by Dianne Drake
“And you think this Mitch can get my Anna out of the chair?” Frank asked, his eyes suddenly glistening with tears. “That would be good.”
Anna saw the tears and turned her head. Peaks and valleys. She’d seen it in so many patients—heartened one minute then in the depths of despair the next. She’d expected it in her own recovery to a degree. But so many peaks and valleys each and every day? That had been a shock, even to the tiny scrap of medical professional still left in her. And the worst part was that her dad suffered quietly through every one of them, always with a hopefulness Anna wished she could feel. That hopefulness was foolish, though, and it broke her heart—for him, for herself—each time it brightened his face, because soon after she always saw the tears.
“That would be very good,” Lanli said reassuringly. “And if anyone can help her, I think it will be Mitch.”
“So you think maybe she’ll walk without the crutches someday?” Frank asked.
“I think the first step is trying to give her some independence. After that?” Lanli shrugged. “I guess it’s up to Anna and what she wants to do.”
“You two talk about me like I’m not here,” Anna cut in. Her eyes were focused on the pickup truck maneuvering to a stop in front of her house.
“Well, face it. Like I’ve been telling you, you haven’t been here for quite a while,” Lanli returned. “Not the real Anna Wells.”
“And what’s the real Anna Wells supposed to be like these days?” Anna barked, the bad mood snapping back as she zoomed in on the man emerging from the truck. He looked like someone who should be driving it. Tall, well muscled, poured into a pair of jeans that accented all the right parts. He carried a toughness that probably tempted every woman who crossed his path. As he moved toward the house, he walked with a confident spring in his step—each stride very fluid, each body movement very masculine. Definitely a man she would have been attracted to before…
“The real Anna Wells is someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge,” Lanli said, “which is all you’ve been doing lately. And the real Anna Wells doesn’t take out her frustration on the people trying to help.”
“Then I guess the real Anna Wells doesn’t exist anymore, does she?” Anna said, her voice muffled in despondency. “Sometimes I think it would have been better if I’d just…” Died. The unspoken word. She hadn’t ever said it, but it had been on the edge of her thoughts, the tip of her tongue, so many times. She wasn’t suicidal, but often, way down deep in her valleys, she’d thought that everyone would have been better off without her, the way she was now. “I’m sorry, Lanli. I don’t mean to hurt anybody—especially you, and Dad and Sunny. But sometimes it just…” She shrugged, shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she choked. “Next time just roll me into a closet and lock the door until I’m nice again.”
“Since it’s your idea,” Lanli said as the doorbell rang, “maybe I will.”
“I’ll get it,” Frank volunteered, springing from his chair. When he threw open the front door, he extended his hand to the smiling man on the doorstep. “You must be the doctor,” he said.
Mitch Durant took Frank’s hand, asking, “And you are?”
“Frank Wells. Anna’s father. I’m so pleased you’ve come to help my little girl.” Frank leaned toward Mitch, lowering his voice. “She’s in a bad mood today so, please, don’t hold that against her. She’s normally a sweet thing, but I think the reality is beginning to sink in and she’s not dealing with it too well.”
“The reality is that people make decisions for me and don’t bother including me in them. And the reality is, people don’t even have the courtesy to talk about me behind my back. They think that because I can’t walk, I can’t hear, so they talk about me right in front of me.” Back in the black mood, Anna wheeled herself into the hallway and looked into the smiling face of the man in the doorway. It was a crooked, friendly smile that broadened when he strolled past Frank and extended his hand to Anna.
“I’m Mitch Durant,” he said, his voice pure and rich as milk chocolate. “And I’m not into self-pity, so cut the crap or I’m out of here.” That with the smile still plastered to his face.
Ignoring his extended hand, Anna raised her head, leveling a cool, contemptuous stare at Mitch. Her eyes were glacial as she retorted, “You know where the door is.”
