Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3)

by Grider, J. P.

  "It won't be too long. A month tops. Coach wants me a hundred percent before I come back. Besides, I heal quickly, I bet I'm back in two weeks."

  "Don't rush it, Benny. Just get better."

  A tall pretty woman walks toward us. "Ben Falco?" she asks, holding out her hand in greeting. "I'm Lisa." I grab one of my crutches with my right hand and pull myself up to shake her hand. By the time I get up, she's already shaken my mother's hand and turns back to shake mine. Maybe I should have just greeted her with a handshake before getting up, but the number one rule in our household is respect, and standing up to greet someone shows the other person that he or she is worth your effort. But I'm telling you...it takes a lot of effort these days to do anything having my left leg in a locked knee brace. I'm told they'll unlock it next week, but still, currently, it's a pain in the ass.

  As we walk to my room, my duffel strategically hanging from my four fingers as I grip the crutch handle, Lisa points out several of the treatment rooms, which look exactly like the gym at school. The workout equipment is almost identical, save for a few of the pieces. Like the metal parallel bars meant for retraining the newly walking, an apparatus I'm sure I'll be making use of soon.

  "Okay, Ben, this is your room," Lisa says of the small room that houses two twin hospital beds. "That other bed there by the window is your roommate Johnny's. He's an eighteen-year-old high school senior. Not in the greatest of situations, but I think the two of you will get along well. We do try to pair roommates of similar age when we can. To make your stay a little more pleasant."

  I toss my bag on the empty bed closest to the bathroom, lay my crutches next to the bed and sit. "Thank you," I say to Lisa and look at my mom. "I guess you can go."

  "Already?" My mother asks, turning to Lisa for confirmation.

  With my mother's head turned away from me, I shake my head, pleading with Lisa to tell my mother she has to go.

  Lisa’s mouth strains not to smile conspiratorially as she says, "Well, Mrs. Falco, it'd be best to start Ben on his rehabilitation immediately, but you're welcome to visit during the week."

  I sigh, because, knowing my mother, she'll be here every day now. Lisa's right hand turns up as if to say, "Hey, just doing my job."

  "Okay, Benny. I guess I’ll get going. Daddy and I will come back tomorrow to see you." My mother leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  "Ma, you can wait a week, really. It'll be okay. Just like college. Why take the ride again so soon?"

  I look at my mother's pained face.

  "Ma. It's just like I'm away at school. You don't get sad when I leave for school. What's up?"

  "I don't like seeing you in this hospital." Both her arms are waving in the air as she speaks.

  "It's not a hospital, Ma. It's like a gym. You know how much I like the gym. I'm training. I like it here already," I lie. "Please don't worry about me, Ma."

  "Mrs. Falco, for many, this center is like a vacation. Ben will be very happy here, I can assure you."

  Thankfully, Lisa's reassurance puts a worry-free smile on my mother's face. "Okay." She leans down and kisses me goodbye again. "Love you, Benny-boy."

  "Love you too, Ma." A whole bunch.

  ***

  After my mother leaves and Lisa goes over my itinerary for the next three days, I'm introduced to my physical therapist, Craig. A redheaded muscle-bound guy of about thirty, who demands that I sit in a wheelchair to give my good leg a rest.

  "But I don't want someone rolling me around," I tell him. "I'm fine with my crutches."

  "I get that, Falco, but it's important to keep up your strength for therapy. You'll have time on both your legs, don't you worry about that."

  "If you insist," I say, none too happy.

  "I insist. And I can call you Falco, right?"

  "Yeah. Everybody does."

  "Had a feeling. Anyway, since it's late in the day, we're not going to be doing too much with your leg. We like to keep therapy for earlier in the day, but I do want to show you around and introduce you to your nighttime nurse. Her name's Katrina, you can call her Kat, she's in her forties somewhere, but she's super cool. You'll like her."

  "Okay."

  Craig wheels me down the hall and I feel like an old man. This sucks. "Yo, you think you can show me how to work this thing on my own?" I ask him halfway down the corridor. "It can't be too hard, can it?"

