by J. L. Salter
The boy eyed him carefully. “Ain’t you th’ one that tole me never git sick?”
“Yeah, that was me. Why?”
“Well, yer girlfriend got sick. Cain’t walk.”
“Paralyzed?” Jason banged more urgently on the door. “Amanda! Let me in!”
The yodeling stopped next door. A few moments later, Mrs. Yodel appeared beside him. “Last week you couldn’t get away, and now you can’t get back in?” Even in ordinary conversation, her pitch repeatedly changed between two distinct vocal registers. The obsessive woman couldn’t stop yodeling!
Other residents of the nearby duplexes began to congregate and soon, a car stopped on the shoulder of Melrose and the driver got out, just to see what was going on. Perhaps he thought it was a murder scene.
Jason knocked again. “Amanda, I need to see you. If you won’t let me in, I’ll just sit here on your doorstep and wait.”
Still no reply, but the curtain moved again. Members of the crowd peered over each other’s shoulders and murmured their predictions.
“We need to talk.” Loudly. Then, in scarcely more than a whisper, “Uh, I need to be inside, away from all these people.” He was getting jittery with the assembled crowd. Jason had seen a B-movie where such a crowd suddenly tore into a man who’d been trying to get through someone’s door.
“Amanda, please!”
The door latch clicked.
The crowd gasped.
Jason waited apprehensively, his hand craving to turn the doorknob.
Just when Jason thought someone might scream — and it might be him — the door opened about three inches. A bronzed security chain stretched across the expanse at roughly eye level.
Amanda looked awful, but she was standing. Maybe not paralyzed after all.
“Can I come inside?” Very plaintive.
Her sigh was so heavy, likely the entire crowd heard it, except for the old man with double hearing aids. The portal closed, the chain made a scraping sound, and the door slowly opened… a bit less than halfway.
Several in the crowd clapped.
Amanda reached her arm through the doorway and waved, obviously with no enthusiasm. From the scattered and muted cheers, she might have been a semi-popular crown princess waving from the palace balcony.
She hobbled to the side and Jason was able to enter.
Amanda closed the door and hissed, “I only let you in to avoid any further embarrassment with my neighbors.”
Yikes. Jason had expected a warm welcome. He’d hurried to aid and comfort the woman he loved and she acted like he was selling cemetery plots in a swamp.
Amanda wasn’t buying. She looked out the window and saw the crowd had not yet dispersed. Perhaps some expected to see Jason come flying back out. “You might as well sit for a minute, until that gaggle breaks up out there.”
Jason tried to imagine how to ask why she was so hostile, without making her even more so. Since he couldn’t formulate the words for that question, he shifted to a statement. “My mom just told me about your wreck. I didn’t know, or I would have come by sooner.”
“Why?”
“Uh, so I could help out and stuff.”
“I left you a phone message and an e-mail. You didn’t return either. What have we got to talk about now?”
Jason stammered a bit. “I thought maybe we could put our fight on hold until you get over your injuries. By the way, you don’t look nearly as beat up as my mom seemed to think.”
“I guess that’s a left-handed compliment of sorts.” Amanda hobbled over to the couch and let herself down with considerable effort.
“What’s wrong with your back?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“How come you’re all hunched over?” He squinted to aid his own diagnosis.
“Crutches are too short.”
“I can adjust them.” Jason quickly examined the bolts on the crutches: standard slot on one end and very tight wing nut on the other. “Have you got a screwdriver?”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe next to the silverware drawer.”
He found it on the fourth try and returned. “Stand up again and let me see how far off they are.”
———
Amanda assessed Jason like he was a total stranger. She’d had no idea her ex-boyfriend was handy. She stood and held the crutch under her arm. The well-used pad lined up roughly with the middle of the side of her breast.
About four inches too short. Jason examined the holes. “Four ought to do it.” He removed the carriage bolts and slid the foot piece down four holes. Then he reinserted the bolts and threaded the wing nuts. He did the same with the other crutch. “I won’t make them as tight as before in case we need to adjust them again.”