CHAPTER THREE
MITCH’S smile didn’t break under Anna’s challenge. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a long, hard look at her, sizing her up from toe to head. Reaching her eyes, he leveled a cool stare right back at her. “I can get out that door on my own, Miss Wells, which is more than I can say for you.”
Lanli had mentioned that Anna was pretty, but pretty was an understatement. Except for the fact that she was a bit underweight, somewhat unkempt and it was the middle of the day and she was still decked out in lounging pajamas, she was a knockout. The potential was there anyway. Her smooth skin glowed with pale gold undertones—the kind of skin that begged a soft stroke across her cheek. From the rigid set of her body, though, as well as the loathing marking her face, she was hanging on to some mighty powerful anger which would have to be dealt with before anyone would be able to touch her in any way, physically or otherwise.
“So tell me, Anna, what do you want? Do you want to stay inside, or would you rather get yourself out the door—by yourself?”
“What I want is to get up and walk again…go back to my job and my life. What I want is for my father to get on with his own life and enjoy his retirement. I want my old friends back as friends, not my nursemaids. I want people looking at me with expressions other than pity. And I want you out of here, Dr Durant. You aren’t my decision.”
A smile of recognition crossed Mitch’s face. He knew where she was, where she had to go. And he had an idea of what it would take. “OK, then,” he said, stepping up behind her. “Here’s where we start giving your dad back his life.” Pushing her wheelchair toward the door, he announced, “Anna and I are going for a walk.” Then shoved her outside.
“I don’t want to go for a walk, or anyplace else with you, Dr Durant,” Anna snarled, grabbing her wheels, trying to stop her forward movement.
“Maybe not, but the way you are right now, you don’t have any control over what I intend to do. You don’t have control over what anyone else wants to do with you either,” he replied. With his foot, he nudged her chair to the edge of the porch to the wooden ramp Frank had hammered together when Anna’s prognosis had been pronounced. Bones healed, muscles intact but residual nerve impingement. Prognosis: mobility-impaired, uncertain recovery. “Suppose I push you a few inches farther?” He inched her chair even closer to the ramp. “Do you have what it takes to stop me?”
“Physically, no, I don’t, but I have a cell phone in my pocket that will dial 911 faster than you can blink. Which gives me the power to have you arrested.”
“Your dad said you’re a little grumpy, so tell me, Anna, is this a good day for you or a grumpy one? Because if it’s good, you’re about to get real grumpy. And if it’s already grumpy, well…” Mitch breathed in a deep breath, trying to swallow back the lump in his throat. He always got one right about now, when he pushed someone literally, and figuratively, to the precipice. Sometimes life just sucked, he thought, weighing the ramp angle, the sidewalk, and the distance to the street. Just about right. So let’s see what you can do, Anna.
“What I am is none of your business,” Anna snapped, fighting to wheel herself backwards. He was holding her in place, though. She was merely spinning tires in the dust, going nowhere. And she couldn’t see how long the road ahead was. For ever long…if she didn’t fight back. Which she wasn’t doing yet. It was all arguing and reacting—nothing that would get her where she needed to go.
She was a fighter, he decided. No, he hoped. Real tough underneath all that anger and stubbornness. A fighter who had too much pride to be contained by her limitations, but he was going to have to fight her every step of the way in hel
ping her overcome them. A tough road for him, one he’d vowed he’d never take again.
So here he was, about to take it anyway, and a familiar tingle of anticipation was already creeping over him. Would she fight? Wouldn’t she? How hard? And most of all, did he have it in him?
Damn, this was something he’d never thought he’d feel again. Never wanted to feel again.
“Well, Anna, grumpy or not, you’d better get your phone ready.” He sucked in a sharp breath, then shoved her chair down the ramp.
Shock gripped Anna like a vise and her first reaction to free-flying down the sidewalk was an expletive with his name attached to it. He’d hoped for that, laughed when he heard it. That meant there was something still alive and fighting deep down in her—something that could, and hopefully would, bring her back…if she let it.
This was his starting point for Anna as much as it was hers for herself.