  Craig laughs. "No. It's not hard at all. This is one of the old-fashioned ones. We leave the state-of-the-art stuff for the people who have to sit in their chairs twenty-four hours a day. Just put your hands on this wheel and roll. Hope you’re not afraid of using your arm muscles."

  "Nope." I palm the huge rims to either side of me and roll myself down the hall.

  "This here is where you'll hang out," he says of the large bright room filled with tables and chairs, leather couches, and several flat screen TVs hanging along the walls. "You can eat your dinner in here each night, or you can stay in your room. You can even ask Kat to have your dinner brought in here so you don't have to carry it yourself. Or...you can just roll it down on your lap."

  "Why? I'm not gonna be in this thing every day, am I?"

  "No. But at night, for the first week or so, I'd like you to. We're going to be working hard. You'll be beat by the end of the day. No lie, I bet you'll be begging for this thing by tomorrow night."

  "Let's hope not," I say in jest.

  "Anyway, I'll introduce you to Kat when she's done with her other patient over there. You hungry, you want a snack or something?"

  "Nah, I'm good."

  "Well the fridge is right there." He points to the double-doored stainless steel monstrosity. "There's ice-cream, soda, fruit, whatever you want, just get it."

  "So which one's Kat?" I ask, spotting several people in scrubs.

  Craig juts his chin in the direction of a dark-haired woman talking to a sullen girl with long hair the color of the red clay pitching mound I can't wait to get back on. "She won't be with her patient long. The girl doesn't talk."

  "At all?" I ask, whipping my head around to look up at Craig.

  He shakes his head. "Not since she's been here. She came in like that."

  "So she's mute?"

  "Yup. Probably selective. Word around here is that she has the ability to speak; she just won't."

  I take a better look at the girl, from her head to her wheelchair...which is one of those state-of-the-art chairs Craig was talking about. "And she's stuck in that chair all the time?"

  The moment I ask, her nurse, my nurse, pulls her away from the table and turns her so she's able to look at the TV screen. I draw in an audible breath.

  But the nurse quickly gets in the way of my sight of the girl.

  "Here comes Kat," Craig says. "Kat, this here is one of your new patients."

  "Ah. The ball player. Ben, right?"

  "Yes." I look up at my nurse, this time remaining seated while I hold out my hand to greet her.

  "Call him Falco," Craig instructs. "Everyone does."

  Letting out a tight laugh, I tell her, "You can call me Ben as well. Either works."

  "Okay. Ben it is. I'll leave Falco for Craig here."

  "So, Ben, did Craig give you the low-down on the fridge and the wi-fi password and..."

  I don't hear the rest of what Kat is saying. I can't. Because my mind and my eyes are focused on the girl who doesn't talk.

  3

  ROSE

  He's staring at me too.

  They all stare.

  That's all they'll ever do.

  Stare.

  I'm nothing but a freak show for prying eyes.

  Like I do all the time now, to avoid the stares, I find a point on a wall in the distance and slip back into a time when I was a complete person. A dancer on her way to her future.

  Three months ago, my life was perfect.

  "Oh my gosh, Mom, I can't believe I'm here. I can't believe I'm living in New York City on my own." I am just so darn excited to be living i
n Manhattan for the summer and dancing in a Broadway show. How awesome is that?

  "It's a dream come true, baby. I'm so happy for you. But I'm going to miss you." My mother squeezes me outside my new apartment door. "My baby girl is growing up."

  I pull away and grab the key that I picked up from the show's production assistant. Unlocking the old doorknob, my hand shakes. I've lived in a dorm before, but never something like this. Never a real apartment...in New York City. If Holly could see me now. Which reminds me, I have to call Holly soon. I promised her.

  My first impression of the dark and dank stairwell is not good, but when I open the door to the apartment, it is worse. Until a smiling blond girl peeks out from behind a wooden tri-fold screen. "Rose?" she exclaims, with her hands reaching out as if she wants to hug me.

  "Jordan?"

  She screams and runs toward me. "Are you as excited as I am?" she asks, wrapping her thin arms around my shoulders.

  "Oh yes. If you're thinking, 'pinch me, I must be dreaming,' then I am as excited as you are." I pull away to look at her. Then I look around the room. "This is the whole apartment?"

