For the Love of Raindrops

by Beth Michele

“Not a chance.” He combs his fingers through my hair, sweeping it out of my face. “I leave when you leave.”

  IT’S BEEN FOUR days since Evie woke up, and they are finally letting her out of this place. The doctors insist she take it easy for the next few weeks, and I’m going to make sure my stubborn girl listens.

  I’m feeling a bit more like myself now. While I didn’t obey Evie’s command to go home, I did manage to clean myself up with a wash and a shave, so at least I’m tolerable now.

  Evie twists her fingers in my shirt, dragging my lips down to hers for a kiss. “I can’t wait to get home, to my own bed,” she whispers against my mouth.

  “I foresee a lot of sleepovers in your future,” I tease, and she moans when I give her bottom lip a tug, the sound sending a hum of pleasure straight below my waist. “Okay, my seductress, let’s go.” I sling the only bag we have over my shoulder and push the wheelchair closer to the bed, locking the brake. “Oh, and don’t argue with me about the chair,” I add, when she gives me her best pouty face. “Carol insisted I wheel you out.” I reach out a hand to help her, but she bats it away.

  “Fine, but I can do it myself.” A proud smile radiates from her face, and I back up. She places one hand on the arm of the wheelchair for support, but as she attempts to stand, her legs give out and she falls to the ground. I rush over, crouching down beside her.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” I ask, looking her over from head to toe.

  “I don’t know. I can’t stand up. I don’t understand. What’s wrong with my legs?” She glances up at me, her blue eyes wide and filled with panic. “What could it be?”

  “I don’t know. Let me help you up and I’m going to get the nurse.” My pulse beats like a drum against my neck. A panic of my own is brewing, but I shove it away. I need to be tough for Evie.

  I pick her up in my arms and lay her back down on the bed. Gently, I touch her right leg, giving it a soft squeeze. “Does this hurt?”

  “No,” she shakes her head, “it feels prickly, like it’s asleep almost.”

  “Okay,” I stare down at her legs, “that’s good.” I think. I have no fucking idea what I’m talking about. I do remember the doctor saying something about symptoms that could pop up, but I don’t recall anything like this. Shit.

  The doctor and nurse come in, needing to examine Evie. As usual, I’m asked to step out.

  “I’ll be right outside,” I tell her, brushing a kiss to her forehead. She smiles back at me, but I can tell it’s forced. I know she’s terrified. I can see it in her eyes.

  For the second time in nearly two weeks, I’m pacing this same floor again. I jam my fingers into my temples and bite my lip so hard I practically tear the skin. The lack of control I’ve had since this whole thing began is eating away at me. I want to swing my fist at something, maybe beat it against the wall until it’s bloody. At least I’d know the outcome.

  When the doctor approaches me, I attack him with questions and he holds his hands up in an effort to slow me down.

  “Mr. Reid.” The way he says my name sounds condescending and I instantly become defensive. “We don’t know anything yet. Evie has said that she has some feeling in her legs, but when I stood her up and had her try to walk with me, she collapsed. Yet, this past week she’s been up on her feet, albeit for short periods of time. Her only complaint was that she felt a bit weak.”

  He scratches the back of his neck and frowns as if this confuses him. But he’s supposed to know what the hell is going on. He’s the doctor. “We’re going to run some additional scans. The nurse is going to take her down now.” He walks away and I guess that’s the end of our discussion.

  I paste on a smile and trudge back in the room. “Hey.” I find the familiar spot on the bed next to Evie and dip down until I catch her eyes. “So they’re going to do some tests, and figure this shit out, okay? Then we’re getting the hell out of here and going home.”

  “Yeah.” She nods, then drifts away from my gaze. Lightly, I grasp her chin and bring her back to me.

  “I love you.”

  Another nod. “I know.”

  Carol comes back in and helps her into the wheelchair. “She won’t be long.” I reach out for Evie’s hand and she squeezes it, not wanting to let go.

