by Gun Brooke
Belinda sent Lark an inquisitive glance, and Lark immediately picked up a possessive vibe from the other woman.
“Welcome,” Belinda said politely and extended a hand. “I’ve worked for Sheridan for more than ten years now, so if you have any questions, I’m sure I can be of assistance.”
Wow, if that’s not marking your territory, I don’t know what is. “Thank you, Belinda. That’s very kind of you.” Lark smiled sweetly before she followed Sheridan into her corner office.
Inside, she nearly lost her manners and had to forcibly shut her dropped jaw. Sheridan’s office was not what she’d expect from someone loaded with old money and traditions that stretched more than 150 years back. It was entirely ultra-modern. The Plexiglas desk was at least eight feet long where it stood angled from the window. Brushed metal shelves outlined an entire wall and were filled with books, awards, and collectibles of different types. The opposite wall held the mandatory diplomas and award plaques. In the middle, a large black-and-white family portrait caught Lark’s attention. A man in his early forties sat on a leather couch with his arm around a stunning, yet frail-looking woman with long dark hair. On her lap, a little girl, perhaps six years old, sat, her eyes piercing.
“That has to be you,” Lark said and pointed before she looked over her shoulder at Sheridan.
“Yes.”
“Your mother was very beautiful. You look like her.” Lark jerked when she heard her own words repeated in her head. Damn! Talk about obvious.
Sheridan didn’t seem to notice. “Really? Most people say I’m a chip off the old block when it comes to my father.”
Lark examined the photo again. “Nope. Sorry, but you’re the spitting image of your mom. Look at the eyes, the facial structure. I think you have your father’s nose though.”
“And his sense for business, which is what really matters to the stockholders and the employees. I need to regain my strength, since it’s sort of my trademark. I used to pull all-nighters all the time without a problem. Now it’s impossible to stay awake after ten p.m.” Sheridan spat the last words. “No matter what it takes, you have to come up with a way for me to accomplish that.”
“All right. Sounds like you’re giving me carte blanche.” Lark grinned. “You might regret that.”
Sheridan shrugged and wheeled over to the desk.
“If you give me a few seconds to examine how you utilize the equipment around your desk, then I’ll be out of your hair and you can actually do some work, all right?”
“Sure.” Sheridan sat motionless as Lark circled the desk.
“I’m going to start by taking some measurements. You see, in order to increase your level of energy, you need to be clever about how you use whatever energy you do have. Think of it like a bank account. You have only a certain amount of dollars put in, and if you constantly take out more than you deposit, you’ll have to start to withdraw from other accounts, other resources, which creates a vicious cycle.”
Sheridan seemed to consider Lark’s analogy. “Makes sense.”
“So that’s why you should have your keyboard much lower. From your position, you need a shelf for it beneath desk level. See? Like this.” Lark reached around Sheridan to show her. “About one or two inches below your elbow level.” Suddenly Lark realized that she virtually had her arms wrapped around Sheridan, and she forgot what she had meant to say.
Sheridan turned her head and her lips nearly touched Lark’s cheek. “I guess I can have my decorator add…Lark?”
It was hard to breathe, and even more difficult to focus, but Lark did both. Smiling, she nodded. “Yes, that’d be great. Let’s look at what else you do in here. You read and sign documents, right?”
A slight frown on Sheridan’s forehead showed that she may well have picked up on Lark’s temporary confusion. “Sure. I do that right here.”
“Then that level needs to have plenty of leg-free space. No cords, bins, or anything like that.” Lark heard herself speak faster than normal and willed her words to come out slower, more confidently. “Everything in here is glass and metal. As stylish as that look is, you need soothing things to look at. Your eyes are directly connected to the brain, via the optical nerve, and disturbing reflections in water, glass, or metal can trigger seizures such as the ones you suffered during the first months. The flickering image on TVs or video games can too.”
“You mean I’ll have to redecorate?” Frosty was a good way to describe Sheridan’s tone.
