His Golden Heart

by Marcia King-Gamble

  So many here were in far worse shape than he. But thanks to Shayna and that pushy psychologist, he was being thrust out into the world of able-bodied people. A world that viewed the disabled as not quite human.

  His mom would be staying with him until he settled in. His dad, busy soul that he was, would remain in his own home but there would be frequent visits. Kelly, his sister, was flying in from Seattle. His brother, Jason, still hadn’t made it to Denver. And in between, Beau would be interviewing a succession of aides, hoping for a good fit

  Beau’s bedroom had been relocated to the first floor. Makeshift ramps had been built to accommodate his chair, the presumption being he’d be non-ambulatory the rest of his life. He would prove them wrong. He was determined.

  “How are you doing back there?” his dad asked, shoving the van in gear.

  Beau grunted something unintelligible, continuing to scan the crowd on the front steps. Where was Shayna? He’d hoped she’d be there.

  As Ed steered the van out of the driveway, Beau acknowledged he would miss many of the staff—Immaculata, whom he’d heaped abuse on, Shayna, who’d abused him, pushing him past his limits, forcing him to do things he didn’t think he’d ever do again. He’d see her again in a couple of days. He’d be back for outpatient therapy. Meanwhile, he’d send Immaculata and Shayna flowers. They deserved them for putting up with his foul temper. It was the right thing to do. Saying thank you had never been easy for him.

  Beau fingered the partially read book on his lap. Maybe he could finish Turning Hurts Into Halos in two days. That way he would have something to discuss with Shayna the next time he saw her. Reading would keep him occupied.

  Ed parked the van in the driveway and announced, “You’re home, son.”

  Towanda, Beau’s housekeeper, wore an earsplitting grin that was forced, no doubt, but made him feel as if he were on a movie set, starring in a bizarre comedy. Here he sat waiting for his cue to go on. What role did he play? Home owner? Disabled hero? He didn’t know.

  His dad opened up the van doors and began unloading the luggage. He secured a ramp so that Beau could wheel himself down.

  “Ready, Beau? Do you need help?” he asked.

  “I can handle it,” he answered, gruffly. He would never be ready for this. With some difficulty, and a last-minute need for assistance, Beau made it safely to the ground.

  Tears ran down Towanda’s cheeks when she greeted him. “Hello, Beau.”

  What did she have to cry about? It was he that had been hurt. He that ached inwardly and might never have legs that functioned again.

  His mom went to Towanda’s side, embracing her, speaking with her softly, probably coaching her to put on a bright face. He might be disabled, but he was alive and he was the same person though inwardly scarred.

  Little did his mom know how he looked at the world now. It was an effort to smile and stay positive. When he’d built Hill Of Dreams he’d wanted to turn lives around, to show the poor and disadvantaged that there was hope. If he could be somebody, so could they. How would he cope now that skiing wasn’t a part of that life?

  Beau squeezed his eyes shut as the memories threatened to take over. He’d been healthy, happy, alive, and loving life. One visit to Salt Lake City, Utah, had changed all that. He’d been so certain he would return home a winner. The money gained from endorsements he planned on pumping back into the recreation center, giving people opportunities they would never have had. He’d employ experts to teach skills. Skills like operating a computer.

  Instead, he’d ended up in a Denver hospital, his body and psyche broken. Later he’d been transferred to the rehab center and worked with a team of medical professionals who’d tried to put him back together again.

  It could be worse. He could be like poor Earl. Yet the quadriplegic’s eyes still held a twinkle and he had no reason to be hopeful.

  Beau wheeled himself up another makeshift ramp giving him access to his front door. He sat in the vestibule trying to get his bearings. His parents flanked him. Towanda still sobbed though his mom tried her best to shush her.

  Ed laid a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’ll take a bit of getting used to, son,” he said, his voice rough with holding in his emotions.

  It was all so familiar, yet surreal. Beau felt as if he were in the twilight zone. Nothing in his life would ever be the same again. Not his home. Not his friends. Nothing. He couldn’t even begin to think how he would put the pieces back together again and achieve some sense of normalcy. Would he ever find the type of woman who would understand that he was still a man? A man with needs?

