His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

  Shayna’s mind returned to Beau Hill. Beau would win no awards for congeniality. Prickly as the athlete was, he had piqued her interest. Call it her love of a good challenge, or call it a complete understanding of what he was going through. She knew his abrasive personality was a shield to hide the fear deep inside that he would never walk again, much less ski. An athlete as active as Beau was bound to be devastated by this new sedentary life.

  Eight years ago Shayna had found herself in a similar position, faced with a brutal reality. Doctors had told her that she would never walk again. She’d been determined to prove them wrong and read everything she could on the subject of holistic healing. In the process she’d stumbled across a book, titled Turning Hurts Into Halos. That book had changed her life. While she’d never again compete as a professional gymnast, she could walk, and she could walk without even the faintest trace of a limp.

  “Your hour’s up,” Shayna announced, as a huffing, puffing Gail Mahoney continued to take painful steps back to her.

  “Whew,” Gail said, sinking tiredly into her wheelchair. “So how did I do today?”

  “Terrific. Wonderful. Better than wonderful.” Shayna kissed the older woman’s cheek. “We’ll have you out of here in no time. Just keep doing the exercises I taught you. Keeping pushing yourself.”

  Gail beamed at her. “Did I tell you my grandson wants to meet you?”

  “Hundreds of times.” They’d turned it into their little joke. “Why would some twenty-one-year-old stud want to meet an old bag like me?”

  Gail harrumphed. “Old bag nothing. You’re young, beautiful, and intelligent.”

  “Did I hear you say you were old?” Mary Jane Coppola called from the doorway. She’d come to deliver Beau. She arched penciled-in eyebrows.

  Shayna turned to acknowledge the new arrivals. “Hello, Mary Jane. Beau. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The wheelchair’s brake clicked into place as Mary Jane parked Beau. “Are we too early?”

  “No. Right on time.”

  Shayna proceeded to wrap things up with Gail. The senior citizen’s attention was completely riveted on the new arrival. “You’re Beau Hill,” she gushed, eyes widening at the unexpected bonus. “Yes, you are. You’re the skier. Denver’s darling, a one-time gold medal hopeful. There was something fishy about your accident if you ask me.”

  Beau took his time raising his head. His ego had just been trampled on. His gray gaze rested on the old lady. For one fleeting moment his hurt was palpable, and then the mask was in place again.

  Shayna knew what he must feel like. It wasn’t easy accepting the fact that you were a has-been. She wondered what Gail meant about something being fishy about Beau’s fall. She made a mental note to go to the library and read up on the event. Call it her insatiable curiosity.

  Gail continued. “I heard you’d been admitted. News travels fast in this facility and the nurses like to talk. They said you were good looking, but, young man, you need a shave.”

  Shayna waited for the explosion but Beau just continued to stare at the old lady. Not the least bit intimidated, Gail stared back. She was off and running.

  “I saw a replay of your accident on TV. The newscaster said something about you falling out of your skis, that’s why you took that nasty tumble. Don’t worry, you’ll walk again. You’re resilient. Look at your dad; he’s worked to keep our streets safe from crime. He’s a tough attorney, but a fair one. That kid who beat up that woman should be tried as an adult. Hopefully your dad can make that happen.”

  Beau just grunted.

  “Young man, you disagree?” Gail waggled a finger at him.

  “I wouldn’t be in this predicament if it hadn’t been for some hoodlum. The man yanked my purse off my arm and knocked me to the ground, breaking my hip.” She fumbled in her new purse, removing a notepad. “Would you mind autographing this? It’s for my grandson.”

  Shayna tuned into the conversation more intently. She wondered if it was for the same grandson Gail kept pushing on her. Gail had made it sound as if Beau’s father was some kind of celebrity. Shayna had lived in Denver less than a year and was still trying to figure out who was who.

  While Gail’s comment had piqued her interest, at the same time it saddened her. Her brother, Reggie, was out on bail for a crime he didn’t commit. The attorney representing the woman that had been burglarized and beaten was Anderson. Edward Anderson He couldn’t possibly be Beau’s father. He was as white bread as they came.