“Yes. To stay healthy and as energized as possible, I think you do.”
“I don’t suppose you realize that I spent more than eight hundred thousand dollars hiring the best designer and buying the best materials in Texas to create this office?”
“I’m sure it’s stunning and that it took a lot of—”
“Don’t patronize me. I really could care less if you like it or not.” The low growl, which was becoming familiar by now, was back in Sheridan’s voice. “I like it. It stays.”
“So you’d rather risk a seizure than change the décor?” Lark challenged Sheridan. “Is there any other office on this floor with a different design?”
“Any other room than the corner suite?” Sheridan commented disdainfully. “I think not.”
“Well, I give you my opinions, and I’ll argue them for a while, but ultimately the decision is yours, of course.” Lark brushed Sheridan’s annoyance away. “Now, the positioning of the desk…Yes?” Lark blinked and stopped talking as Sheridan rolled up to her.
“You want to move the desk too?”
“Not really, just move it a bit to the left to give you ample room to pivot with your chair to reach the printer and fax machine. That way you don’t have to knock the footrests into the desk legs or the cabinets. Not only will it conserve energy, it will draw less attention to the fact that you’re in a wheelchair. I find that this subterfuge means a lot to most of my patients.”
“Really.” Sheridan dragged a hand through her hair. “They did stare at me, didn’t they? When we passed the people in the lobby?”
“Yes.”
Tilting her head as she looked up at Lark, Sheridan smiled sadly. “You’re the first one who’s been honest about that situation. Other people mean well when they keep saying that people don’t stare or aren’t bothered by the fact that I’m this way.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you are. Don’t define yourself by the disease. You aren’t your disability.”
“I know that. I’m a Ward, however, with all it entails. My great-great-grandfather came to this state from Boston with his parents. He became one of the first officers at Fort Sam. They were rich and became even richer, owning industries back on the East Coast, investing in several ranches in Texas; they were enterprising people who never rested. During WWII, my grandfather started what eventually became a virtual empire of companies. Ward Industries. This is who I am. This is the legacy I stand to lose if I don’t get my act together!” Sheridan breathed hard after her outburst.
“Listen. You are who you are, and ultimately this experience will add to the person you are, but you won’t know that until some time has passed.” Without thinking how her gesture might seem, Lark knelt next to Sheridan and took her hand between her own. “You can’t see that yet, which is okay. It’s too soon. But, I promise you, this isn’t the end of life as you knew it, not completely. I won’t lie to you, ever. That’s the worst thing anyone can do at this point. You need people to rely on, and it’s counterproductive to embellish facts or hide them from you.”
“Really.” Sheridan’s pale face seemed to color faintly. “You really are something. I suppose time will tell if you’re all you say you are.”
Lark laughed and let go of Sheridan’s hand. Her own tingled in a telltale way. Unable to deny Sheridan’s beauty, Lark struggled to keep her smile even and reassuring. “I’m a WYSIWYG kind of person, so you won’t be surprised or disappointed, I hope.”
A new spark of interest glimmered in Sheridan’
s eyes. “Wysi-what?”
“A what-you-see-is-what-you-get person.”
For the first time since they met, Lark was treated to Sheridan’s laughter. Throwing her head back, Sheridan guffawed, a contagious sound that sent Lark into a fit of laughter of her own. “I think you underestimate yourself,” Sheridan said and smiled “It’s been my experience that all of us have hidden depths, of good and bad.”
Lark didn’t miss a beat. “Then we’ll tap into your hidden depths and your strengths. That’s what you’ll need to succeed.”
“Touché.” Sheridan gazed out the window where the city buzzed so far beneath them. “I believe you think you can apply your experience from previous patients to me, but I’m not so sure.”
“Because you’re special, and your brutal disease was unusual? I don’t mean to diminish what happened to you, but the result was brain damage, which I’m very qualified to deal with.”