  An image of a petite woman with a commanding voice filled his vision. Even if he was interested, he had nothing to offer Shayna DaCosta beyond the material, and even that wasn’t a certainty now. Not if he lost most of his endorsements. While finances, or the lack of them, should certainly not come into play in a relationship, they did.

  “Beau, honey, would you like to go to your room and rest?” Victoria asked.

  “Maybe later.”

  He now regretted having told his agent he needed a couple of hours to settle in. Having David here would have alleviated any awkward moments. They would have talked about the mundane, strategies to ensure his contracts weren’t canceled. David would have kept him focused, not tripping down this dismal path of memory lane.

  How did an experienced skier just fall? He wanted to know. He’d been in denial too long. Purposely ignored all the whispers. How arrogant of him to think that no one would ever intentionally want to hurt Beau Hill. That he was too popular an athlete.

  In retrospect, Beau now saw why he might have been the prime target of envy, hostility, and rage. He was a young black man destined to make history. He’d already won some of the more challenging downhill races, including the giant slalom. He’d gone where no African-American man had dared to go before, dominating a sport customarily won by whites. It was expected of him in track and field, basketball even. But not skiing.

  “Son?” His father tapped him on the shoulder. “Sure you won’t be more comfortable in the bedroom?”

  Reality returned. Beau focused on the butter-soft leather couch with its satin pillows and exotic tassels arranged in a row. Rare and expensive artwork, acquired from his travels, covered the fabric walls of a two-story living area. African artifacts were aesthetically positioned so the eye could enjoy. The house was his reality. Could he adjust to a life lived primarily indoors?

  “Are you hungry, Beau?” his mother asked, flicking an eyeful of blond hair out of her face and pushing her headband into place.

  Why did he feel like a teenager who was about to be sent to bed with the flu? He used to enjoy being pampered, knowing that it was only temporary and would end once he wasn’t ill. These last few months of confinement, staring at four walls, had changed all that.

  “I’m going to my den,” Beau said, wheeling himself away. He needed the space and the tranquility to acclimate.

  The phone rang as he took off.

  “Should I get that?” Towanda asked. She’d finally stopped crying.

  “I’m only taking calls from David. Tell anyone else I’m resting.”

  Towanda picked up the receiver. “Hello? Yes…uh…no. Mr. Beau’s resting.” She mouthed the word “Shayna.”

  Beau waved his hands, signaling frantically to her not to hang up. Using the joystick on the control of his chair, he broke a new Special Olympics record to get to Towanda.

  “Give it to me,” he demanded, tugging on his housekeeper’s arm.

  An infusion of warmth suffused his body, making him feel giddy and off-kilter. He growled, “Hello.”

  “I thought you might be resting,” Shayna said.

  “I’m not.”

  By calling she’d more than made up for not being there at the center to see him off. He’d felt let down and abandoned. Now he was happy to hear her voice. Delighted that she’d been thinking about him.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t make it
back before you left. I had to go my brother’s high school. I’d like to stop by and give you something,” she said.

  She had a gift for him. But instead of expressing his delight, he asked, “You have a brother?”

  “Yes. A teenager and very difficult. I have my hands full.”

  “When were you thinking of stopping by?” Beau asked.

  “After work?”

  So soon. He gave her directions.

  Beau was conscious of the family listening to the one-sided conversation. His mother’s sharp intake of breath said she was hopeful. She beamed at him. Anyone was better than Chandra.

  “All right I’ll drop by, but only for a brief moment,” Shayna said before disconnecting.

  Beau’s heart soared. He forgot that his parents were listening shamelessly and that Towanda stood quietly gaping. All he cared about was that he was going to see Shayna and soon.

  Chapter Eight

  Shayna hung up the phone angry at herself. She was acting like a teenager with a first crush, manufacturing reasons to see Beau. Shame on her. It was unprofessional to go to a patient’s home. She didn’t do house calls. Granted, she had bought Beau a present, but she could give it to him at the next therapy session.

