Brooding Angel

by Marie Ferrarella

  He stopped piling up the cardboard and looked over his shoulder. “My code of honor.”

  Her lips curved slightly. “I guess that’s good enough for me.” Maybe if she didn’t think about it, didn’t dwell on the way it had been between them, she could get through this. She knew she could trust him to keep his word. “Why don’t I take a shower and you order the pizza?”

  Managing to avoid the debris, she turned the wheelchair toward her bedroom. She shut the door behind her.

  Mitch picked up the telephone and tapped out the number of a local pizza parlor he knew. When a bored voice came on to take his order, he requested delivery in an hour. He judged that it would probably take Clancy about that long to have her bath and get ready.

  Replacing the receiver in the cradle, Mitch picked up a small wrench and one of the screwdrivers. He tucked them into his back pocket, then picked up the bench in one hand and the shower hose in the other. He had to install them before she could take her bath.

  He wasn’t aware he was whistling as he walked to the bathroom closest to her bedroom.

  * * *

  It was an easy matter to install the shower hose. He set up the bench so that she could easily move it in and out of the tub. He had no intentions of affixing it permanently. She wasn’t going to need it permanently.

  He slipped the tools back into his pocket. “You ready?” he called out.

  No, she thought, tucking the towel around herself, she wasn’t. Clancy stared at the closed bedroom door as she worked her lower lip. This was no time to feel awkward. Mitch was right; he’d seen her nude before. It shouldn’t matter to her now.

  But the circumstances had been different, so terribly different.

  She’d been whole then. And very much in love with him. This wasn’t right. She wanted him to remember her the way she’d been—vibrant, agile. Not like this.

  “No,” she muttered. “I’m not.”

  He thought he heard her calling to him through the door. Crossing to it, he rapped softly. There was no response. Puzzled, he began to open the door slowly. When she didn’t order him out, he pushed it open all the way.

  She was sitting in her wheelchair, a large pink bath towel wrapped around her body. He tried not to think about the fact that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath it.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Smooth, bare shoulders moved up and down. “This isn’t the way I pictured it.”

  He didn’t ask what. He knew. “Things rarely are.”

  Foregoing the wheelchair, Mitch bent down and picked Clancy up in his arms.

  She threaded her arms around his neck. “First-class service?”

  He smiled into her face as he walked out of the room. “All the way.”

  Warmth assaulted her. And only part of it was coming from the region of the bathroom. Without meaning to, she curled against him.

  When they entered, Clancy looked down and saw that Mitch had already drawn her bath for her. She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve got a lot of hidden talents I never knew about.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “Filling a tub full of hot water doesn’t come under the heading of talents, Clancy, hidden or otherwise.”

  The smile on her lips reached her eyes. It was the first one that had. “Being thoughtful does.”

  He made no answer. Compliments never sat well with him. Ignoring what she’d said, Mitch lowered her onto the bench carefully. He watched her face as her toes entered the water. He’d tested it to make sure it wasn’t too hot. “Feel anything?”

  Disappointment assailed her. For a moment she’d forgotten that she couldn’t feel anything. Clancy shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “I made sure it wasn’t too hot for you.” Mitch set her down completely. Not having anything else to do with his hands, he slid them into his back pockets. The tools were still there.

  Muttering under his breath, he took them out, then nodded toward the bench. “You can move that aside and slide into the water whenever you feel like it. That’s only a temporary setup.” A puzzled look crossed Clancy’s face. “I would have drilled holes in the wall and bolted it in if I thought you needed it permanently.”

  She understood what he was saying. Understood and was grateful.

  Even though she thought it was useless.

  * * *

  Mitch killed time by carrying the empty cartons to the Dumpster and rearranging the furniture to accommodate the new addition. It helped keep him from thinking about the fact that she was only a few feet away. And that she was nude.

  He wasn’t nearly as immune to the image that formed in his mind as he had led her to believe. But he wasn’t going to let it interfere with anything, either.

  Clancy had been right when she’d pointed out that she needed room to get around. The physical-therapy mat could be leaned against the wall, but the parallel bars impinged on the available space. Mitch pushed the dining table against the wall, then placed two of the four chairs in the small storage unit located to the side of her porch. He debated whether to store three chairs to maximize the space, then decided that if he did, it would be detrimental to Clancy. If there was only one chair, his, she might feel bound to the wheelchair forever.

  The second chair stayed.

  The last thing John had told him before Mitch had left his office was to keep Clancy’s spirits up at all costs.

  Damn sight easier to say than to do, Mitch thought, arranging the two chairs at opposite ends of the table. Especially given the fact that his own personality tended toward the dark side.

  Who would have ever thought that he would be the one who had to dispense doses of hope as if it were some sort of wonder drug?

  The pizza-delivery boy came and went. With the aroma of hot pizza filling the air, Mitch set two places. He left the pizza inside the box and glanced toward the bathroom, then checked his watch.

  Clancy had been in there for close to an hour. Probably lost track of time, he guessed. Crossing to the bathroom door, he knocked on it lightly. “Clancy? Are you finished?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded small, muffled.

