“Tell me what happened when you injured your leg,” she said instead.
Ainslee bit her lip and looked around the restaurant—anywhere but at Myra. She seemed about to refuse to answer, but she started talking in a hesitating voice.
“We were in a Jeep, driving back to base through what was supposed to be a safe part of the city.” She shook her head. “Like any place was truly safe. But someone tossed a grenade, and the Jeep flipped over and landed on my leg. Gunfire broke out with us in the middle. I was…I was pinned there for almost an hour, before two soldiers could get to me.”
Ainslee sat quietly, perfectly still, and Myra saw the same expression of inward vision that Jeffrey wore the few times he’d talk about the worst things he’d experienced. She needed to pull Ainslee back to her. She reached across the table and squeezed Ainslee’s chilled hand. She sighed when she felt a tentative pressure in response.
“What was it like, while you waited?”
“Loud. I’d never realized how many different sounds a gunshot could make. A ping against the metal of the Jeep. Thuds when the bullets hit the ground.” Ainslee looked at her, and Myra recognized that Ainslee was allowing her to see the anguish in her eyes. “I was with two other people from my unit. My friends. They were in the front seat when the grenade hit, and they were killed instantly. I couldn’t do anything to help.”
Myra wrapped Ainslee’s hand in both of hers and raised it to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said against Ainslee’s skin, quietly and inadequately.
Ainslee inhaled audibly at the touch of Myra’s lips, and she appeared to physically step from the world of her memory into the present. She gave a small shudder and brushed her palm against Myra’s cheek before pulling away.
Myra wondered how such a cold hand could leave a trail of heat on her face. “My brother served in the Middle East,” she said. “He deployed twice.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Ainslee said. She took a drink of her mocha. “Are the two of you close?”
Myra wanted out of the conversation as soon as she’d gotten in it, but she couldn’t leave Ainslee’s question unanswered. She had talked about Jeffrey’s death with Kate and her family—always people who knew what had happened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said the words out loud.
“We were,” she said.
Ainslee set her mug on the table. “I’m so sorry, Myra. What happened? Was he killed over there?”
“No. He came home to us almost two years ago.” Myra paused. “He committed suicide soon after.”
“Jesus,” Ainslee swore under her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t talk about Jeffrey much, unless it’s with people who knew him. And I didn’t want my own sorrow to intrude on the program.”
“Sharing your story would never have been an intrusion. I think we might have realized how much you understood what we were going through. What was Jeffrey like?”
Hearing his name coming from Ainslee gave Myra a sense of comfort. Jamie had been right—although Myra wasn’t about to admit it to her—and she should have told Ainslee about her brother sooner than this.
“He was three years younger than I am, my kid brother. He was sensitive…not in a flaky, daydreamy way, but empathetic, I guess. Intuitive might be a better word.” Few people had seen the side of Jeffrey that Myra knew so well, and she struggled to capture who he was for Ainslee. “He was popular in school, with teachers and the other kids. Athletic. He was on the varsity football and baseball teams. But he felt things more deeply than most teenagers. Animals of any kind adored him, and he’d be devastated if he saw one hurt.”
She paused and blinked away the threat of tears. “My parents fought a lot when we were in school. They never got along well, and they finally got a divorce once Jeffrey had graduated from high school. He’d get so upset when we were young and they fought, so we spent a lot of time together, trying to distract each other.”
Myra’s speech halted again, and Ainslee gave her time to gather her thoughts. “I don’t want you to think he was weak or cowardly because of how I’m describing him. He was a decorated hero. I have his medals at home. He just never got over what he experienced over there. He wouldn’t talk about it much, even though I tried everything I could think of to help him. It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.”
Myra felt her eyes sting and she stared at her breakfast. She hadn’t removed the tea bag from her mug yet, and the liquid was dark and murky. Her bagel was untouched. Ainslee lifted her hand to Myra’s face again, cupping her chin and making her look up. “You sound like a great sister, and now I understand your drive to help everyone and every animal you meet. But sometimes there’s a dark sadness inside, and no one can help a person out of it.”