  Shayna watched Beau awkwardly sign his name on the pad Gail provided. When he was through, he returned it to the old lady, who clutched it to her breast. “Thank you. Thank you. My Timmy’s going to be thrilled.”

  Mary Jane had already taken command of Gail’s wheelchair. They headed off with Gail still clutching her notepad as if it were the winning Lotto ticket. “Bye, Beau-Beau,” Mary Jane said from the doorway.

  Beau raised his head and glared at the nurse. “Don’t go there.”

  Shayna swore his lips twitched. Must be a private joke between them. Those intense gray eyes now assessed her. Feeling warm all over, she quickly opened a window, letting in the crisp spring breeze. It ruffled the daffodils on her desk and brought with it an incredible outdoor smell, fresh, invigorating, biting as well. Shayna inhaled deeply. Was that freshly mown grass she smelled?

  “I love the spring, don’t you?” she said, walking over to him and attempting to make conversation. Beau sat slumped in his chair. Shayna squatted down to eye level.

  Hmmm, he was wearing a spicy cologne that tickled her nostrils. “So how are you?”

  At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer. He stared at his hands, at his wrist still wrapped in Ace bandages, and eventually grunted, “I’m alive. I suppose.”

  “Did you finish your homework assignment?”

  “I read what I could stomach.”

  That wintery voice made her shiver. There were actual goose bumps on her arms. She noticed he hadn’t brought the book with him.

  Shayna ignored the fact that her heart was pumping furiously and her breath was coming in little bursts. Beau was talking. Now if she could only keep him talking. His haunted eyes scanned her face, assessing her, taking her measure. He must think she was a BS artist, a fraud. He probably didn’t believe he would ever walk again. It was her job to make him believe.

  “Give the book a chance. Read it. What else do you have to do on a nice spring day? Try wheeling yourself outside, finding a nice shady tree, breathing the mountain air. Why hide in a dark room, TV remote in hand?”

  “Immaculata’s been talking to you?” Beau growled, his eyebrows rising suspiciously.

  “What if she has? She’s concerned for you. Thinks you’re a great guy. Why is beyond me, given how poorly you treat her.”

  The muscles in Beau’s jaw worked. “She’s all right. Just pushy. Now can we get on with my exercises?”

  “You’re not ready yet. You need to read that book.”

  “I told you I don’t read.”

  “There’s always a first time for everything.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Obviously you’ve never been told you might not walk again.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” She didn’t bother to remind him his was considered an incomplete spinal injury. He had weakness in his arms and legs but there was hope.

  “Is that a yes?” He shot her a skeptical if curious look.

  What harm would it do to provide Beau with the edited version of her life? He didn’t need to know that she too had been an Olympic hopeful. That she’d taken a fall, breaking both hips. No one in Denver would ever associate little Shay DaCosta with the woman she was today, a rehabilitation therapist, living a simple life.

  “I was told I would never walk again and if I did I would limp,”

  “But you don’t,” Beau confirmed, assessing her with that lazy gray-eyed gaze, his eyes shifting from her face, working its way down her body. Slowly, deliberately, missing nothing.


  The goose bumps popped out again. She was glad she’d chosen the cream silk blouse, coupling it with a jaunty scarf at the neck; glad she’d worn the pencil thin black skirt that stopped at the ankles and flat comfortable shoes that shouted business. Even so, she felt naked under his gaze. She doubted Beau Hill, disinterested as he appeared, missed the slightest bulge.

  She continued. “It took a lot of work and desire on my part to get well. I had to search deep within myself and find a reason to want to heal. Mentally and physically.”

  “You were motivated. I’m not.”

  He’d put into words what she’d feared. Like him she’d lost her motivation, her passion for life after the accident. Shayna again debated whether to level with him. How would he benefit if she shared her shame for failing her family, the United States, the world, herself?

  She couldn’t divulge all that she’d been through, not with a patient. It would be unprofessional at best. Not that she’d deliberately set out to keep her past a secret. If a person found out, she found out.