Clearly angry again, Sheridan snapped her head back to nail Lark with her cool gray eyes. “For someone in my position, with the life I lead and the responsibilities I have, to sustain brain damage is devastating. I couldn’t come any closer to a career-stopper than this!”
Lark spoke with emphasis, mildly exasperated. “Brain damage, any damage, to a person is devastating. Wouldn’t you agree that a child who’s in a car crash, or who develops a critical condition such as yours, no matter their social status, is in an even more heartbreaking position? A little person who’ll never walk, who’ll never know the joy of feeling fresh grass under his or her feet. A child who’ll need assistance to do even the simplest things?”
Leaning forward, Lark wanted to get her point across so she could be sure they had crossed this bridge once and for all. “You can’t compare your condition, your status, with anyone else’s. You aren’t worse off, nor are you helped by the fact that you’re wealthy, when it comes to pain, anguish, and suffering. You’re no more entitled to good health than anyone else.”
“Don’t you lecture me—”
“That’s not what I’m doing. I come to this point with all my patients, sooner or later, where this needs to be said. We have to figure out this concept before we can really move on and expect progress.”
“So you snap your fingers, and voila, I see the light and the errors of my ways, and we live happily every after?” Sheridan mocked Lark’s words. “You really must be completely naïve, to strive for such principles.”
Angry now, at having her whole philosophy for doing this job the right way thrown in her face, Lark rose to her feet. “Well, then. I have some business to take care of while I’m in town,” she said, deliberately and slowly. She was fuming by now. Of all the snobbish brats, she must feel that, with her status in society and business, she’s above this whole mess. Damn it! “See you back at the mansion for our five o’clock session.”
“Unless work keeps me here.”
Lark was afraid that her anger would show, so she stood with her back to Sheridan as she calmly replied, “Work can wait. I’ll see you at five in the gym.”
She would have liked to slam the door, but feared that the thin glass wouldn’t survive.
Chapter Five
It was impossible to sleep. Sheridan shifted in bed, cold to the bone. Someone had set the air conditioner too high during the day, when the hot weather demanded it, and then forgot to turn it down in the evening. She tugged at the blankets, but found no warmth in them. She shivered, and for a moment she wondered if she would ever be warm again.
This was such a contrast from the afternoon when she’d been drenched with sweat from the physiotherapy session. Lark had been her professional, kind self when she worked with Sheridan, with no signs of any residual anger. Only the fact that Lark didn’t even mention their altercation hinted that she hadn’t quite put it behind her.
Sheridan was still upset at being called a hypocrite. Obviously Lark didn’t see the big picture, the ramifications of Sheridan’s disease. The company, the board of directors, the stockholders, the employees with their families; so many depended on her successful handling of Ward Industries. To compare her to any of Lark’s previous patients was ludicrous!
A grinding ache between her shoulder blades began to seep down her spine. It changed into a cold, icy twinge, and she knew when it hit her hips that she was in for one of those hateful nights when nothing could ease the agony. Cold sweat ran down her temples and the back of her neck. Groaning out loud, Sheridan turned her head into the pillow to muffle the sound.
The rapping of fingernails against the door made Sheridan clench her teeth to try to contain the pain, but she couldn’t answer. The door opened and Mrs. D poked her head in. At the sight of Sheridan, she hurried toward the bed.
“Honey.” The soothing voice, so caring, made Sheridan lose her self-control. As flashes of pain shot through her legs, she flung an arm over her eyes and whimpered under her breath.
“Oh, Sheridan. It’s that bad again, huh?”
Sheridan didn’t want to meet Mrs. D’s eyes, where she was certain the full extent of her pain—physical, emotional, all of it—would reflect and emphasize how trapped she was. Sheridan thought she heard several voices murmur next to her, but had to keep herself closed off, behind these self-inflicted bars, or the grinding ache would seep out, permeate everything, including the air she breathed, and there’d be no end to it. Some words filtered through despite Sheridan’s best intentions to keep everything out.
“…found her this way. It’s not the first time.”