“Help me!” she screamed, a few more expletives popping out as her hands frantically grabbed at the wheels to slow the propelling chair. “Mitch…somebody…please, help!” she wailed.
“Help yourself,” Mitch shouted. “Grab the wheels and do something for yourself for a change.” The chair was beginning to slow. She was fighting for control, and he breathed a sigh of relief. However many times he’d done this before—and he’d done it lots of times—he’d never had a bad result. No one ever crashed. Sure, a few came close, but he was always within arm’s reach behind them just in case. Along the way, he’d been called every name in the book, had been screamed at, had unspeakable objects hurled at him and had even had his toes run over. Most people eventually thanked him for the rude awakening. Being defenseless was not the position in which any disabled person should ever find themselves. But in teaching them how to defend themselves, the first step was always proving to them just how vulnerable they were. And Anna was vulnerable in so many ways…ways she didn’t even begin to understand yet.
When Lanli had asked him to do this, to help her friend, he’d agreed because he owed her. She’d been his chief therapist, the one he’d deserted when he’d walked away from medicine. But his intent had been to take a look, suggest some exercises then walk away.
Then he’d seen Anna and she’d drawn him in immediately, all defiant and scared and defenseless. So while he didn’t have the heart to go through another long, grueling rehab regime with anyone, he also didn’t have the heart to walk away. Not after his first look at her.
Anna finally halted her chair just two feet shy of the curb, and by that time her face was beet red and her hair was plastered to her head like a gilded skullcap. Every pore in her body opened up to sweat, her lungs burned from raw exhaustion, and her shoulder muscles were seizing in pure agony. She should call the police, demand they come and arrest that arrogant jerk for assault or attempted murder, but her cell phone lay on the ground somewhere behind her, and she refused to turn around and go look for it. He was back there behind her, grinning, glaring, gloating, whatever, and no way did she want him having the pleasure of seeing just how shaken she was. So all he was getting was her back. “I wish I could tie you in this chair for five minutes,” she seethed under her gasping breath.
Mitch grabbed Anna’s chair away from the curb. “What would you do?” he taunted. “Come on. Tell me, Anna. If I were tied in that chair, what would you do to me? Better yet, show me.”
“I’d roll you out onto the highway in the middle of the night and leave you there.” Anna grabbed her armrests, shut her eyes and tried controlling her labored breathing. Tough effort while her lungs were fighting against her. But she was getting light-headed already—hyperventilating as much from anger as exertion. Her muscles were stiffening. And no way was he going to see that. You can do this. You’re a nurse, Anna. Breathe in, let it out… Several breaths later, the control was finally returning, her lungs weren’t fighting her as hard, her muscles weren’t seizing. He didn’t see that, did he?
“You OK?” he asked, his fingers slipping over her wrist.
“You expect me to be OK after what you just did? And get your hand off me,” she demanded, jerking away from him. “My pulse is just fine.” Automatically she slipped her fingers over the pulse point in her left wrist just to make sure. It felt a little fast, but not too bad under the circumstances.
Mitch’s reply was a skeptical shake of his head, then, instead of pushing Anna back toward the house, he turned her toward a small community park at the end of her block and assumed a leisurely pace.
“Now what, Dr Durant? Besides insulting me and trying to terrorize me.”
Stopping abruptly, Mitch took two swift steps around the wheelchair, and stood directly in front of Anna. Then he leaned down, placed the palms of his hands flat against the armrests, and looked squarely into her face. “You’re making an awful lot of people miserable. And if Lanli weren’t my friend, I wouldn’t give a damn. But she’s in your firing line, too, so I do. And if you think you’re on the receiving end of insults and being terrorized, just take a good look at your dad, at Lanli, at that other friend Lanli mentioned, Sunny. You’re dishing it every which way at them, and you know it, Anna. Problem is, you don’t care, do you? It’s all about Anna and nobody else matters.”
“How dare you?” she spat. “You have no right.” Grabbing the chair wheels, she tried pushing herself backwards, but Mitch held her in place.
