Baby, I'm Back (a Southern Roads short story)

by Stephanie Bond

  Barry set his jaw. Having one of the male physical therapists at Bethesda Naval Hospital work on his stump was one thing, but having Lora Jansen’s hands on him and letting her see him stumble and fall around—no thanks. “I’m only going to be here for a few days.”

  Dr. Salinger studied him until he averted his gaze. When he looked back, she angled her head. “I’ll make you a deal, Seaman Ballantine—I’ll write you the script for the pain meds, if you agree to a one-hour session with our physical therapist before you leave today.”

  Barry pushed his tongue into his cheek—he didn’t like being blackmailed. But he’d been trained to handle torture at the hand of the enemy…he could handle Lora Jansen for one measly hour.

  *****

  “Again,” Lora said.

  Frustration ballooned in Barry’s chest and he made a face.

  She arched an eyebrow. “You have a problem with walking?”

  “No,” he said more vehemently than the situation warranted. “But I’ve walked across the room and back a dozen times.” And he hated that each time she’d studied him as if he were a newly discovered species of animal.

  She lifted a camera. “This time I’m going to record you.”

  “This isn’t like any PT I’ve had,” he grumbled as he once again traversed the floor of the long, narrow room furnished with equipment, sets of stairs, walking corrals, and massage tables.

  “And now back, please.”

  He retraced his steps, feeling irritable and self-conscious. And the more self-conscious he felt, the more he leaned on the cane. “Do you get paid to watch people walk?”

  She lifted her head from the camera. “Sort of. Okay, you can have a seat.” She nodded toward a chair, then hooked up the camera to a television monitor in front of the chair where he sat. The video of him walking came on the screen. She stilled the picture, then picked up an erasable marker, drawing lines and circles on the screen as she talked. “Your alignment is off here and here. See how your hips are tilted?”

  He scowled and rubbed his aching left knee. “Yeah, it’s called walking on an artificial leg.”

  “You’re actually relying way too much on your prosthesis,” she offered. “If you improved your posture and balance with Pilates and weight belts, you could shift your center of gravity back to where it used to be.”

  He chewed on his tongue as anger churned in his stomach…anger at a violent world, anger at the randomness of life. If only he’d stepped right instead of left that day, he’d still be with his unit in Afghanistan, instead of sitting here in la-la land with a slip of a girl who wanted to fix him with yoga. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said through gritted teeth, pushing to his feet. “I think the requisite hour is up.”

  She glanced at her watch and nodded, then used a dry eraser to remove the marks she’d drawn over his figure. She walked to the door with him, then stuck out her hand. “It was nice to see you again, Barry. Good luck.”

  He shook her hand, startled at the bolt of awareness that traveled up his arm at the softness of her fingers wrapped in his. She smiled, flashing those dimples he’d suspected lay in hiding, then extracted her velvety hand. As she walked away from him toward the video equipment, remorse bled through him. Lora Jansen was a sweet woman who, despite having past and present reasons to dislike him, had only offered to help. It wasn’t her fault he was angry at the world, or embarrassed for her to see him like this.

  “Lora.”

  She turned back, her eyebrows raised in question. She was lovely, he thought, naturally pretty with fine-boned features and luminous eyes. Her shapeless white lab coat hid her figure, but after seeing her earlier in wet running clothes, her slender curves were emblazoned on his mind. His pulse pounded as he suddenly realized he was very much looking forward to spending more time with her—that is, if he hadn’t blown it…again.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll be in Sweetness for a few days. If you can work me into your schedule, I might as well try some of the things you suggested.” He shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  She gave him a curt nod, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or another. “Be here tomorrow morning at ten.”

  Chapter Four

  “FIFTY MORE, and more slowly please,” Lora said to Barry, who lay on the floor of the PT room doing jackknife sit-ups.

  He fell back on the floor with a noisy exhale. “What is this, boot camp?” He reached down to massage his left knee, exposed in the gym shorts he wore. His metal prosthesis began just below his knee and ended in a lifelike foot wearing an athletic shoe.

  The pain pinching his face tugged at her heart. “May I?” she offered, gesturing to his knee.

  He looked wary, but nodded.

  As a professional, she was trained to mentally remove herself from the intimate act of touching another person, but with Barry, it took all her concentration. The man was a beautiful specimen of male strength, with long, lean limbs, and a well-muscled torso. Steeling herself against his powerful appeal, Lora knelt to lever her weight over his knee and massaged the flesh with firm, deep pressure. He grimaced.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Are the phantom pains bad?”

  “Better than they were in the beginning,” he said through gritted teeth.

  She cast about for conversation to take his mind—and hers—off his magnificent body. “Do you mind telling me how it happened?” She held her breath because she knew she could be treading on a touchy subject.

  He was quiet for a while, wincing as she coaxed the muscles in his thigh to relax and the nerve endings to stop sending sensations to an absent limb. “Common story,” he finally said with a shrug. “I was on reconnaissance patrol, an IED went off.”

  “That must have been horrifying.”

  He only grunted.

  “Were there other injuries in your unit?”

