“There isn’t anyone. I’ll be fine.”
“Either you find someone who will sign for you, or I’m going to have to admit you for the night.”
After Dr. Sanchez left the room, Ethan pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contact list. No family, no close friends, no girlfriend. That’s what happens when you’re gone three weeks a month. He couldn’t ask any of the other guides, not after all he’d asked of them since the wreck. There was no one.
Ethan dropped the phone in his lap and cracked his knuckles in frustration. Just before the phone went dark, he noticed the entry for “Physical Therapist” in his contact list.
“Shit.” He’d forgotten to call and let Sarah know he wouldn’t be able to make it. He snatched the phone back up and hit dial.
“Northeast Orthopedics. This is Sarah.”
“Sarah, it’s Ethan. I’m sorry for missing my appointment today.”
“Scared you away, huh?”
“No, nothing like that. I…” He considered lying, but figured she’d find out soon enough when she saw the new x-rays. “I took a spill. Fell out of my chair. Doc’s doing a workup.”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just frustrated with myself and pissed off that I have to spend another night in the hospital.”
“They’re admitting you? I thought you said you were fine?”
“I am. I just need stitches, and the doc won’t let me go home alone all drugged up.” The image of Sarah’s piece-of-shit Honda flashed in Ethan’s mind, and a radical idea formed in his brain. “Listen, how would you like to make some extra cash? I need an overnight caretaker. It’ll be the easiest money you ever made, because I don’t actually need an overnight caretaker. I just have to have someone vouch to the doc that they’ll stay with me.”
“I, uh, I’m not sure. I’m not a nurse. That’s not really what I do.”
“I don’t need a nurse. Just a warm body.”
“Isn’t there someone you can call? A family member? Someone you’ve met more than once in your entire life?”
He took a deep breath. She was right; he sounded crazy. Asking her had been a mistake, but he’d gone too far to back out now. “They’re…you know, they’re busy. All of them.”
“Listen, I’m sorry. I really can’t help you.”
“Whatever you make an hour, I’ll double it. I can’t spend another night in a goddamn hospital.”
She hesitated. “Let me make some calls. I’ll get back to you.”
The phone went dead. In the minutes that passed, Ethan wondered what the hell he’d been thinking, begging some random stranger to spend the night with him. Then he took a deep breath, sucking down a big gulp of stale, disinfected air, and he knew exactly what he was thinking. He’d beg Jeffrey Dahmer to stay with him if it meant not spending another night in the hospital. His fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on the arm of his wheelchair, and his stomach tensed. Was that butterflies? Finally, the phone rang again.
“Sarah? Can you come?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. I just have to finish locking up and take care of a couple of things. Give me an hour.”
“That’s great. And Sarah?”
“What?”
“Thank you for this.”
Chapter Three
Sarah maneuvered her old Honda into the parking lot. The car came to a stop with a rattle and gave out a sad little sputter when she turned off the ignition. She shook her head and walked inside. After a brief chat with Dr. Sanchez, she was given the green light to take Ethan home. She stopped cold when she found him in the waiting room with his head in his hands.
“Geesh, you’d think Nurse Ratched was coming for you. I’m not that bad.” She noticed the gash on his forehead. “Ouch. Nice one.”
“Thank you for coming.” The words sounded genuine, if grudgingly offered.
Ethan looked up at her, and Sarah was struck by how different he looked. Humbled or humiliated, maybe. Vulnerable. She felt the urge to touch him, comfort him, hold his hand, but she pushed it down. That would be unprofessional, and she really wasn’t sure whether he’d appreciate the gesture or bite her head off. Instead, she wordlessly made her way around his chair and rolled him out to the car. She even forced herself to let it go when he refused her help into her tiny hatchback. After folding the chair and piling it in back, Sarah did her customary pre-start ritual: pumped the gas three times and tapped the wheel. The car fired up on the third try.
“You really drive this heap?”
“Aww, the old bird’s got life left in her yet.”
They rode the entire way in silence, punctuated only by Ethan’s terse directions: “left at the light” or “right at the stop sign.” The shabby car got more than a few curious glances when it pulled into his gated community.
“You actually live in here?” Sarah asked incredulously, leaning forward in her seat to take it all in. Palatial homes sat back off the road on manicured lawns. Most of the vehicles they passed were brand-new luxury imports.
“Sort of. My parents bought the place years ago, when there wasn’t much around. The McMansions sprung up around it over the years.”
There was a note of bitterness in his voice. When he finally directed her to turn into a long driveway, she understood why. The house was lovely, but extremely understated. It sat on at least five wood-covered acres, and as they made their way up the drive, the size of the house slowly became apparent. You’d never have a clue just how big it was from the road, and that was the point.
“Pretty place.”
“Thanks.” Ethan seemed to realize he was being curt and continued, “My father designed it and had it built for my mother. He was an architect.”
“His Taj Mahal.” Sarah noticed a strange look on Ethan’s face, but let it go when he said nothing more.
She parked the car near the door and brought the wheelchair up to the passenger side. She hit the chair’s parking brake and leaned in to lift Ethan out of the car. He bristled at her touch.
