eyes closed, he whispered something. Joe backed up a step to close the door.
“Joe?” Solomon looked up, eyes bloodshot.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The words felt weird coming out of Joe’s mouth, probably because in his line of work interrupting was part of the job.
“It’s fine.” Solomon stood from his chair. His manner was like Elias’s—contained and smooth. Even running on what must have been practically no sleep, he still moved gracefully. “Did you speak with your friend?”
Joe felt awkward invading the hospital room, but he didn’t see that he had any choice. Ducking his head, he came through the threshold. Again, he wished he’d thought to bring Solomon coffee. This consideration thing was harder than Joe would have expected. “He texted me. There are plenty of interpreters at UW you can call to come over if social services hasn’t found one.”
“Thank you.” Solomon glanced at his sleeping wife. “The hospital said someone was supposed to be available today, but they’re out sick, and the other interpreter on call hasn’t answered yet.”
“I’ll send you the info.” Joe clicked around on his phone. “What’s your number?”
It seemed like a personal question to ask, but Solomon still rattled it off right away. His was only one digit different from Elias’s, making Joe realize they must have a family plan.
“I’m sending you some contacts for therapists too. Wade said you should see one of the first couple guys, though, since they’re psychiatrists and can write prescriptions.” He didn’t know how Solomon felt about drugs, and in particular, antidepressants. Lots of people thought taking meds showed lack of character. But in Joe’s line of work, he’d learned a lot about the value of pharmaceutical assistance for mental health. More than half the people Joe and Wade picked up on the street wouldn’t have been there in the first place if they were getting correct treatment for their conditions.
“That would be wonderful.” Solomon watched his phone as it buzzed. He clicked around, reading what Joe had sent. “You must think I’m a bad husband.”
The segue surprised Joe, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. “No.” What did Joe know about being a husband to anyone? The only person he’d gotten close to trying with had been Dan. “Depression can happen to anyone.”
Solomon nodded, though his eyes were wide and lost. “I thought…” He sighed, looking at Sara lying in the bed. “I’d never met her before she moved here, but I’d seen pictures. I thought she would like it here.”
Joe tried not to judge, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. “Had she been to the US before?” Joe assumed America was a better place to live than Ethiopia, but he had no way of knowing.
“No.” Solomon slumped his shoulders like the air had gone out of him. When he shoved his hands in his pockets, he looked like a different person—younger and hipper. Joe could imagine him hanging out at a bar with friends, maybe raising an eyebrow at a passing girl. “My mother liked it here so much. She always said America was a much better place to live for a woman. I thought if I could give a pretty girl from my home town the chance my mother had…”
Joe nodded, trying to be sympathetic. Solomon’s mother was probably right, but not everyone was cut out for living in a foreign country. Joe remembered his culture shock visiting Dan’s parents in Kansas—and that was still the United States. “But your wife’s been homesick?”
Solomon nodded. “So mu
ch. We’ve been saving for her to go home for a visit, but I worry…” He rubbed his face, like maybe his emotions had gotten the better of him. “I’m not sure whether she’d come back.”
Joe wanted to pat the guy on the shoulder, give him some manly kind of comfort. But not understanding their culture so well, Joe didn’t know how it would go over. Instead, Joe hummed his agreement. “Would that be so bad?”
“I don’t know.” Solomon shrugged. “Maybe I would just feel like I failed.”
“Yeah.” Joe glanced at Sara so he wouldn’t be staring Solomon in the eye. No matter what differences Joe and Solomon had on the surface, Joe understood Solomon pretty well. Maybe better than Solomon understood himself. “Well, help her get to the doctor. Get stable. You’d be surprised. It’ll be easier to talk about this stuff when everyone’s calmed down.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’s true.” Solomon walked around the room to the sink and got himself a small glass of water. He gestured to Joe, offering.
“No, thanks.”
“So, you and Elias are friends?” Solomon didn’t look up as he asked it, instead keeping his focus on his cup.
“Yes.” Joe felt a shiver of dread. He knew an interrogation when he heard one. “Since the thing at Nordstrom a few weeks ago.”
Solomon nodded once, like he’d gotten an answer to something he’d been wondering. Joe didn’t know how he’d managed to spill anything about his and Elias’s relationship, but he suspected he had.
“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?” Solomon straightened, less the downtrodden youth and more the responsible man Joe imagined Solomon seemed to his wife and brother.
“No.” Joe had assumed Elias didn’t celebrate the holiday, so Joe figured he wouldn’t either. By now, he should have stopped making assumptions about what it meant to be Ethiopian.
“You should come to our house. It would be good for Sara to have other people over.”
Joe wasn’t sure how having over some stranger who didn’t even speak their language would help Sara’s depression.
But then Solomon added, “And it would be good for Elias to bring a friend,” and Joe understood. It wasn’t Sara Solomon was inviting Joe for, it was Elias.
“Sure.” Joe had no idea what hoops he’d be expected to jump through to play Elias’s good friend at a family dinner, but he’d rise to the challenge.
“We’ll have to do most of the cooking, probably.” Solomon chuckled. “That alone should make Sara laugh.”
Joe cracked a smile. His own repertoire included making spaghetti, but he figured he could handle mashing potatoes. “I’m sure it’ll be fun.”
“Are you sure you understood what Solomon said?” The grocery basket in Elias’s hand was filled to the brink, but he didn’t want to replace it with a cart. Thanksgiving morning, the store was packed.
“He asked me to come for dinner. It’s a pretty straightforward question.” Joe grabbed a container of gravy off the refrigerated shelves. “Oh, this’ll be good.” The easy way Joe smiled went straight to Elias’s heart, prodding at sore places Elias wasn’t sure he was ready to have healed.