“You understand how he felt, don’t you.” Myra was stating a fact, not asking a question. She saw the sympathy in Ainslee’s eyes and had the answer she’d been searching for—Ainslee knew the same darkness Jeffrey had felt. Myra felt numb. Resigned.
Ainslee brushed her thumb over Myra’s cheek, leaving the same trail of fire her palm had left earlier. Why couldn’t Myra’s physical response to Ainslee follow the same rules of common sense and self-protection her mind had set?
Ainslee let go of Myra’s chin and sat back in her chair. “In a way, I do. There were so many emotions to sort through, so much anguish. I get buried in self-pity because I lost my leg and my future, but then I feel guilty because I should be grateful I survived when I had to watch my friends die. I’m still struggling to break that cycle.”
“But would you ever…could you…hurt yourself like he did?”
Ainslee frowned. “I won’t lie and say the thought never occurred to me, especially when I first got to the hospital. I hurt so badly, and all my goals in life seemed to have vanished when they removed my leg. But it was fleeting and faded once the intensity of my memories and my pain eased a little. Why do you ask? Are you worried about me?”
“No. I mean, of course I care about you and want you to be healthy and well. But I needed to know for me, too.” Myra wanted to reach for Ainslee’s hand again, but her own were shaking and she kept them on her lap, fingers entwined. “I like you, Ainslee. You’re beautiful and I was attracted to you from the moment I saw your photo. Meeting you in person just made those feelings stronger. More than just that, I love how complex you are. Funny and smart and challenging and sometimes frustrating.”
Ainslee smiled a little at the end of Myra’s sentence. “I like you, too, Myra. You stuck by me when I was having a hard time, but you treated me like a person and not an invalid. The day I saw you carrying those sacks of grain.” She shook her head. “You were so sexy I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t think you’d want someone like me, someone…partial.”
Myra had to remain resolved, had to explain why she needed to regain some distance between them. She couldn’t help but protest about the way Ainslee described herself, though. “You’re a whole person, Ainslee. You aren’t lacking anything, and I hope someday you realize how much you still have to offer, and how much life has to offer you. I wish I could prove it to you, but I can’t do it, Ainslee. I wasn’t able to bring Jeffrey back from the edge. I’d never survive if I failed you, too.”
Ainslee’s smile faded, and her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. When she spoke, her voice was as icy as her hands had been earlier. “What are you saying, Myra?”
“I was hoping we could date, but—”
“That’s funny,” Ainslee said, leaning her forearms on the table. Her tone didn’t sound at all amused. “I thought we were on a date right now. You asked me here for breakfast to, what, interview me for a date? And because I answered you honestly about the despair I felt after my accident, the pain I still feel, you’re dumping me already?”
“God, no,” Myra protested. She couldn’t seem to make Ainslee understand that the reason she couldn’t pursue a relationship was because she cared too much for her, not because sh
e could easily dismiss her feelings. “You’re not the one falling short here. I am. I’m not strong enough to keep you from that kind of pain—”
Ainslee stood up, interrupting Myra’s words. “No one, no relationship comes with a guarantee, Myra. You either accept me as I am—broken but healing—or you don’t. You’ve made your choice, so it’s time we both move on.”
Myra rose to her feet and put a hand on Ainslee’s arm, trying to keep her from walking out. “I came close to self-destructing when I found Jeffrey and for months after, while I tried to recover. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Myra, since the day we met, you’ve been trying to get me to have some hope for the future again. To believe I could still have a worthwhile life. Well, you accomplished your goal. When you asked me here, I was happy. I came here and took a chance on the future I’ve fantasized about since we met. Congratulations—you can add me to your list of successful rescue stories. Too bad you won’t stick around to see how this one turns out.”