He said we. Hmm. “Uh, thanks.” There was a long pause while she studied him further. “Jason, what are you doing here?”
“Helping you.”
“I don’t need help.”
“Yes, you do.” He nodded as though he thought it might convince her.
“What can you do to help me?”
“Bring you stuff. Drive you places. I can even heat things up.” He paused briefly. “Plus, I can straighten up and clean.”
“Ha!” It came out with more emphasis than she’d intended. “How is it you think you can clean up now, when you were a certified slob in here for ten solid days?”
“Because you need me now.”
“I needed you before, but I just needed you to be somewhere else.”
“Well, now I’m here again, but it’s for a pacific reason.” Yet another word Jason mangled. “It’ll be completely different.” He nodded. “Now, you’re the patient.”
“And you’re going to take care of me?”
He just smiled. It might have been sincere, but it also looked the slightest bit dopey.
Who is this guy? And what did he do with Jason? “Whatever.”
Jason looked around the living space and raised his hand toward the ceiling. “I see they’ve already fixed your TV and air conditioner.”
She wondered how much to reveal. “Uh, I’m not sure how to say this, but all that was lies.”
“What about the panther sitting on my chest?”
Amanda thought for a second. Sometimes when a person comes clean, it clears the slate and everybody feels better. But occasionally the truth is so fantastic that it’s better to perpetuate the legend. “Vivid dreaming, like I told you.” She hoped Diabla didn’t reappear while Jason was around.
He didn’t seem convinced about the panther hair, but Jason dropped that part of his inquiry. “Well, I’ve read some of that blog, so I know everything else was rigged to run me off.”
“Then why are you back?”
“Because you need me even if you don’t realize it yet.”
There wasn’t much point to this nearly circular conversation, so they simply agreed to be in the same space together through the weekend. It was a truce of sorts: Amanda would allow Jason to stay and help, but she refused to appreciate it.
Responding to his earlier question, Amanda revealed the correct diagnoses of her injuries. It lacked all the hyperbole attached by Margaret. She could imagine wise mothers might add fibs to their exaggerations.
“If your toes are fractured,” Jason pointed, “how can you sleep under the covers?”
“I can’t. I’ve just slept here on the couch with my foot sticking out from under a sheet. Can’t have anything touching my toes at all.”
“I can fix that. Have you got any big boxes? Sturdy cardboard?”
“Lots of boxes in the guestroom.”
“True, I even fell over some. Forgot.” He rose from the couch. “Okay if I empty one and modify it a bit?”
“Uh, yeah. One near the door is big and sturdy. Just has a couple of enormous comforters inside. You can stack those somewhere on the junk pile.”
“You mind if I cut up that box?”
Amanda shrugged and sighed.
He found a bread knife after checking tw
o kitchen drawers and then disappeared down the hall. Amanda could hear grunting, sawing, and even “Ouch, dang it!” once or twice. About twenty minutes later, wiping sweat from his eyes, Jason appeared and beckoned her to come look.
She moved much more gracefully on her adjusted crutches and made the distance in record time. In her room, the foot of her bed looked like a small lean-to. The sheet and spread were draped over the box, which was cut away at the bottom, with a tail hanging over the edge of the mattress. Large notches steadied it to the footboard. The sides had enough of a corner remaining for extra support, but still provided an opening of over three feet in width.
“This should give you some maneuvering room. This way, your toes don’t have to touch the covers but you can still lie in your own bed.”
Amanda was briefly speechless. “Why are you doing this?” She was still searching for motive.
“I want to help. If I had fractured toes, I’d want somebody to build me a foot box to keep the covers off.”
“I’ve never even heard of a foot box.” She pulled back the covers a bit and peered inside.
“Well, maybe it doesn’t have a name. But it’s a box and it protects your foot.”