  Admittedly, this new life was certainly more fulfilling than the old, but even so she’d had her difficulties transitioning. She’d had to come down off her pedestal, get an education and learn compassion. More importantly, she’d had to learn to like herself. It had proven to be a huge challenge. Even greater than Beau’s.

  Shayna touched Beau’s shoulder. Electric shocks ricocheted off his skin and right onto hers. She’d never seen anyone more wired.

  “Beau, what do you recollect of the day you had the accident?”

  He rolled his eyes. “That shrink you people insist I see keeps asking me that. That’s not important. Bottom line, I can’t walk.”

  “Okay. Then let’s talk about Beau Hill.”

  He snorted. “What’s to tell about Beau Hill? There’s nothing left of him that’s worth talking about.”

  “So Beau no longer has a life? A family? A home? A recreation center he’s proud of?”

  He shrugged. “Sure I have a home. A huge one, an expensive one, an empty one. As for family, I have parents, a brother and sister, and Hill Of Dreams does exist.”

  “What about a girlfriend?” Shayna asked, noting that his hands were free of rings. She’d heard the scuttlebutt from the staff that there was a woman in the picture, and that their relationship was tumultuous. The staff often heard them screaming at each other.

  A long pause ensued. Shayna thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “My relationship with Chandra, though it’s none of your business, is on hold right now,” he said.

  “What about friends?”

  Beau snorted. “Friendships don’t amount to a hill of beans.”

  “Everyone needs friends.”

  “Not fair-weather ones.”

  “So I’m gathering your buddies no longer visit?”

  Beau uttered a crude expletive. “What buddies?”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Your evil behavior drove them away?”

  A colorful oath rolled off his tongue. “I don’t have to take this.”

  “And I don’t have to take your foul mouth. Wheel yourself away. Go back to your miserable room and sulk,” Shayna taunted. She’d heard from the nurses he’d stubbornly refused to learn how to propel his motorized wheelchair.

  “I think I will,” Beau said, awkwardly attempting to maneuver his chair.

  Silently she applauded him. He got halfway across the room before she stopped him.

  “Now was that difficult? Yet you were content to let those gorgeous muscles atrophy.”

  He glared at her. “What’s the point of having muscles when you’ll never use them?”

  Ignoring the way he looked at her, she crossed the room to stand beside him. “How did someone so unmotivated come up with the idea for Hill Of Dreams?” she muttered loud enough for him to hear.

  “Have you ever been abandoned by family? Lived in foster homes? Had no place to go?” Beau gritted out. “No, you wouldn’t know anything about that, Miss ToThe Manor Born.” He eyed her elegant getup.

  He was right. She and Reggie had been raised by normal middle class parents. Her mother was a teacher, her father, a gym coach. Even so, her teenage brother would probably benefit from a place like Beau’s. Reggie had been involved in more than his share of trouble, and he had parents who loved him.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Can’t say I have.”

  “Well, I have, and it’s not pretty. You’re unwanted. Tolerated by the families who take you in. Frustrated because you feel you don’t belong. As a result you act out”

  Keep him talking, Shayna. Keep him talking.

  “Okay, so you came up with the idea for the recreation center. Did you fund it or get investors?”

  “My parents helped. They’re well connected and were able to put me in touch with the right people. I ended up donating some of my own money but every penny’s been well spent.”

  “When was the last time you visited Hill Of Dreams?” Shayna asked, an idea slowly beginning to percolate.

  Beau shrugged. “It’s been at least five to six months. First I was busy training; then the accident happened…”

  “How about you and I visit?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hey, you two. Hour’s up,” Mary Jane called. She beamed at them from the doorway. “Ready, Beau-Beau?”

  Beau cut his eyes at Mary Jane. “About time you got here,” he grumbled.

  Shayna tabled the discussion for another time. She’d gotten Beau talking. That, in and of itself, was progress.

  He glanced over at her as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind. “Let’s go,” he said to Mary Jane.