Myra let go of Ainslee’s arm and sat down, overwhelmed by the anger she felt from Ainslee and by her own gnawing regret. Ainslee turned and walked slowly but resolutely out of the café, with barely any trace of a limp.
Chapter Eleven
Ainslee moved through her days like a robot, scarcely feeling or noticing anything around her. She should feel some relief from her usual jumble of anger and fear and sadness, but instead the emptiness of apathy threatened to overwhelm her. She had numbly forced herself to eat a protein bar in the morning and get on the MAX to go to her therapy session. She would have canceled, but she had put off calling Dr. Campbell until it was too late to avoid going.
She looked at the directions he had given her over the phone a few days earlier when he had called to change the meeting place for today. She stared at the paper, unseeing, and nearly missed the stop. She made it off the train seconds before the doors closed and headed toward the gym.
She thought she had felt hopeless after her injury, but nothing compared to the sense of loss she experienced after walking out of the bagel shop and leaving Myra behind. She wanted to feel something. She should cry or scream or throw grooming equipment. Instead, she seemed to fold in on herself.
The problem was, she didn’t blame Myra at all. She had been indignant and hurt at first, of course, but those feelings had turned into resignation. How could she expect Myra to be strong enough to take on this situation when Ainslee wasn’t sure she was strong enough to bear this herself?
Ainslee pushed through the door into the gym and looked around. What did Dr. Campbell have in mind for today? Weight lifting? Ainslee didn’t need to lift dumbbells. She was getting enough of a workout carrying around a load of what might have been.
Ainslee gave her name at the front desk and was sent through a door at the back of the large room. She caught a glimpse of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors as she walked past. She barely noticed her limp, but what she did see were slumped shoulders, a lowered head, and a vacant expression on her face. She stopped and stared at herself. So this was what self-pity actually looked like.
She straightened her posture and glared at the mirror. A smile might have been preferable, but any emotion seemed to be an improvement.
“Shape up,” she whispered. She was a survivor, if nothing else. She had lived, and she was getting stronger. One day she might thrive. She’d felt elated when Myra told her she liked her, and deflated when Myra changed her mind and said she couldn’t handle Ainslee’s baggage. Ainslee wouldn’t let herself be broken. She would mourn the loss of a short-lived and barely believed-in dream, but she wouldn’t allow this to destroy her.
She had been getting stronger than she’d realized, in more ways than she’d anticipated, but when she went through the back door and saw the rock climbing wall with its brightly colored holds, she felt panic squeeze her lungs until they were empty. She inhaled with effort and waved when Dr. Campbell spotted her and called her over.
“After you told me about climbing the hay bales, I thought this might be a sport you’d like to try. It’s a great workout for your upper body, and a good way to practice more precise manipulation of your prosthesis.”
“Sounds like clinically approved fun,” Ainslee said. She frowned as she looked up at a climber who dangled above her.
“We’ll take one of the easier routes today,” he said as he stepped into a nylon harness one of the gym employees was holding for him. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
“I’m not sure I—”
“I’m Sandy and I’ll be supporting your climb today.” A woman with shoulder-length black hair and a bright yellow polo shirt with the gym logo on it interrupted her. “Put your leg right through here.” She buckled Ainslee into her harness and handed her a plastic helmet.
Ainslee put it on and tightened the strap with trembling fingers. No one was giving her any time to back out of the exercise. Before she could come up with a plausible excuse to run away, she was standing next to one of the easier walls and Sandy was behind her holding her rope.
Dr. Campbell grinned at her and grabbed a handhold. “Race you to the top.”
He had a head start, but the words brought something to life inside of Ainslee. She reached for a green hold and began to climb. She found the rhythm of movement faster this time, and her sharp exhales matched the tempo set by her hands and legs. She’d been spurred on by Dr. Campbell’s dare, but once she was moving, she only saw the next hold and the next pull upward. She heard Myra’s voice in her head, cheering her on, and for a brief moment Ainslee felt what Myra and her doctors had been wanting her to feel. A connection to the moment. A reason to be present and a desire to move forward. The tears she hadn’t yet shed for Myra threatened to come now, but she blinked them back. Later she’d allow herself to feel the pain of loss, but right now she had to climb.