  If she was done, what was the holdup? Was something wrong? He leaned his head against the door, listening. For what, he wasn’t sure. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Mitch had placed her on the bench, but after washing her hair and soaping herself down, Clancy had carefully slipped off. The hot water in the tub had surrounded her, easing the tension from her body. At least, the part of her body that could still feel.

  But the water had also made her extremely tired. She didn’t have enough strength to drag herself up onto the bench again and wrap a towel around her body.

  Clancy didn’t feel like explaining any of this to him. “Because,” she answered.

  Mitch stood, waiting, but nothing followed. “Are you going to add anything more to this reason, or do I fill in the blanks?”

  Wasn’t he going to leave her a shred of pride? Clancy felt embarrassed and stupid at the same time. “Because the damn accident robbed me of my dignity, that’s why.”

  Mitch could figure out what was going on in her head. Opening the door all the way, he looked only at her face, though the temptation to look further was almost overwhelming. Her wet hair was wrapped up in an aqua towel. The rest of her was not.

  “Your dignity was never in your legs, Clancy,” he told her quietly. “Dignity is something you either have or you don’t.”

  Strange words, coming from him. At another time, she might have said something like that. But she was beyond such sentiments now. “Even when you’re naked?”

  Just the smallest hint of a smile curved his mouth. “As I remember, especially when you are naked.” Taking a towel from the rack, Mitch draped it over his shoulder. Then, very carefully, his eyes on hers, he slipped his hands around her and drew Clancy out of the water. “Try to stand.”

  She looked at him accusingly. Hadn’t he been paying attention? “I told you, I can’t.”

 
“Put your arms around my neck and hold on,” he instructed.

  Awkwardly, Clancy did as he told her, though she felt as if she was going to slide back into the water at any moment.

  Mitch could see all sorts of emotions washing over her face. “You’re doing fine,” he murmured as he wrapped the towel around her, then tucked the ends together. Even though he was trying to be careful, he accidentally brushed his fingertips against her breasts. He saw her eyes widen.

  “Your opinion,” Clancy muttered, her cheeks growing hot.

  He felt the warm flush enter his loins, reminding him. Fragments of memories whispered through his mind like specters of the past.

  Mitch acted as if nothing had happened. “All right. I’m going to take you to the bedroom and you can get dressed. The pizza’s here.”

  She hadn’t realized that she had been in the bathtub that long. “Already?” She hated cold pizza. It never tasted the same, even reheated. “I guess I can eat before changing.”

  He switched direction, carrying Clancy into the small dining room. “Whatever you say.”

  She noticed the rearrangement immediately. The oak table was pressed against the wall like a prisoner waiting for a firing squad.

  “Homey,” she murmured.

  He heard the criticism in her voice. “Functional.”

  Clancy shrugged as he moved the chair back with the toe of his shoe. Her grip tightened around his neck. “If you say so.”

  She didn’t look happy about the new arrangement, he thought. “It’s so you can maneuver the wheelchair around the equipment.”

  She craned her neck, looking around the room. “Where is the wheelchair?”

  “In your bedroom.” He set her down on the chair, then pushed it into place. “I want you to sit at the table in a regular chair.”

  She waited until he was seated before opening the pizza box. “More positive reinforcement?”

  He blew out a breath impatiently. “I don’t know the buzz words, Clancy.” Mitch pulled the box toward him and took out a slice. “I tend toward common sense.”

  At another time, she could have debated that with him. But for now her appetite got the better of her.

  And then the significance hit her. She was hungry, actually hungry for the first time in three weeks. Maybe she wasn’t completely dead, after all.

  The reconstruction of Mary Elizabeth Clancy, one piece at a time.

  “You got sausage.” Clancy made a face at the slice before her.

  “And pepperoni.” He knew Clancy disliked the one and was crazy about the other. His taste tended toward the opposite. “You can pick off the sausage and give it to me.”

  She arched a brow, amused. The discussion was similar to one they’d had before. “How about I trade you for the pepperoni? A piece for a piece?”

  “Deal.” He grinned at the impish expression spreading across her face. It was almost like old times.

  Except that it wasn’t, he reminded himself.

  Had it not been for the accident, he thought, watching her stack the sausage on the side of her plate, Clancy would have been married to someone else right now. Married and happy.

  Mitch didn’t even try to put a name to the stinging sensation he felt.

  She pushed her plate toward him and reached for the pepperoni he’d taken off. Her expression was almost shy. “You didn’t look, did you?”

  Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because it had meant so much to her that he didn’t. “No.”

  She paused for a moment. “Why?”

  He thought that was self-evident. “Because I said I wouldn’t.”

  “And you always keep your word.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Always.” It had never occurred to him to do otherwise. “Don’t you?”

  Clancy shrugged, studying the slice of pizza in her hands. “I don’t know. I suppose.” She raised her eyes to his face. It was completely unreadable. It occurred to her that she rarely knew what he was thinking. “Yes. I do. But that was a special circumstance back there. Another man—”

  Another man, Mitch thought, would have probably never let her go, much less walked away from her. But another man might have belonged in her world. He didn’t. And she didn’t belong in his.