His logic was undeniable; his project was clever and practical. And he’d done it without being asked. Who is this man?
“Are you ready for bed now? Or do you plan to sit up a while and watch TV?”
“Why?” She was quite logically suspicious.
“Just wanted to know if you need me to clear off that footstool in the living room so you can prop up your leg. Or, if you’re going to bed now, I can see how the foot box works.”
“It’s just now about 8:00. I think I’ll stay up a few more minutes.”
“Okay, I’ll go clear things up in the TV area.” Then, from down the hall, “You want anything to eat or drink?”
“Uh, maybe a cup of juice would be nice. But you don’t have to…”
“No problem. I’m here at the fridge anyway.” He’d evidently spotted the beers from the black bag and, with noisy clanking, placed them in the refrigerator again.
Jason was a whirlwind of helpfulness. Once Amanda was situated in front of the television, Jason also sat on the couch and handed her the remote control. Wow. She’d never before touched the remote while he was in the room.
“I’ve been catching up on some movies I haven’t seen in a while.” Amanda looked over at him. “That work for you?”
“Sure. Movies. Whatever. Maybe I’ll check e-mail or something. Or read.”
Did he say read? “That laptop’s borrowed from Christine. Mine’s still behind the seat in my vehicle, I think. We presume it’s busted. I don’t know if I have anything here you’d be interested in reading. Maybe a trashy novel or two. Some magazines.” She pointed toward the small end table with a decorative rail surrounding its small lower shelf.
Jason selected the trashy novel on top. He spent more time on the cover than the text. He did actually start reading it, but soon he was watching the movie instead. It was a standard chick flick without a single car crash or chase scene. No guns blazing, either.
At first Amanda figured he was just pretending to be interested, but when he began asking questions about why Mr. X was so mean to Miss Y and why the bank was foreclosing Miss Y’s mortgage, she knew Jason was actually watching the film. Extraordinary. Also aggravating, of course — because his questions ruined her own viewing experience.
———
Jason continued to monitor his patient and by about 10:00 p.m. she was obviously sleepy. He helped Amanda to her room and waited outside the doorway while she changed clothes, brushed her teeth, and used the bathroom. When she got into bed, Jason was present to witness the foot box in use. He smiled with the satisfaction of an inventor and then turned out her light. “Good night, Amanda.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks, Jason.” It sounded like the words stuck in her throat a bit.
Jason watched television for just over half an hour. His thirty good channels probably averaged about 45 seconds apiece.
Later, he got ready for bed; with no extra change of clothing, he just stripped down to his shorts and tee-shirt. On his way to the guestroom, he grabbed the trashy novel and read for about fifteen minutes before he dropped off.
Chapter 21
August 22 (Saturday)
Jason was up and moving before Amanda emerged from her closed bedroom. Though he couldn’t know for certain, he assumed she was awake and likely reading in bed. He figured Amanda would prefer some distance between them, since she hadn’t even wanted him inside her apartment the previous evening.
Amanda needed assistance, but Jason realized she was too proud to accept. So he decided to treat her like a patient instead of a girlfriend. He was determined to help even if it killed her. But how? The only logical possibilities were inside the apartment, the place he felt least adept. So, he took a deep psychic breath and decided he’d defy all odds and try to wash dishes and clothes… maybe even attempt to cook.
He looked over the sorted food items still arrayed on the table. The plastic coffee container was easy enough to locate, but he didn’t see any filters. Jason wondered if Kleenex would work and cautiously tested a sample under a steady drip from the tap. Nope. Won’t hold up. Maybe a paper towel. Experiment successful.
He lined the coffeemaker basket with two paper towels — better to be double-safe than sorry — and dumped in coffee until the basket was half-full. Looks about right. He filled the carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir. Switch on.