  She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but after a long silence, he said, “Yeah,” but in a way that let her know the topic was closed.

  She released him and sat back. “Okay, break’s over. Fifty more sit-ups, please. Try to raise both feet at the same time and to the same level.”

  She put him through several series of exercises nonstop. He wasn’t happy about some of the Pilates poses, especially when she made him lean on her to balance, but at the end of the session, he was sweating and tired, and she was satisfied with his effort, if not his progress.

  “Good session today,” she said. “Do you know yet how long you’ll be in Sweetness?” She told herself it had everything to do with wanting to make the most of his PT and nothing to do with the fact that she was enjoying their time together.

  “I’ll know soon. Probably a week or so, then I have to get back to my life.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Not here,” he said with a bite to his voice. “Hopefully somewhere exotic and exciting.”

  He couldn’t have made it more clear that nothing of interest was happening in Sweetness. “You said something about being in town to do a favor for a friend?”

  “That’s right.” But he averted his glance and didn’t offer details.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Porter was good enough to let me stay in the bunkhouse with the workers while I’m here.”

  She nodded, recalling that all the Armstrong brothers had military backgrounds…of course they would extend themselves to a fellow soldier.

  “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, already heading toward the door.

  Lora was accustomed to her patients being happy to see an end their PT appointments, but a small part of her was disappointed that Barry seemed so eager to be out of her company. “Yes, same time tomorrow,” she said.

  But he was already gone.

  *****

  As he closed the door behind him, Barry sagged with fatigue. Frustration crowded his chest—he didn’t like appearing weak in front of Lora and he really didn’t like the push-pull of attraction he was starting to feel for h
er in such a short time. He attributed it to the undercurrent of tension he felt concerning the way he and his friends had treated her when they were younger. There was so much in the news lately about peer pressure and bullying; he’d listened to the reports with a sanctimonious attitude, wondering how kids could be so thoughtless, with zero recollection that he’d done the same thing, and to someone who’d probably grown up to do better things with her life than most of the people who’d teased her.

  She was obviously well thought of in town—that evening he spotted her running down the same road he’d driven in on and everyone she passed waved and honked. And the next morning when he arrived for his appointment, she was in the lobby giving parting instructions to another patient who hung on her every word.

  “Thanks, Ms. Jansen,” the man said, rotating his arm from the shoulder. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”

  “The credit’s all yours, Mr. Pennington,” she returned. “You’ve been faithful to your exercises and put in a lot of hard work.”

  But the man beamed at her. “You’re a godsend, Ms. Jansen.”

  She thanked him and winked. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Barry squashed an unreasonable pang of jealousy and decided he needed to unburden himself before these feelings of guilt tricked his heart into thinking it felt something that wasn’t real. So after Lora had put him through an arduous set of exercises with a weighted vest that forced his shoulders back, he stopped and blurted, “I’m sorry.”

  Lora looked confused. “But you’re doing great.”

  Suddenly this didn’t seem like a good idea. “I meant I’m sorry about…when we were kids.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “The name calling…I’m sorry.”

  A flush climbed her face, and she grew flustered. “It wasn’t your fault…it was just a stupid nickname.”

  “It was mean and I’m sorry.”

  She searched his face, then gave a curt nod. “Apology accepted.” Then she angled her head. “But if you think now I’m going to go easy on you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Relieved at her good humored response, Barry laughed, then waited as the guilt drained away to take with it these confusing sensations were Lora Jansen was concerned.

  A few seconds later, the guilt was gone…but to his dismay, the confusing feelings remained.

  Chapter Five

  A FEW DAYS LATER, the feelings for Lora hadn’t dissipated, but Barry had identified where he’d felt this sensation before—just before a free fall parachute jump over Kandahar.

  “How’s it going, Seaman?”

  Barry looked up from the lunch counter in the diner to see Porter Armstrong standing there.

  Barry smiled and extended his hand. “Fine. The accommodations make me feel right at home, although I have to say, the showers are nicer than what I’m accustomed to.”

  Porter grinned. “I remember…sometimes we got one a week. And the rest of the time—”

  “—a giant baby wipe,” Barry finished, and the men laughed in a moment of camaraderie. Then he sobered. “Listen, Porter…I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I hadn’t planned on spending this much time in Sweetness.”

  Porter looked rueful. “I guess we were hoping you’d decide to stick around.”

  Barry blinked. “In Sweetness? No, sir, I’m going back to the field.”

  Porter raised an eyebrow. “Surely that isn’t possible.”

  “I’m relying less on my cane,” Barry insisted. “I’ll be back up to speed soon.”

  “Thanks to your physical therapy with Lora Jansen?”

  Barry smirked. “I see word still travels fast in this town.”

  “Yes…but if the PT is working, all the more reason to stay.”

  Barry lifted his coffee cup for a drink. “I can continue PT at Bethesda. I’m sure Lora will forward my exercise plan.”

  Porter nodded. “I’m sure she will, but I have it on good authority that Lora might be sad to see you go.”

  Barry choked on his coffee.

  Porter gave him a wry grin. “Nikki—Dr. Salinger—might’ve mentioned that she noticed some chemistry between you two.”