She reached up and smacked the bell at the top of the wall, earning her some claps and shouts from the people who weren’t doing their own climbs. Dr. Campbell got to her side moments after.
“Thanks for letting me win, Doc,” she said, clinging to the wall.
“Yeah…you’re…welcome. Thought I’d…take it easy on you.”
She grinned at his wheezed words and his flushed face. Maybe she’d been faster than she thought. “Can we go again? I’d like to try one of the higher walls.”
“Sure,” he said with a weak wave before he started his descent. “But no more racing.”
Ainslee carefully picked her way down the wall. She’d always had goals in life. Winning races, advancing in her career. Specific and visual. She’d lost sight of her old way of planning her life when she got hurt. Suddenly the vague notion of survival had been her only ambition. She balanced on her prosthesis and felt for the next foothold with her left toes. She needed to make some changes. Set some new goals for herself—some new walls to climb. She could create new visions and dreams.
Would Myra be part of them? Ainslee wasn’t ready to take a chance on such a slim hope. She was getting stronger, though. Maybe someday she’d be strong enough for love.
*
Myra squeezed the nozzle and directed a spray of water over the back of the pony. The mare shook vigorously and managed to get Myra wetter than she was. Myra sighed and pushed damp strands of hair out of her eyes. She was a sweaty mess anyway. A cold shower would do her more good than harm.
She’d been pushing herself like a fiend in the two weeks since her fight with Ainslee, but the long hours of riding, teaching, and mucking stalls hadn’t put a dent in the blend of desire and sadness that had settled over her like a thick woolen blanket. Her mind felt fuzzy and sluggish, and her body seemed determined to recall every detail of Ainslee’s touch and kiss. She went through her days on autopilot, hoping merely to get herself tired enough to be able to sleep at night.
She put down the hose and brought a bucket of sudsy water closer to the pony. She handed one sponge to Jamie’s niece, Anna, and she took the other.
Anna started on Calliope’s legs and belly—the parts she could easily reach from her wheelchair—and Myra slathered the diluted shampoo in the palomino’s creamy white mane and on her deep gold, nearly bronze neck.
“We’ll need to thin her mane to make it easier to braid,” she said, working lather through the thick hair. Anna was going to her first big show with her new pony this weekend, and Myra had taken charge of helping her get ready. Kate and Jamie were even more nervous than Anna seemed to be, so Myra had shooed them away, giving them a rare afternoon together while she and Anna did last-minute bathing and tack cleaning.
Calliope stood quietly as Anna wheeled closer and scrubbed her shoulder. The mare was worth the gold she resembled, taking perfect care of her young owner. Myra could barely recognize this Anna as the same girl who had shyly come to Kate’s barn for her first lesson nearly two years ago. Now she handled her pony with confidence and growing skill. She’d never walk again, but she got to fly when she was on Calliope.
Myra soaped the mare’s back and hindquarters, her eyes hot with tears. She got emotional thinking about Anna’s journey at the barn, and she couldn’t help but compare her with Ainslee. She had hoped Ainslee would experience the same transformation Anna had.
Myra paused while the sponge dripped soapy water down her arm. Was she being fair? Anna had always been horse crazy, and she’d had the advantage of living here with Kate and riding every day. Ainslee had only had a handful of lessons, but she’d improved nonetheless. Better balance, an easier smile, more laughter and teasing. Why couldn’t Myra accept the small changes she’d experienced instead of expecting Ainslee to miraculously become whole overnight?
Because Myra needed someone whole and unshaken by life. She dunked Calliope’s tail in the bucket of suds until it was saturated and reminded herself that no one stayed that way forever. Any human being would eventually face challenges that shook them to the core. Ainslee had met hers while still young. She was handling it in her own way, at her own pace—not Myra’s.
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