  She laughs. "Yup." Jordan looks at my mother, whose skin looks almost green.

  "Mom. It's okay," I tell her, knowing what she must be thinking of the crummy apartment. "We're not even going to be spending much time here."

  "It's true," Jordan says with a smile. "We're going to be daaannnnciiinnngg." She does two consecutive twirls when she says the word dancing. Jordan makes this apartment worth it. I can tell we are going to get along great. "Look," she says, calling me over with a finger. "Toilet." She points to a toilet behind that tri-fold screen. "That's where we pee."

  My mom groans, but I chuckle. I am so excited that nothing could bring me down now.

  "I'm going to run out and get you some groceries, hon. You and Jordan get acquainted." My mother kisses me on the cheek. "Just, if you leave the apartment, please text me, so I can let you know when I'm headed back with the food."

  "Thanks, Mom."

  "Do you need anything, Jordan?"

  "No, I'm good, Mrs?"

  "Duncan. But you can call me Sam."

  "Thank you, Sam, but I'm good."

  "Okay. Be back in a bit," my mother says, skewing her face when she touches the upstairs doorknob. "I'll get you all some anti-bacterial wipes too."

  Jordan laughs. "The place is creepy, but isn't it exciting? Have you ever danced on Broadway before?"

  "No. Never. I can't even believe I was asked. I'm in Heaven."

  "Rose."

  I'm in Heaven.

  "Rose."

  My apartment's slipping away.

  "Rose."

  I blink my eyes a few times and notice I am now in my room. The room at the rehab center.

  "Rose," I hear Kat call out. "Rose, snap out of it. Come on, sweetheart."

  I refocus my eyes and see Kat sitting on the edge of my bed right in front of me.

  "We gotta get you ready for bed, honey. If you want my help, then we have to do it now."

  I don't want her help.

  And I don't want to do it myself.

  I just...

  Don't want to be...right now.

  She reaches for me under the arm and helps me to my bed, where I sit. I avoid looking down, because that's when my chest hurts the most. "Come on, honey, there's nothing wrong with your arms. I know you can change your own shirt. So let's do it." She tosses my nightgown next to me on the bed.

  I ignore her, like I always do. Like I ignore anyone who gives me instructions to do something. I've only been in this rehab center a week, but I know I've already disappointed everyone who's tried to help me. Just like I disappointed the whole staff at the hospital in Manhattan for the last three months. Well, in my defense, I was only conscious through one of those months. What I did prior to that I had no control over. Though, I'm not completely convinced I have all that much control right now. I mean, I feel bad that I just disregard everyone. I don't want to be disrespectful. But my brain won't let me obey. All the doctors say there is nothing wrong with my brain. There was no brain injury due to the accident, and the only reason I was unconscious for two months was because they put me in an induced coma...to help the healing process of the multitude of internal injuries I'd sustained.

  But every time I intend to do something for myself, or attempt to speak, I can't. Something holds me back.

  I take a deep breath, but that is all I do. So, Kat pulls up on my shirt, lifts my reluctant arms one at a time to free them from the sleeves, and tugs the shirt over my head. Then Kat proceeds to pull the nightgown over my head, not fussing with my bra at all. The morning nurse will wash me in the morning, so Kat will let her worry about that. "Do you want to sleep in your sweatpants, or do you want me to pull them off?" She asks me this every night, and every night I don't answer. I prefer my sweats on, and I think she knows that, so she keeps them on and lets the morning nurse deal with changing my pants and panties the next morning. For that process, I close my eyes and try to slip into my past again, because I just can't bring myself to look at my legs.

  Not when one of them is missing below the knee.

  4

  BEN

  "Ben Falco?"

  I wake to the sound of a new voice. A female voice. Groggily, I say, "Yes?"

  "Hi. I'm Lourdes, your morning nurse. But you can call me Lou."

  "Lou...Right...Hi. I'm Ben, but you know that already." I shift in my bed to sit up.

  She smiles, but doesn't laugh. "Okay, let's get you out of bed and ready for therapy. Do you need help showering?"