“You’re paying for my assistance, remember? Let me assist you.”
His muscles relaxed, and he allowed her to slip her arms around him. His face was nuzzled into the nook of her neck, and she felt him inhale deeply. She could tell he’d expected her to struggle under his weight, but she lifted him with ease, shifting his weight from right to left before depositing him in the wheelchair.
“Don’t look so surprised.” She tucked a loose hair back up into her ponytail. “Physical therapy is very physical.”
She struggled getting him up the stairs and wondered why a ramp hadn’t been installed yet. Inside, the home was immaculate. Each room was decorated simply and elegantly, and there wasn’t a hint of clutter. Ethan directed Sarah to the back of the house. There, she found a family room with a huge sectional sofa and a big-screen television.
“Ahh, the man room. Looks like you.” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “I’m starving. Got anything to eat?” She was up and rummaging around the kitchen before he could say a word. The cabinets were pretty bare. She yanked open the refrigerator door with that distinctive suck-whoosh sound, and found it just as empty. “Bachelorhood at its finest. Cheap salsa and a very expensive bottle of Scotch. Where are your take-out menus?”
“There aren’t any.”
Sarah was already looking up pizzerias on her smart phone. “No problem. What kind of pie you like?”
“Whatever you want. I never eat pizza.”
“You lactose intolerant or something?”
“No, when I’m home I usually pick up something from Whole Foods or the vegetarian place down the road.”
“Health nut?”
“Guilty.” Ethan glanced down at his legs. “Although I don’t know that it matters now. Order a supreme with everything.”
“That’s the spirit.” Sarah ignored the sarcasm. “I’m going to run and grab my bag while we wait. You okay in here?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry I’m so�
�useless.”
“Then make a choice to be useful. There’s nothing stopping you.”
She turned on her heels and headed for the door, taking in the details of the house that she’d missed when she was concentrating on not banging Ethan’s chair on the walls or doorjambs. Such a big place for just one person. Beautiful. She wondered what it would feel like to have a man love her enough to build something like this for her. They don’t make men like that anymore.
When Sarah returned, he directed her down the hall to a guest room before giving a hard push and rolling off in the direction of his own bedroom. She listened as the whisper of his wheels faded into the distance before turning to unpack her toiletries.
Thump.
“Ethan? You OK?”
Thump.
“Ethan?”
Thump. Thump.
Sarah ran toward the sound. “What the hell?” She stopped in her tracks, taking in the sight of his wheelchair caught in the tiny doorway that led from his bedroom to his bathroom. There were notches in the frame where his chair had rammed against it, and the beginnings of a series of deep, purple bruises covered his knuckles. The door itself hung at an unnatural angle, dangling from a single hinge at the top. She stepped further into the room. A screwdriver lay on the floor, surrounded by sawdust and chunks of wood. Splinters were visible around the door’s hinge. Ethan must have tried to rip the thing off with his bare hands. And damn if he hadn’t come close. Inside the bathroom, Sarah noticed a smudge of dried blood on the corner of the vanity and drops on the floor.
“So that’s how you fell this morning? Trying to take the door off by yourself?” She marveled at the strength and concentration it must have taken for him to pull himself up and unscrew the door, his legs nothing but useless deadweight dragging him back down. Overwhelming sadness hit her right in the gut when she put it all together—there had been no one else to do it. Ethan was all alone. She remembered that feeling of loneliness, the emptiness of it, how it used to fill her. She shook the thought away.
“I need to wash my face. I smell like antiseptic.”
She laid a hand on his shoulder, and his head dropped to his chest. He seemed smaller somehow, resigned. She pulled the chair back a few feet so she could get inside the bathroom. The room was spacious, but she had to open the cabinets under the sink to make room for his knees. She positioned the chair in front of the sink and then walked around in front of him to set the brakes.
“Everybody needs help sometimes.” She looked him squarely in the eyes when she said it, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. A piece of hair had slipped back out of her ponytail. Ethan reached up and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her breath caught, and her lips parted almost imperceptibly when his fingers grazed first her temple and then the delicate skin on her ear. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity surging through her body. When her senses returned to her, Sarah jerked back from the uncomfortably intimate touch. What was she doing?
“I, uh…I’m going to wait outside while you do your thing.” She stared down at the elegant travertine tiles when she spoke. “You okay with the rest of it?”
“Yeah, I got it. Thank you.”
Chapter Four
“Just give a yell when you’re ready for me to come back in.” Sarah made her way out of the bedroom and shut the heavy door behind her.
The hallway was lined with photos in mismatched frames. Tucked away here, out of sight to most visitors, Ethan displayed his memories. Sarah’s eyes were immediately drawn to a photograph of Ethan standing on a seemingly deserted beach with about half a dozen other people. The group stood in front of water so blue it didn’t look real, holding their kayaks and grinning broadly. The next picture showed him in his climbing gear, hanging in front of a sheer rock face, giving a thumbs-up to the camera.
Another showed him with his arm around an older woman atop Machu Picchu; they looked triumphant on the emerald mountaintop high above the clouds. In yet another shot, which must have been taken with an underwater camera, Ethan pointed to a moray eel nestled in a coral reef. Practically every inch of him was covered by his scuba suit, but it was unmistakably him. Something about his posture, the confident ease that seemed to radiate from him.