“The doctor’s never seen her like this?”
“…won’t allow me to call…”
“…medication…”
“None.”
After a moment’s silence, Sheridan had no idea how long, the mattress moved to her left, and she groaned as it made her body shift.
“Sorry, Sheridan. I brought something that will help. Please, let me help you through this.”
Lark. The familiar voice, clear and soft, washed over Sheridan’s senses and left her naked and raw for a fraction of time. Afraid that this vulnerability would allow the pain unrestricted access, Sheridan withdrew. “No, no. Quiet.”
“Here. Let me try this. All you have to do is lie still. All right?”
“Hurts.” Just uttering the word was almost more than Sheridan could manage.
“I know. But not for long.”
“Go away.”
“I can’t. I was up late watching a movie and heard Mrs. D, when I was on my way to the kitchen for some juice.”
“No. Make it go away.” Sweat broke out on her back and chest as Sheridan tried to make herself understood. “Cold.”
“All right. Mrs. D will turn down the air conditioner. It really is cold in here,” Lark said. “Lie still, even if you feel a twitch or a little stick, okay?”
“No drugs. Nauseous.”
“No drugs.”
Small, warm hands poked Sheridan’s skin and stuck her with something sharp every now and then. “It’s acupuncture, Sheridan. Small, thin needles. Try to relax as much as you can. Good.” Lark’s voice, instructive, calm, was like water on a scorched piece of land.
“She always suffers the worst headaches when the neural pain’s over,” Mrs. D said worriedly.
“How do you handle that?”
“She has to lie in a dark room all day, and she still throws up constantly.”
“Let’s see if we can’t prevent that, too.”
Sheridan felt Lark move her sweat-soaked pillows out of the way.
“Let your head relax on my lap. I’m going to use acupressure here instead of the needles. I don’t want to shock your system by using too many of them at once. So, here we go.”
Fingers pressed into Sheridan’s temples. “This isn’t entirely orthodox, medically speaking,” Lark continued. “My mother has suffered from migraines all her life, and this method works for her. I found out by mistake almost, when trying to massage her headache away as a physiotherapy student. She suffered thr
ough my efforts for a bit, and we were totally shocked when her headaches suddenly subsided and the nausea went away. Let me know if you feel any relief.”
Sheridan had been focusing on Lark’s beautiful voice, and was startled at how it in itself seemed to alleviate the discomfort. Like hypnosis. Slowly, the fire along her nerve endings mellowed, until it was back under control.
Taking a deep breath, Sheridan reluctantly opened her eyes, aware that she was sweaty, still freezing cold. She looked up at Lark with a silly sense of inferiority. “Thank you.” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say. Sheridan searched her throbbing head for familiar words of sarcasm or irony, but they seemed to have vanished, temporarily, she hoped, with the worst of the headache.
“You’re welcome.” Lark smiled down at her. “I’m glad I could help. Not all people respond to acupuncture.”
“Now you tell me.”
“And Mrs. D’s description of how this normally plays out doesn’t sound very appealing.”
“I’d say so.”
“Just relax against me a while longer. I think you’ve been under quite a bit of stress today, both going into work and dealing with a new health-care professional. We need to be careful in the future, so we don’t make you sicker instead of better.”
Sheridan eyed Lark closely, to see if she was being facetious, but ultimately decided that she was sincere. With a sigh, she let her head rest completely on Lark’s lap. Gently now, Lark massaged her scalp and chased the last remnants of the headache away.
Down her hips and legs, she detected only a buzzing sensation now, a numbness that suggested her nerve endings had self-combusted from the attack and would need some time before they returned to what passed for normal these days.
The sensation of Lark’s hands in her hair was pure bliss. The hovering migraine subsided, like a stormy sea coming to rest against an empty shore. The waves stopped crashing over her; instead they soothed her with their rocking motions. Dazed, Sheridan looked up at Lark, whose cinnamon eyes gazed softly back at her.