  “I’m not another man, Clancy,” he interrupted. “I’m just me.”

  There was no “just” involved, she thought. He was Mitch, and that was enough.

  Chapter Ten

  “C‘mon, Clancy, concentrate. You can do this. You just have to want it enough.”

  Mitch stood like a human goalpost at the opposite end of the parallel bars, urging her on. Ordering her on.

  Struggling, perspiration making tracks beneath her light blouse, she pulled herself up. The metal bracketed her as she wrapped her hands around the bars.

  Mitch’s face didn’t betray any of the turmoil he was experiencing as he watched her fight to take a single step. As he watched her fight to feel something. “Try harder. Harder.”

  Her head snapped up. Ribbons of sweat coursed down her face, pasting wisps of hair to her forehead. Fury was in her eyes.

  “It’s useless.” She uttered a guttural cry. “I can’t, all right? I can’t.” Defiance filled every word she spat at him. “I can’t walk. I can’t stand. I can’t do anything.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat as she drew it in. Hysteria seemed only a second away. She fought against it. If she allowed it to get a toehold, she would dissolve completely.

  Clancy glared at Mitch. “What part of that don’t you understand?”

  His eyes challenged her not to give up, not to sit down. “All of it.”

  Clancy pressed her lips together, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat. “Then you’re a lot dumber than I gave you credit for being.”

  Blowing out a breath, Clancy collapsed into the chair she hadn’t been able to completely clear. The chair that refused to release her.

  They’d been at this for days now, she thought. No, weeks. She held her head, trying to remember just how long Mitch had been torturing her, pushing her. It was bad enough enduring the physical therapist, but the woman came only three times a week and stayed a maximum of half an hour. This went way beyond that. Mitch continued pushing her relentlessly, mercilessly, like a wind-up drill sergeant whose spring had broken.

  The accident had happened five weeks ago. Mitch had moved in almost three weeks ago.

  And he had been at her every night. No matter how tired she said she was, he would go through the battery of exercises, trying different things, reverting back to some, discarding others. But always working. Always making her work.

  Whenever she wanted to quit, he categorically refused to let her. He’d urge her on to do “just a little more,” to “try a little harder.”

  He refused to recognize her limits.

  She was sick of it. Sick of it because it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Sick of pretending that she was going to walk again.

  For all of Mitch’s efforts, she might just as well have been sitting on the sidelines, vegetating. Nothing worked. Not the heat treatments, not the massages, not the various exercises he’d been pressing her to continue with. Dr. Kleinschen had agreed that these might help speed up her recovery, but he’d been wrong.

  Even the trips to the hot tub had yielded nothing. McAffee and his wife had given them complete privacy. Clancy recognized the woman as one of the myriad of nurses who had passed through her room at the hospital. Alicia McAffee was upbeat, cheerful and nonintrusive. Just like her husband.

  Why shouldn’t they be? Clancy thought ruefully. They could both walk to the hot tub. Mitch had to carry her and put her in.

  Despite the reasons that brought her there, Clancy had to admit—if only to herself—that sitting beside Mitch while the waters bubbled and churned around them had felt warm, intimate.

  Every once in a while she had thought she’d experienced a vague sensation, as if something was happening to her body just beyond the perimeter of her
feelings.

  But she could never reach out and bring it to her. Never clearly define just what it was she felt, if anything.

  And so nothing changed. She was still dead from the thighs down.

  All her efforts, all of Mitch’s efforts, and they’d gained nothing. Not a single inch forward. There was nothing to work with, nothing to hang on to.

  She glared at him belligerently. Why wasn’t he giving up, damn him?

  Mitch crossed to her and moved the wheelchair around so that she faced him. Wordlessly, he knelt down in front of her and took her bare left leg between his hands. He began to knead the deadened flesh.

  She wished she could pull her leg away. “Now what are you doing?”

  “I’m massaging your muscles.” He glanced up at her. She still couldn’t read his thoughts, and it bothered her. “You’d think that by now I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

  Both their tempers were frayed, like well-worn cords in danger of snapping.

  She watched as his fingers worked along her skin. Frustration mounted. “You might as well be kneading dough for all the good that’s doing.”

  She should feel something, she thought. He had his hands on her calf, hands that had once touched her lovingly. She should feel something, damn it, not this infuriating nothingness. Not this out-of-body experience that was happening.

  Angry tears threaten to spill. She rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes, sniffling, wishing her anger didn’t always culminate in tears.

  “Don’t do that.”

  She dropped her hand into her lap and glared at him. “Are you trying to control the few movements I still have at my disposal? Will you not be happy until you have complete control over me? Is that what you want? To have a puppet whose strings you can pull?”

  In her mind, she knew she was babbling nonsense. But she was hurting, and she just couldn’t seem to stop. She needed to lash out at something.

  And he was there.

  Mitch released her leg. He sat back on his heels and looked at her in silence for a long moment.