Understanding sank down over Sarah, like a heavy cloud. The sheer weight of it was almost unbearable. How could she have been such an insensitive asshole? Every image showed him fit, strong, and happy, ecstatic to be alive. His livelihood—hell, his life—had revolved around pushing his body to do extreme and amazing things. No wonder he felt such a staggering sense of incompleteness in that chair.
Almost all of her patients came to her feeling at least a little sorry for themselves, and it was part of her job to get them to push past that. There’s no greater disability than a shitty attitude. But for most of them, it was as simple as showing them that they could still do most, if not all, of the things they’d always done. How could she show Ethan that? He wasn’t going to be trekking the Inca Trail anytime soon. She couldn’t imagine having this life, where the whole world was within reach, and losing it all in an instant. Maybe he deserved a little bit of slack for that.
“Sarah? I’m all done.” Ethan’s muffled voice broke Sarah’s trance, and she scurried back into the bathroom. She wheeled him back out to the living room and planted him on the sofa just in time to hear to doorbell sound.
“Heads up.” Ethan grabbed his wallet off the end table and tossed it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”
Sarah peeked in at the fat stack of neatly ordered bills and decided not to argue. “Sweet.”
After sending the delivery boy off with a healthy tip, she set up dinner on the mahogany coffee table.
“Pizza and breadsticks on paper plates. Now this is living.” He threw her a wicked smirk. When she went to pour them each a tall glass of Coca-Cola, he added seriously, “Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for you? People use it to degrease car engines.”
Sarah thought for a minute. “Well, good. We’ll need a degreaser after this pizza.” She dabbed the top of her slice with a napkin and held it up in mock demonstration. She slid over a six-pack of beer she’d found in the back of the fridge. “This better?”
“Much.”
“Beer, the healthy choice?”
“Beer is our liquid bread. Thomas Jefferson said that.” He took a long swig. “Or maybe it was my Uncle Thomas. Either way.” He shrugged his shoulders and tipped the bottle up one more time.
Sarah glanced at the massive fireplace at the end of the room. Smooth gray stones stacked all the way up to the vaulted ceiling above them. A hewn chunk of driftwood formed the mantle. An image flashed in her mind of being curled up with Ethan in front of that fireplace in the dead of winter, a snowstorm raging outside. Where the hell had that come from? She pushed the thought out of her head and turned back to her pizza.
She wasn’t sure if it was the booze or the fact that he was back home, but by the time dinner was over, Ethan seemed completely at ease. He was funny even. Who knew? After they finished eating, Sarah gathered up their trash and tossed it.
“I did the dishes.” She chuckled a bit at her own joke. Just then, an idea took hold of her. “Where are your tools?”
“Huh? Garage, why?”
“I’ll be back.” Sarah hopped up and headed toward the garage. Ordinarily, she would never traipse around someone’s house without their permission, but something came over her, compelled her to do it. Ethan’s garage was neat and well organized, and in no time, she’d gathered the tools she needed and headed back inside.
“Found it,” she yelled.
“What?”
She didn’t answer. She was on a mission, and she’d be damned if she was going to let him stop her before the job was done. She set to work, and the banging noises reverberated throughout the big old house.
“What the—?” Ethan called.
The whole thing took less than fifteen minutes, but she’d managed to work up a sweat. When she finishe
d, she made a pit stop in the kitchen before heading back to the living room. She deposited an armload of wood trim, a crowbar, and a hammer onto the floor with a loud crash. Then she pulled the bottle of Ethan’s good Scotch out of the back pocket of her cargo pants and held it out to him.
“The bathroom is now handicap accessible. I say we celebrate.”
Ethan looked from her to the pile of rubble in the floor and back to her again as he put two and two together. A broad grin broke out on his face, and in a matter of seconds he was doubled over with laughter. When it subsided enough that he could speak, he said, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
She poured two fingers of Scotch into two tumblers and handed one to Ethan. He drank it down in a single gulp.
“That’s a crime. Did you even taste that?” She scoffed, but was already handing him the one she’d poured for herself. After fixing another, she took a sip and held it in her mouth, letting it linger on her tongue. “Mmm.”
The whisky warmed her belly and fired up her courage. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was suddenly quiet. “About the way I treated you before. I didn’t get it. I do now.”
Ethan gave her a quizzical look.
“The pictures. I saw all them in the hall. Of what you do. Of who you are.”
“Who I was.”
“You’re still the same person, you know. You’ve damaged the shell, but all the stuff that’s on the inside, the stuff that matters, is still there.”
Loaded silence hung between them.
“So how’d you get into physical therapy?” Ethan said, at last.
It was clumsy, but she understood how desperate he must have been to change the subject. “Oh, my mom, actually. She fell and broke her hip. I wound up moving in to help take care of her. She needed lots of physical therapy to get mobile again, and her shitty insurance didn’t cover much of it. Her PT was really great, though. Taught me lots of exercises that I could help her with at home. Things just kind of progressed naturally from there.”
A Broken Man Page 2