  “We’ll talk more next session,” Shayna promised. “By then you should be finished reading that book.”

  As Mary Jane placed her hands on Beau’s wheelchair, Shayna heard him say, “I can manage perfectly well, thank you.”

  “You can?” The nurse’s eyes were the size of saucers. She shot Shayna an incredulous look. “He can?”

  Shayna hid a smile as Beau took control of the joystick on his motorized chair. He lurched forward, fumbled with the control panel, and zigzagged his way toward the exit.

  Beau Hill didn’t know it yet but in a few weeks he would be up and walking.

  Chapter Four

  “Hey, watcha reading?”

  The voice came from somewhere up above. Beau shook the fog from his brain and opened his eyes. The recreation room gradually came into focus. Familiar looking patients sat in groups’ playing cards or board games. Some simply read. Subdued chatter slowly filtered in. What had he been reading? Who was asking? Beau glanced down to see Turning Hurts Into Halos resting on his lap. He’d managed to make it through four chapters before falling into a trance. He still didn’t know what to make of the book. Beau flipped it right side up and focused on the strange little man standing above him looking as if he’d won the 200-yard dash.

  “Turning Hurts Into Halos,” Beau answered.

  His new acquaintance didn’t look like any patient he remembered. He wore a Dr. Seuss hat, the wide brim partially obscuring his face. He twisted one waist-length lock and gawked at Beau. “You’re Beau Hill, right?”

  Oh, no. Not another autograph seeker, another voyeur to see what he had become.

  Beau grunted something unintelligible and tried to wake up. He’d been having a dream, one of those fantasies, a vision occurring when you’re halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

  “I’m Lenox Frasier,” the man said, bending over and holding his palm up for a high five. “I’m the drummer for The Springs.”

  Beau slapped his palm against the drummer’s hand. He recognized the name of the popular rap group. They played at some of the better watering holes and had a devoted local following. From what Beau could recall of the drummer he was pretty good.

  “I’m visiting my friend Earl, over there.” Lenox gestured with his chin. “My boy had a
horrible car accident. We’re hoping he regains the use of his limbs.”

  Beau’s eyes followed Earl’s, taking in the hulk of a man seated in a monstrous wheelchair. An ugly apparatus assisted him to breathe; nevertheless, he acknowledged them with a blink of his eyes. Beau nodded back. He wondered what the agenda was. Obviously both men wanted something.

  “I never did get to meet you,” Lenox said, “and now here I find you in the most unexpected of places. I heard about your accident. I’m sorry.”

  “Did we have a meeting set up?” Beau asked, curious, despite the fact that he just wanted to be left alone. Bad enough he’d been evicted from his room by the ever cheerful Immaculata, who’d insisted that his occupational therapist wanted him to spend at least an hour in the recreation room. It seemed bull to him but he’d been getting cabin fever.

  “No, man, we didn’t. But I used to hang out at your place.”

  Beau narrowed his eyes. Please, God, not another overzealous fan or scam artist. Not another person looking for him to invest in some cockamamie scheme.

  Lenox continued. “I’m talking about Hill Of Dreams, my man. A little over four years ago Earl and I were homeless. We had no prospects. Nothing. Someone told us about your facility, Hill Of Dreams, boy, was that place ever a godsend.”

  “How did my place help you?” Beau asked, his interest actually piqued.

  Lenox tugged on the brim of his hat. “How did it help? It gave us a place to go. Kept us fed, occupied, and out of trouble. I did a lot of reading while I was there. You know that music room you have? Well, that’s what inspired me to take up the drums again. Earl’s got a great voice. He sang. I accompanied him. We even harmonized together, though my voice isn’t as good as his.

  “We used your place to clean up. After a while we were able to pick up a couple of gigs, him singing, and me on drums. Nothing that paid a lot of money, but it sure helped get our self-esteem back. Now I work for UPS in their offices. I still play drums at night. We’re grateful to you, man. Bad as Earl’s outlook is, he would never have realized his dream if it hadn’t been for you. Neither of us would. He’d like to meet you, Beau.”