  I shake my head vigorously, willing myself to wake up fully. "No. No. I'm fine by myself. Unless, you can help me wrap up my brace, maybe." I pause to stretch my arms. "The material beneath it shouldn't get wet, and well, I have done it myself, but I guess I don’t do it correctly, because it still kinda gets wet."

  "Sure. I can do that. I'll be right back."

  I take a breath, push myself up against the headboard, and look to see if Johnny is in bed. He's not, he must be in therapy already. I wonder if Lou came in and helped him first, or if he has another nurse who comes in and helps him. I hate needing someone else's help. At least for me, though, it's temporary. That poor girl in the wheelchair yesterday will probably need someone's help for the rest of her life. She's missing a leg. She had pants on, so I couldn't tell if she was missing her whole leg or just half of it. Being that she is so thin, it was hard to see if a thigh was beneath her pants. But there was no mistaking that her leg was gone. The way her black sweats flattened as they fell down the front of the chair, and the lack of a foot on the foot rest, definitely implied she was missing a leg. I wonder if she'll ever walk again. They have prosthetics for that, don't they? I recall reading about a young baseball player who had both legs amputated. Maybe life won't be so hard for her.

  But I bet she's dying inside right now.

  I bet that's why she doesn't talk.

  She probably sees no hope for her future.

  But there is hope.

  There's always hope.

  Isn't there?

  Lou walks back in my room carrying a huge roll of cling wrap.

  "Hey," I say, "I have a roll like that back home. Used it to wrap up my brother's car on April Fools' Day."

  "Nice. I'll have to remember that," the thirty-something-year-old lady says. "Was he pissed?"

  "At first. It made him late for work." I chuckle, remembering his fuming face. "But he gives as good as he gets, so—" I lift a shoulder "—he got what was coming."

  "Brothers. I got one of them too. How many you got?"

  "One. And a sister. Both older."

  "Ah. So you're the baby?"

  "Eh. Guess so."

  She laughs. "Okay, why don't we get you wrapped up? Craig's gonna be calling for you soon."

  Lou quickly winds the clear wrap around my leg, starting at the top and ending beneath the brace at my lower shin. Then she snuggly tucks it in, f
inishing it off with a piece of duct tape.

  "And here I thought you had some professional wrap or something," I joke.

  "We do. Saran wrap and duct tape work better. You're pretty friendly for an injured teenage athlete."

  "Teenage?" I feign offense. "I'm twenty-one. Legal."

  She shakes her head. "Get in the shower, old man. Pull on the string if you need me."

  Showering isn't too difficult for me, since there is a support bar running the entire width of the stall, so it takes five minutes and I'm done. I get dressed in my room and hobble over to the window to look outside. The guys are probably playing Fall Ball right now, and I'm jealous. I want to be out there. Soon enough. Soon enough, I tell myself.

  "Look at you all ready," Lou says from the doorway.

  I turn around and smile. "Not bad for a gimp, huh?" And then I immediately regret using that word.

  "You know, kid, you're luckier than most here. You're injury's gonna heal soon. Some of these kids...not so much."

  I nod. "Like that redhead," I mumble to myself.

  "You've seen Rose?"

  "Rose?" Is that her name? It's perfect for her.

  "She's the only redhead here who's a patient. And I don't think you mean Craig?"

  I shake my head. "No. I don't mean Craig. Can I ask what happened, or is that breaking some kind of confidentiality thing?"

  "Well, yes, there are confidentiality rules, but I can say that losing a leg at that age is extremely difficult to deal with."

  "Yeah." I have to stop feeling sorry for myself. I have to. The damage to my knee was done by falling and twisting it during a game. And it's been repaired. Poor Rose. She'll never get her leg back.

  "Well, kid. You ready? Craig's waiting for you."

  "Ready as I'll ever be."

  ***

  During therapy, Craig unlocks my brace and allows me to do some exercises, which involve bending my knee. Simple exercises that I'd have scoffed at before my injury are fucking hard. All I'm doing is lifting my leg and bringing it down. Or bending it slightly and raising it. Holy shit, what a difference a month makes. Last month I was bending my knee up to my chest every time I pitched a ball, now I can't even bend it a few inches.