  “Dills? I’m scared.” Her beautiful blue eyes fill with water and my heart cracks… again. When it comes to Evie, I always want to be the fixer. And right now, it’s as if my hands are tied behind my back.

  “I know. Me too,” I admit, and after the words slip out I realize I need to be the strong one here. “You’re going to be fine,” I assure her, and she tries her hardest to shoot me a half-smile. I mouth the words I love you as Carol wheels her away and then I sink to my knees and run my palms over my face, clinging to hope that that’s true.

  “WE GOT THE results of the scans back,” the doctor tells us, leaning forward on his desk. “And I’ll be honest with you,” he rubs his chin, “we’re not seeing anything on the scans that tells us why this is happening. Typically, when this occurs, we are able to detect it on the scan, and it would happen fairly soon after the injury is sustained.” He steeples his fingers in front of him, elbows upright, dark glasses low on his nose. “We’re going to do further testing, but in the meantime, we are going to treat it like….”

  Evie and I are sitting side-by-side, my hand holding onto hers as he continues to talk, spewing phrases like ‘possible nerve damage,’ ‘physical therapy,’ ‘leg braces,’ and ‘temporary or partial paralysis.’

  I can no longer hear him, though. I brave through the noise in my head, the explosive racing of my heart, and focus on Evie. I watch her stare at the doctor with a blank expression. The only sign that tells me she’s listening is the trail of tears streaming down her cheeks, the subtle tightening of her hand around mine.

  “Each case is different, and it is possible to have the sensation in your legs as you do, but not be able to control movement. The sooner we get your muscles working, though, the better your chances of recovery… even though there are no guarantees. In more severe cases, we typically have patients transfer to in-patient rehabilitation, but you have the option to remain at home as long as the appropriate accommodations are made.”

  He removes his glasses and sets them on the desk. “I want you to be aware that you may experience joint pains, pain in your neck as well as your back, and that’s something we need to know about immediately. Also, since you still have the ability to sense when your bladder is full, we’re going to provide you with self-catheters for home. It might be a good idea to use them, at least in the beginning, so you don’t have to lean forward and put pressure on your bladder. The nurse will show you exactly how to use them before you leave the hospital.

  “Okay,” he stands and slips his glasses back in place, “we’ll keep you here for a few more days because I’d like to run additional tests. But in the meantime, think about your options. And, should you choose to go home, you and your family will need to make some provisions to temporarily accommodate a wheelchair, and maybe a homecare nurse. We’re also going to get you scheduled for triweekly physical therapy sessions.”

  I’m not a violent person, but I have an innate desire right now to shake him until some sort of emotion leaks from his body. He’s talking about these things as if Evie needs to switch grocery stores. As if her whole life isn’t about to change. How can doctors be so emotionless? Shouldn’t that be a part of their job requirement? Or maybe I’m the crazy one.

  By the time he’s done, we are incapable of asking questions. He leaves his office, saying something about giving us privacy. How very fucking kind of him. The door closes, the silence lengthening between us. This news is so crushing and I don’t even know what to say. It’s as if a tidal wave has crashed over our lives—and now we’re drowning. Or Evie is drowning and I’m desperate to save her. But I refuse to focus on the negative. He did use the word temporary, and I’m going to hold on to that.

  I kneel down in fr
ont of her, laying my arms across her lap, my head on my hands. I tip my chin up to meet her gaze. “Evie. Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

  She’s looking into my eyes, but it’s like she doesn’t see me. Over and over, she shakes her head as tears wet her cheeks. “Why don’t they know what’s wrong with me? I don’t understand. I was just walking the hall with you the other day, and now… I might never walk again, Dylan.”

  “Evie,” I extend my hand, gently stroking her cheek with my thumb, “you don’t know that. Hell, the doctor doesn’t even know. He said it could be temporary. I mean, you’ve got some feeling in your legs, right?”

  “Yeah… but not enough to let me walk—”

  “Right now,” I interject, hopefully sounding more certain than I really feel.

  “Okay.” Her gaze brightens, if only momentarily. “Right now.”