“You’re right,” he returned. “I don’t have that right, but neither do you. Which is why Lanli asked me to help. She thought maybe I could get through to you.” The tone of his voice was irascibly patient, the look on his face restrained. But his brown eyes stared daggers all the way down to her marrow. “And, honestly, I haven’t decided if you’re worth my effort.”
“And, honestly, you can go to hell,” Anna snarled.
A muscle visibly tightened in Mitch’s jaw, and he pulled a wry face. Straightening himself, he turned in the direction of the park and walked away from Anna, leaving her stranded in the middle of the sidewalk. “Actually, I’d prefer to go to the park,” he called back. “It’s not quite as hot as hell, and there are some nice shady trees to sit under. Feel free to come along, if you’re able, which, by the way, I don’t think you are.” His words came as a dare.
From Anna’s front door, Frank watched the turbulent exchange between his daughter and Mitch. “Are you sure he can help her?” he asked Lanli. “His method seems a bit…severe.”
“I know he can. I’ve seen it with people who started out much worse than she is, people who didn’t have the potential to get up on crutches, or even better, like Anna does.”
“And he just quit doing that? I’d think it would be rewarding work.”
Lanli nodded. “It is. And he never told me why he quit. He merely walked out the door one night and never came back. He still owns a part interest in the rehab hospital, but as far as I know he has nothing to do with it now. Which is a shame because Mitch is so good with patients. A little rough around the seams sometimes, but good.”
“It’s real tough watching Anna go through this, and I’m not sure I like the way he’s treating her, just walking away from her like that, leaving her stranded on the sidewalk. I know it’s supposed to be for her own good, but still…”
Lanli patted Frank’s arm, smiling as Anna grabbed the wheels of her chair and started to chase after Mitch. “If you want her back, Frank, if we all want her back, we’ll have to let Mitch do what he does best.”
“Which is?”
“Antagonize Anna to the point that she’ll push herself to the limit, if for no other reason than to fight him back. And knowing Anna like I do, she’s already thinking about ways to make his life miserable.” Lanli smiled. “Real miserable.”
By the time Anna neared the park, huffing and puffing, the muscles in her arms were burning pure fire from the exertion. Mitch, who was stretched out in the cool grass beneath a huge oak tree, didn’t seem to notice her arrive, or noticed and didn’t care. He was on his side, his back to her,
and although he couldn’t see her she knew he knew exactly what she was doing. And he was probably taking perverse delight in her struggle. Well, she wouldn’t indulge him even in that. She didn’t need his help, didn’t need his smug opinion either.
The sidewalk was easily maneuverable, even for someone with Anna’s inexperience and sluggish muscles. Turning her wheels, she moved along at a nice pace—one she was, frankly, surprised to achieve since she wasn’t exactly adept in her wheelchair. For a moment she wished Mitch would roll over to see how well she was doing on this last leg of what seemed like a full marathon. Then, just as she reached the entrance, where she intended to shout a great big You’re so wrong about me, Mitch Durant at him, she veered off the walk and into the grass, proving that he was so right. She wasn’t able to get herself out of the grass no matter how hard she tried. And she really did try because she didn’t want him seeing how right he was. “Great,” she snapped after a futile full minute of effort and only a two-inch advance to show for it.
An elderly man passing right behind her, his gray schnauzer tugging at the end of a leash and panting, wouldn’t even glance in her direction. In fact, he deliberately stepped onto the grass on the opposite side of the walkway, keeping his eyes on the ground.
“So I’m invisible now,” Anna muttered aloud. Invisible, and frustrated. And definitely not happy about sitting there on public display. She’d seen people like her in the hospital, wheeled into the hall to get them out of the way when the sheets were changed, then left there, forgotten until the next meal rolled around and someone noticed an untouched lunch tray sitting at the side of an empty bed. And in the meantime, some poor, abandoned invalid sat secluded, out of the flow of traffic, hoping to be noticed.