“You know not to touch me, right? He can’t know—”
“Hey.” Joe touched Elias now. Just a hand on Elias’s arm, but it was enough for Elias to close his eyes and fight for balance.
He hadn’t seen Joe since a few mornings ago in the hospital. If they were alone together, Elias would fall right back into the way he’d been before, hanging on Joe’s every word. Elias couldn’t go back to that place if it meant being hurt again.
“You okay?” Joe moved slightly, blocking Elias from sight of the rest of the store. He was walking much better with his cane.
“Yes. Just worried.” Elias smelled hints of Joe over the aroma of food in every direction. It made Elias want to cry, to curl into Joe’s arms and ask Joe to take him home. Only Elias didn’t know where that home would be anymore. The cozy little apartment where he and Joe had shared dinners on the couch, or the place they were heading when they were done shopping?
“Well, don’t worry so much. Your brother seemed cool when I spoke with him.”
The very idea of Solomon and Joe talking made Elias want to shrivel into a corner.
He changed the subject as he headed to the bakery section. “We should buy pie. I don’t think we’ll have time to make it.” Only two pies were left, and neither were pumpkin. He frowned. “Marionberry or apple?”
Joe grabbed the pie with purple syrup poking out the hole in the top. “Marionberry.”
They made their way through the packed checkout line. When the cashier asked Joe if he needed help with the groceries, Joe surprised Elias by saying, “Yes.”
“I could have carried those.” Elias pointed to the groceries the bagger was loading into a cart.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want you to have to, and Doc says I can’t carry anything over ten pounds for at least another week.”
Elias filed that away for future reference, along with the question that popped into his mind about what else Joe may not be allowed to do for a while.
He was not having sex with Joe again anytime soon. No matter how much time he’d spent thinking of positions that might work better than what he and Joe had tried the other day.
They followed the man pushing their cart out into the parking lot, and when he got to Elias’s car and filled the trunk, Joe handed him a ten-dollar bill.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Joe told the guy.
Elias couldn’t help feeling that Joe was showing off.
In the car, Elias turned to the African station he and Solomon sometimes listened to and tried to calm his nerves. Abby Lakew was playing, and Elias found himself bouncing in time to one of her upbeat pop songs.
He caught Joe watching him out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
Joe smirked. “Nothing. No Ke$ha today?”
Elias rolled his eyes. “I never listen to Ke$ha.”
Laughing, Joe murmured something that sounded a lot like, “Yeah, right.”
The roads were quiet, near empty like everyone was already on the highways. Elias found a spot easily and parked in front of his brother’s house.
“This is it.” He gestured at the duplex, wondering if it was what Joe expected. It might be rundown, but at least it was freshly painted.
“Great.” Joe climbed out his side and went to the trunk.
Elias beat him, taking the heaviest of bags. “You’re not supposed to carry anything.”
Joe gave him a wink as he picked up one of the lighter bags. “Aw, c’mon. This can’t possibly weigh ten pounds.”
Elias looked away. How could Joe turn him to jelly with just a glance? At this rate, Elias would never survive dinner.
“Don’t blame me if you get hurt.” Elias tried to sound grave, but his voice was breathless. He pulled out his key to open the front door, and felt Joe’s hand on his lower back.
“It’s gonna be okay. You know that, right?”
Elias didn’t know if Joe meant between them or with Solomon. “We’ll see.”
Joe brushed a kiss at the side of Elias’s head. “It will be. I promise.”
Before he could think about how much he loved the feel of Joe’s breath in his ear, Elias pushed open the door. “Hello!” he yelled up the stairs in Amharic. “We’re here!”
“Already?” Solomon answered in English.
Only then did Elias realize he’d hoped he could talk with his brother in a language Joe didn’t understand. No surprise that Solomon wouldn’t let Elias take the easy way out.
Elias made a route up the stairs and straight through the apartment. He couldn’t watch; it was too stressful. Instead, Elias took up a space next to Sara in the brightly lit kitchen. “Hello, sister.” He reached for her hand.
“Hello.” She gave him a smile.
&nb
sp; Sara’s doctor had recommended they replace the lights in the apartment with full-spectrum bulbs and add standing lamps to dark corners. As a result, the apartment was as bright as the Nordstrom sales floor.
Maybe it was the lights, and maybe it was the pills the doctor gave her, but Sarah hummed under her breath along with the music she had playing in the background. Her steps even swayed as she set a pan full of water to boil.
“So, you brought a friend?” Sara pulled the grocery bag out of Elias’s hand. She was stronger than she’d seemed before the hospital, or possibly more forceful.
“Yes. Well, Solomon invited him.”
Sara gave him a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “Ah. So he’s here for Solomon?”
Elias cracked a smile. He’d missed teasing with his sister-in-law. There’d been moments in the summer where she’d been happy enough to joke. “Yes, he’s my friend.” Elias took one of the potatoes she’d already peeled out of the pile and started to cut it into cubes for the pot. “You don’t mind, do you? Having a guest who only speaks English?”
“Of course not. I’ll have to learn eventually.”
“Oh.” He’d expected Sara to want to move home once her depression lifted, but Elias was glad to hear her talking about staying.
“When I’ve got enough money to visit my mother, I want to be able to tell her how much I’ve learned.”
Elias grinned, falling into a pattern of helping her cook.
“You know, my favorite brother is unmarried.”
For a horrifying moment, Elias thought Sara wanted to set him up with her brother. As he considered it, he realized she meant that not being married was an acceptable way to live one’s life.
“Is that hard for him?” Elias had only visited his grandparents in Ethiopia once. He’d probably seemed as foreign to them as they did to him.
“Yes. My parents want him to marry.” She leaned into his side so their arms brushed. “But he has good friends. And his family. He doesn’t need a wife.”
Elias pondered her words, wondering if they were an admission.