  THE DOCTOR CONTINUES to talk, but I’m no longer listening. I stopped hearing him the moment he said ‘paralysis.’ The funny part—my legs don’t even hurt. It’s my chest that burns now, that word scalding my skin. Hot tears drip down my cheeks, yet it’s as if my whole body is crying out. Why? Why is this happening to me?

  I remember something my mom told me when I was young. She said, ‘I’m so grateful that you and your sister were born healthy, but the odd thing is, I never considered that you wouldn’t be.’

  That’s how I feel right now. Never in a million years did I think that something like this could happen… to me. That there was ever a possibility that I wouldn’t be able to use my legs to do something as simple as walking. We do it every day and don’t even think twice about it. I guess I took it for granted. I have legs. I can walk. I’ll always be able to walk. Now, I might never walk again.

  No. He’s wrong. He has to be. Doctors aren’t always right and he doesn’t know me, how determined I am. How strong I am. But why is it that I don’t feel so strong right now? His words are making me doubt my ability to walk on these stupid legs. I’ll show him.

  Running. That’s what I want to do. Run as fast and as far away from here as possible. Because running is what makes me feel alive. It also centers me. When my brain is confused. When I’ve had a rough day—I run. I want my legs to carry me away now. To feel the wind in my hair as my feet slap the pavement. Until I’m so exhausted, that sweat is pouring from my body, legs stinging from the exertion.

  But I’m trapped. In my mind. In this chair.

  Part of me wants to scream, too. But it’s not anger that’s sweeping through my body, it’s sadness that brushes back and forth over my skin. Sadness over the loss of potential. Grief filling my veins like a poison. My mind circling on all the things I might never be able to do again.

  The absolute worst part—staring into Dylan’s eyes. The ones that are trying to instill hope in me. And I’m usually all about hope, and optimism. But maybe it’s easy to be optimistic and hopeful when everything in your life is nearly perfect.

  Those words probably sound funny coming from my mouth, given I lost my parents so young. Even with that, though, I feel like I have a good life. I’m blessed for what they gave me before they departed this earth—and the precious memories they left behind.

  With that, I bat the tears away from my cheeks and force a smile. “You’re right,” I tell Dylan, whether I believe it or not. “He did say the word temporary. So, I’ll hold onto that. Because I will walk again.”

  “Good girl.” He leans in to give me a kiss. “You can feel my lips, right? Because that’s kind of the most important thing.”

  I narrow my gaze, and nip at his bottom lip. “You did not just seriously say that! You’ve got jokes, now? In my time of need?”

  “Hell yes. Besides, you know what I really think you need?” His mouth curls into that irresistible smirk, making it impossible not to smile back.

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” I pucker my lips so he’ll kiss me again.

  Right after he does, he adds, “You need to go home.”

  THREE DAYS LATER, after another battery of tests, no definitive answers, and the start of my physical therapy, they finally set me free and let me leave this place. And Dylan is right, home is exactly where I need to be. Surrounded by people who I love, and who love me.

  “I called everyone and let them know you’re coming home today,” he tells me as he pushes my wheelchair toward the front entrance of the hospital. “Zoey told me you spoke with her last night and ordered her not to come back here.”

  “Yes. I didn’t want her or anyone else fawning all over me.”

  “Except me.” His breath hits my ear in a warm whisper and I shiver. Desire blooms low in my belly and I realize Dylan’s right about one thing—at least I have feeling in the most important parts. The thought makes me smile and pushes away the bad, for the time being.

  I wave my fingers in front of my face. “You need to brush your teeth.” I giggle.

  “Really?” He stops short, breathing hard into his hand. “No I don’t. I smell minty fresh.”

  Bending over at the waist, I laugh. “And you sound like a Colgate commercial.”

  “Well,” he starts the forward motion again toward the double doors, “what else does one do while they’re waiting for the love of their life to wake up?” His words rob me of my breath and given my emotional state, force another tear to slip out.

  “Dylan.” I reach back and cover his hand with mine. “Thank you.”