  Half of Shayna’s morning had been taken up meeting with Reggie’s guidance counselor. She’d been summoned to the high school and told that her brother had been skipping classes. If he didn’t shape up he would not graduate.

  God, what was she to do? Reggie was rapidly whirling out of control. She’d tried lecturing, taking away his privileges, nothing seemed to work. Maybe she should ask Beau to put him to work at Hill Of Dreams, she thought, half-jokingly. If he was kept busy, focused on something other than himself, maybe, just maybe, he’d come around.

  Gail Mahoney was Shayna’s next patient. She clomped in on her walker. Gail was making remarkable progress and Shayna had hopes that soon she would be up and about. After that, Shayna worked with a double amputee whose goal was to participate in the Paralympics. She was bound and determined to have him realize his dream.

  Checking her schedule again, Shayna noted she also had a session with Earl. The quadriplegic was the patient with the most spirit. He could be an example to them all. If only she could take some of his optimism and rub it all over Beau.

  The remainder of the day raced by. At five, Shayna gathered her things and made a quick call home. The phone rang and rang. Reggie, rather than doing his homework, must be involved in one of those never ending basketball games with the guys. Good. She didn’t have to hurry home and start dinner.

  Shayna picked up the gift she’d bought Beau and carefully placed it in a carton to keep it steady. Smiling to herself, she rested it on the sports utility vehicle’s floor. What would he think of the offbeat gift? Removing the paper where she’d scribbled the directions to his house, she set it on the console where she could see it, turned on her GPS and put the Explorer in drive. She went up a winding mountain road, the air getting thinner the higher she went.

  Beau lived approximately twenty-five minutes outside of Denver, in one of the fancy, smansy, suburban areas, where the houses sat on a minimum of one acre. A pretty pricey neighborhood, she would guess. He’d seemed happy to hear from her, but his gift could have waited until the next time he had therapy. Maybe he was just feeling insecure and needed reassurance. Oh, who was she fooling? This growing attraction between them defied explanation. Besides, she wanted to see his home. A person’s home often mirrored his true personality. And she sensed that Beau’s prickly personality masked a sensitive, caring man. You’d have to have qualities like that to create Hill Of Dreams.

  Shayna, following directions made a right up another steep incline. The road twisted and turned and the houses became sparser. She steered the Explorer up a steep driveway, then came to a full stop in front of a sprawling brick home with huge window walls. Behind it the Rocky Mountains made an attractive backdrop. She got out of her vehicle, removed her carton from the floor, and quietly assessed the home. It was a huge place for one person to reside. The sounds of neighing from someplace in the back got her attention. Beau had horses? Curious, she followed the sound. Sure enough, set back from the house were stables. How lucky could one person be?

  “Are you Ms. DaCosta?” a woman’s voice called from behind her.

  Shayna turned to see a plump light-skinned woman dressed in a swishing skirt and cherry-red top following her. The woman eyed the carton she carried.

  “I am,” Shayna confirmed, embarrassed to be caught snooping. “I thought I heard horses, and figured that Beau wouldn’t mind if I looked.”

  “I’m Towanda Brooks, Beau’s housekeeper,” Towanda said, extending a hand.

  Shayna grasped the woman’s chubby hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip. Beau had a housekeeper and stables. He was more loaded than she’d thought. He must have invested wisely.

  “Mr. Beau’s waiting for you inside,” Towanda said, her gaze still fastened on the cardboard box. “That’s different.” She pointed to Beau’s gift.

  “I thought it would be something he would enjoy.”

  Towanda stared at her. “I didn’t expect you to be so attractive. You’re a physical therapist?”

  Shayna smiled and raised a brow. “Physical therapists aren’t supposed to be attractive?”

  Towanda’s cheeks glowed. “That’s not what I meant. I was expecting someone older. Miss Victoria said you—”

  “Is Beau’s mom here?” Shayna interrupted.

  “Mr. Beau’s parents were both here, up until a while ago.”

  There was no point in encouraging the housekeeper to gossip but she might as well know what she was walking into. “Is there anyone with him now?”