  Barry had heard Porter and Nikki were a couple, had seen them together around town. “Dr. Salinger must’ve been seeing things,” he said casually, “because I have too much on my plate right now to think about…chemistry. And while my SEAL days are over, I’m not ready to leave the Navy.”

  Porter looked dubious, but inclined his head. “I understand you’re eager to get on the road, but we still need more time to make arrangements for the ceremony. How about Friday?”

  Barry tried to hide his frustration. Two more days seemed interminable, but he nodded. “If you don’t mind, though, I’d still like to keep this private.”

  “Sure thing.” Porter clapped him on the shoulder, then said goodbye and walked away.

  With Porter’s comments churning in his brain, Barry paid his bill and pushed to his feet, noting with satisfaction he didn’t need the cane to stand, and recalling with a start that he hadn’t taken a pain pill today—he hadn’t needed to. The realization cheered him immensely.

  Several people spoke as he left the diner—the faces were becoming familiar, and he knew a few names, too. The men in the living facility they called the barracks were a congenial group, and many were ex-military. Everyone had made him feel welcome.

  He borrowed a four-wheeler to explore the town. The area outside the city limits was still in disrepair, but progress was slowly extending to the valleys and ridges where most of the former townspeople had lived. Barry’s family had lived on Clover Ridge, where the Armstrongs and many other families had made their homes before the twister changed the landscape and the trajectory of everyone’s life. But even as nostalgia pulled at him, he was starting to feel confined and itchy from idleness. He needed to re-engage his mind and his body, and he couldn’t do it in Sweetness.

  No matter how tempting Lora Jansen had become.

  He tightened his grip on the handles of the four-wheeler and descended from the ridge slowly in deference to the broken and weed-choked asphalt. About halfway down, a noise caught his attention. He cut the engine, ears piqued. It was the whine of a dog, in distress. Barry’s pulse spiked. He glanced at the rugged terrain, then back to his cane—if he fell, he could injure himself further. But neither could he ignore the animal.

  He pushed to his feet and gingerly picked his way through the tall grass, calling out soothing noises to the dog that was now barking. It took him several minutes to locate the animal, a male German Shepherd mix whose feet were caught in the remnants of a barbed-wire fence. He looked to be around six months old. He was scratched and bloody, but appeared to have no broken bones.

  “How did you get up here, boy?” he murmured to the dog, which attempted a few intimidating barks as Barry drew closer, then submitted to his rescuer, too weak to fight. It took Barry several long moments to free the animal, and he got a few deep scratches of his own for his trouble. He hoped the dog would run away when it was freed because he had no illusions of being able to chase it down. Instead, the dog wobbled over and leaned against his prosthetic leg, turning trusting eyes up to Barry.

  His gut tightened and he wanted to walk away, wanted not to get involved. But the dog clearly needed medical attention. So he leaned down and scooped it up with his right arm and slowly made his way back to the four-wheeler, relying heavily on his cane, but recognizing his overall balance had improved dramatically in just a few days. The dog didn’t put up a fight, waiting patiently while Barry got them both settled on the all-terrain vehicle. He fired up the engine, held the trembling dog against his chest under his coat, and headed back to town.

  He had to get out of Sweetness…the longer he stayed, the more complicated things became.

  Chapter Six

  LORA WAS WALKING out of the clinic with her lab coat folded over her arm when Barry rode up on a four-
wheeler. Her heart cartwheeled at the sight of him, but she schooled her face into a professional smile. Until she saw the blood on his hands and coat.

  She gasped. “You’re hurt.”

  “Not me,” he said, opening his coat. “My friend here was caught in a barb-wire fence. Can you help?”

  At the sight of the scratched and bleeding fur ball, she melted. “How bad is it?”

  “Superficial cuts, but he’s weak.”

  “I can treat him in the utility room of the clinic.” She gathered the whimpering dog in her arms. “Follow me.”

  “Unless you need a hand, I think I’ll take off,” he said.

  She looked up, surprised. “I can handle him, but he’s your dog.”

  He lifted his hands, stop-sign fashion. “He’s not my dog. I found him, and I’m handing him off. See you later.”

  Barry drove away and Lora stared after him, perplexed over his abrupt demeanor. She’d selfishly hoped his unexpected apology over teasing her when they were young would pave the way for them to become friends. Instead as he’d progressed in his physical therapy, he’d withdrawn more personally.

  “Let’s get you patched up,” she murmured to the dog.

  Thankfully, the stray’s wounds required no more than cleaning and a few stitches. The poor thing was dehydrated and malnourished, so she fed him and gave him water, then took his picture and printed flyers for Dog Found and posted them all over town. Even though Sweetness was off the beaten path, it wasn’t unheard of for stray animals to be dropped off along the state road leading to the town and somehow finding their way to civilization. Until she found an owner, she received permission to keep the dog in her room at the boardinghouse.

  The next morning at Barry’s PT session, he was more pensive than normal. In fact, his overall mood seemed antsy and distracted.

  “How is your pain level?” Lora probed.