  The glass doors part for us, and it’s as if we have been transported from the darkness into the light. The sun is bright and warm, and I throw my head back to let it caress my face. “I feel a bit like I’ve been sprung from prison.”

  “You and me both, baby.”

  Dylan wheels me further down the driveway entrance but I’m confused when I don’t see his truck. I’m about to ask him when another car pulls away and I spot my red Honda sitting by the curb.

  “How did my car get here?”

  “I had Zoey switch cars last night. I figured it would be eas—” he stumbles, “I mean, you know to get in—”

  “Dylan, it’s okay. I get it.”

  He lets out what is probably a relieved breath. “Okay, good.” He opens the passenger door to the Honda and waits. I already don’t like the fact that he’s walking on eggshells around me.

  Needing to be able to do this myself, I push against the arms of the wheelchair to try to lift my upper body, but am unable to maneuver onto the seat.

  My legs are useless. And so am I.

  The idea of having to rely on anyone, even Dylan, is breaking me apart inside. I want to scream, “I can do it myself,” but that’s the thing. I really can’t. Not right now anyway.

  “Can you… help me?” I almost have to force the words out, when I hear Dylan moving to my side. With an arm behind my back and one under my knees, he braces me then lifts my body up, ducking so neither of us hits our head as he places me on the seat. He gives me a peck on the cheek before folding up the wheelchair and throwing it in the trunk.

  The driver’s side door opens and he slides in as I begin to laugh hysterically. I know I sound crazy, but it’s certainly better than the alternative.

  “What’s so funny?” He chuckles and turns to face me, a little crease above his nose.

  I stop laughing long enough to speak. “A few weeks ago I was running. Now, I have a wheelchair and may never walk again.” I blanch once the words spill from my mouth and his face pales. We stare at one another, silence coating the air in a thick fog, making it hard to breathe. He looks away and exhales a long, uneven breath as he starts the car, driving away from the hospital. I lean my head against the window, holding onto him with one hand, while gripping the door handle with the other.

  There’s nothing else to say anyway. Because that pretty much sums it up.

  The ride home is a blur, reminiscent of the past few weeks. Scenery floats by my window in a flurry of colors and light. My breath casts tiny circles on the glass and I trace over th
em to make different shapes. I’m vaguely aware that Dylan put some music on but it fades into the background of my thoughts. The biggest one, looming like a dark cloud before the worst kind of storm.

  Everything will change now.

  This couldn’t be more evident when he pulls into my driveway and I see the handicap ramp. I want him to keep going, to pretend this isn’t my house. I’d like to think this is some horrible dream that I’m going to awaken from any minute. My throat aches and my eyes sting. The reality of my situation hits me hard, making me want to curl into a ball and disappear. Thirty-six hours ago, I was told I might have partial paralysis. I’ve barely had time to digest this new information and now it’s being thrown in my face.

  I drop my head to my chest, struggling to take air into my lungs. Dylan’s warm hand on my shoulder allows me to let out a breath, but it’s choppy and jagged at best.

  “Evie.” His voice is soft, calm. “It’s going to be okay.”

  This is the first time he’s ever uttered those words that I’m not sure I believe them.

  I nod anyway, for reassurance, or maybe even courage, because it takes everything I have to lift my head again and look at the ramp. Suddenly, the home that I’ve known my whole life, my safe haven, seems like a stranger to me.

  Sweat gathers on my forehead and upper lip, and I wipe it away then swallow down my fear. “Okay, I’m ready.” I don’t meet Dylan’s gaze when I say the words, but he leans in and presses his lips to my temple. The gesture is so tender I have to close my eyes or I’ll break down.

  My instinct is to swing my legs around when he opens the door, but my brain instantly reminds me this isn’t possible. Because I have to do something, I brace myself on the seat and push my ass over a few inches closer to the threshold. Dylan takes it from there, scooping me up with ease and dropping me lightly into the chair.

  We’re quiet as he wheels me up the ramp. When he pushes me through the door, I’m met by Zoey’s haunted eyes and a frown that morphs into a smile. One that’s way too bright for her face.