While the coffee machine sputtered, Jason looked for bread. Hmm. Just three slices: two heels and a squashed inside piece. The date stamp indicated it was already old. Gingerly removing them, he examined each slice as though he were chief bread inspector at the Verdeville Bakery. With his thumbnail, he scraped two green spots off the crust of the inside slice. Otherwise all seemed okay — a little stiff, but they still smelled like bread rather than penicillin. Into the toaster oven.
He figured he wouldn’t begin looking for eggs until Amanda emerged from her bedroom.
In the meantime, hot water began spewing out over the top of the basket. Weird. He quickly pulled it out part-way. It wasn’t filtering; hot water just collected in the basket until it spilled over the edges. Action required! He searched in the utensil drawer for a sharp implement. Ice pick… perfect! Slid the basket back out and stabbed the bottom several times. Near-scalding water splashed over his hands and fingers. Ow!
Slowly, the water began to drain. Of course, that also let a quantity of grounds slip through. Creative science often includes compromises.
While he was solving the thick-filter problem, the toast began burning. Before he could deal with the toaster, rising smoke activated the ceiling detector and a terrible piercing beep commenced. Fortunately, he put down the ice pick before he covered his ears.
Find stepstool! Hall closet.
Anyone who’s ever silenced a smoke detector knows two hands are needed to cover the ears and both are also required to disable the alarm. Since few humans come equipped with four hands, fundamental decisions must be made. First logical choice was to cover one ear and use one free hand to rip out the battery. Nope. Battery connection harnesses are manufacturer-certified to require two dexterous hands to remove them. Sacrifice both ears!
Amanda had begun moving down the hall on the alarm’s first painful shrieks. Now she tried to whack the detector device with the foot of her left crutch, since her injured right wrist helped steady her stance. All she actually accomplished was to bludgeon Jason’s knuckles, but she apparently felt the need to remain involved.
It was no use yelling at her to stop whacking, because neither of them could hear anything but the piercing alarm. Jason finally wrestled the battery out of the detector and then slumped down onto the stepstool. Amanda kept her crutch poised in case the device reactivated itself.
Jason rubbed his ears and moaned softly. Then he massaged his bruised knu
ckles, realigned his karma, and nonchalantly greeted the patient. “Morning. Coffee coming right up.” Alarm? What alarm?
———
Amanda took stock of the kitchen. Three pieces of burned toast and a puddle of brackish hot water around the brewing machine. Small streams of coffee already dripped over the edge of the counter to the floor.
Noticing her look of horror, Jason got up slowly. He tossed some paper towels to the floor and tamped them with his foot. Then he did the same on the counter with his hands. “Have a seat and I’ll bring it over.” After trying several cabinets, he located two cups and began pouring coffee.
Amanda couldn’t see his activity because he faced the other direction, but she heard paper tearing a few times and a spoon stirring noisily.
Jason brought Amanda’s cup to the couch where she’d just gotten settled. “It might be a little dark.”
He was modest; it was triple strength. When Amanda took a sip, it drew in her cheeks. She made the kahh noise twice.
“Oh, and I already sweetened it.”
“How much sweet did you put in?”
Jason had to close his eyes to remember. “Two of the yellow packets.”
That’s enough to sweeten the entire pot! But she didn’t say anything. Amanda took another sip. Kahh! “I might need to add a skosh of water in mine, to take the edge off a bit.”
“Want me to do it?”
“No, thanks. But would you mind getting my left slipper from the bedroom? My bare foot’s in a draft.”
“Sure. Where?”
“Probably my closet.”
Jason went to her bedroom suite to search for the solo slipper.
While he was gone, Amanda poured her coffee into the soil of the potted plant near the television. The rising steam looked a bit like a gauzy mushroom cloud from a miniature atomic bomb. She left one sip of liquid in the cup, along with about half an ounce of grounds which had escaped filtration.
Jason actually produced the right-foot slipper, but its broad-toe design would also accommodate her other foot. It just looked odd — like she was about to turn a corner. “Thanks.”