  “David, Mr. Beau’s agent is meeting with him. Come on, we’ll go inside.”

  Towanda led the way toward an imposing wooden front door inset with copper. Looking out the glass window walls, Shayna spotted blue columbines and an attractive rock garden. The housekeeper pushed down on one of the copper handles and waited for Shayna to enter.

  Shayna’s first impressions were of wooden cathedral ceilings and a living area that ran two tiers high. Artwork covered every inch of wall space, and artifacts the likes of which she had never seen before were strategically placed throughout the house. A winding wrought iron stairway provided access to both floors.

  Shayna’s initial thought was that no way would Beau be able to navigate both floors. Then she noticed that movable ramps had been built to accommodate a wheelchair and give him access to most rooms. While she hovered at the entrance, a handsome blond woman came flying across the room, arms open wide.

  “You must be, Shayna. I’m Victoria. Beau’s mom. Isn’t this a gorgeous home? Beau got really lucky. It was a foreclosure. I told him he needed to snap it up.”

  “It’s great to meet you, Victoria.”

  Shayna, cardboard box and all, was enveloped in a huge hug. Water sloshed over the rim of the container she carried. Shayna tried to gently disentangle herself. Her gift was still intact, thank God.

  “Oh, my. Now look what I’ve done. Towanda, we’ll need a mop. Paper towels.”

  Beau’s mom. The words slowly registered. This blond haired, blue-eyed woman looked nothing like Beau. Yet she’d identified herself as such. It didn’t make sense unless of course Beau’s father was black.

  Shayna set her carton with its precious cargo on the floor and that gave her time to think. She hadn’t been prepared for this. Not that she had a problem with interracial marriages. She straightened and accepted the napkins Towanda handed her, dabbing at the red silk blouse. There would be a huge water stain left, no doubt.

  “So how do you think my boy’s doing?” Victoria asked, her tone lowered so Towanda wouldn’t hear.

  “If Beau continues therapy and allows his muscles to get stronger his coordination should get better.”

  “No promises, then?”

  “No promises, but lots of optimism. I’ve work
ed with people far worse off than Beau and they made a full recovery.”

  Brow knitted, she stared at Shayna. “You’re so young. Familiar looking too.”

  Would Beau’s mom remember that eight years ago she’d been little Shay DaCosta, the media’s darling?

  “Mom, is that Shayna I hear?” Beau called. His voice came from someplace in the rear of the house.

  “Let’s go find my son,” Victoria said, waiting while Shayna scooped up her box. “He and David are out back, talking shop. Can you stay for dinner?”

  Could she stay for dinner? Dinner hadn’t been a part of the plan. She’d come to drop off Beau’s gift and see how he was doing.

  “I’m supposed to have dinner with my little brother,” Shayna said, though tempted by the invitation.

  “Is he old enough to drive? Call him. Have him meet you here. If not, I can send Towanda to get him. We’re having barbecue. Beau’s agent David’s manning the grill.”

  Shayna thought about it for a moment. It might actually be good for Reggie to meet Beau. It would give him bragging rights with the boys. Still, having dinner with a patient could be construed as crossing the line. But she wouldn’t just be having dinner with Beau, Shayna reasoned, she’d be sharing a meal with his friends and family. What could be wrong with that?

  “Get the mobile, Towanda,” Victoria ordered.

  The housekeeper went scurrying off, and Shayna was left to follow Victoria’s brisk steps to the outside patio.

  Beau and David were in the middle of a heated argument when she joined them.

  “How can I commit to shooting a coffee commercial in three weeks when I can’t even walk?” Beau questioned defensively.

  David, seated on the redwood chair across from Beau, leaned in closer, his freckles prominent. “But that’s exactly it. Drinking coffee doesn’t require standing. Your attorney checked. The scene calls for you and an attractive young woman to be seated around a fireplace at a ski lodge. You’ll be sipping java and gazing into each other’s eyes. If the company tries to weasel their way out of our agreement, arguing that you’re paralyzed, we’d sue their pants off.”