Sheridan's Fate

by Gun Brooke

  “Better?” Lark whispered.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Just relax. We’ll change the sheets and help you settle a bit.”

  Sheridan frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that statement. Too hospital-like. Too—fuzzy. She tried to pull back, away from a contact that had grown too close. “I’m okay. Really. Let go.”

  Lark’s hand hovered above her for a second, and then Lark slipped out from beneath her. “All right. In that case, why don’t you jump over into your wheelchair and go clean up a bit. You up for that, or do you need help?”

  “I can manage.” Sheridan tried to lessen the snarl in her voice. As soon as Lark had removed the acupuncture needles, Sheridan scooted over to her wheelchair, absentmindedly noticing how much easier this procedure had become. Her physical therapist was quickly placing her mark on a lot of things.

  “Good. Mrs. D and I will remake the bed.” Lark touched Sheridan’s shoulder briefly. “Let me know if you change your mind. No shame in that, right?”

  Sheridan heard her voice sink an octave. “Right.”

  Inside the bathroom, she ripped off her nightwear—a tank top and a pair of boxers. She reached for the knob to a top cabinet door, opened it, and as she rummaged around for the underwear, managed to spill all of its contents onto the counter and floor. “Fuck,” Sheridan muttered to herself. “Damn, damn, damn.” She reached for a new set of underwear and placed it on the toilet lid. A glance at the shower made her press her lips together in a mock smile. There was no way she’d be able to shower on her own or pick up the stuff that she’d dropped on the floor.

  The wheels couldn’t turn among the scattered clothes, no matter how hard she tried. “Oh, wonderful.” Sheridan glared at the closed door. I don’t want her to see me like this. Clumsy. Looking like an idiot. Mrs. D was one thing, but what if Lark came in? Knowing she had no choice, unless she wanted to sit there the rest of the night, Sheridan rang the cordless buzzer attached to the armrest.

  The sound of approaching steps announced that help was on the way. The door opened a crack and the golden-brown head made it impossible that it would be Mrs. D.

  “You rang?” Lark grinned. “Need help? Oh, I see. No problem.” Lark stepped inside, clearly unmindful of Sheridan’s foul mood. “I do this all the time,” Lark said. “I reach for one thing, and the way I chuck things into the cabinets, I manage to tear everything out at once. Garland says I’m a natural-born disaster.”

  “Garland?”

  “My oldest sister. I have four. I’m a middle child.”

  “Four sisters,” Sheridan said weakly as she watched Lark pick up the clothes and merely push them back into the cabinet. “I can tell you’ve done that before.”

  “What? Oh. You think I should’ve folded them?” Lark looked at the half-closed cabinet with two tank tops hanging out halfway.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care. Mrs. D might have a small fit though. But don’t worry about it.” Sheridan shrugged.

  “I’ll rearrange them while you shower. I don’t want Mrs. D to find out that I’m this sloppy. Not yet. I want to stay on her good side for as long as possible.” Lark winked and walked over to Sheridan. “Now, I suppose you want a shower after having sweated bullets like that? And you’re wondering how you’ll be able to shower by yourself.”

  “Yes,” Sheridan admitted through gritted teeth. In fact, she was hard-pressed not to smile at Lark’s self-deprecating tone.

  “Then, look at this. When I was here checking your facilities out—don’t frown, you know that’s my job—I noticed that your fancy tub comes with a chair. Did you know that?”

  “We installed a lift,” Sheridan said.

  “Which was probably very useful when you were worse off than you are now. But this,” Lark pulled out what looked like something made of plastic and pipes, “is better for you now. It’ll give you what you need most right now.”

  “And what is that?” Sheridan eyed the chair that Lark attached to the tub. It glided on the bars, which meant that it could reach out to the middle of the tub.

  “This is independence. Look, it even lowers into the water if you want to take a bath. You might need help raising it again until your arms are stronger, but you’ll do fine just taking a shower on your own.”

  Sheridan had nearly stopped listening after the word “independence.” Her heart thundered in her chest, and she gazed dimly up at Lark, who, lit up by the track lighting above her, looked almost angelic when she smiled at her. “Sounds fine,” she managed.

  “Okay. Do you feel comfortable trying to scoot over and handle the shower on your own, Sheridan? Or do you want me to stay and supervise this first time?”

  Sheridan’s first reaction was to ask Lark to leave. She was desperate for her first dive into independence after having to rely on other people all this time. But a warning voice inside her cautioned her to be smart. Sheridan hadn’t reached her status as head of one of the most successful, and definitely fastest growing, conglomerates in Texas by being foolish. “What if you stay and fold the clothes and I handle the shower?” she suggested. “That way I can just ask for help if I need it.”

  “Brilliant idea. And it’ll save me from Mrs. D’s wrath as well. Cool.” Lark winked and turned her back on Sheridan, then reached for the cabinet door.

  The shower was heaven on earth. Hot, pulsating, and cleansing, it streamed down Sheridan’s pale body, rinsing sweat and anxiety away. She washed her hair, taking her own good time, and cleaned her body’s every crevice without having to think of anyone watching or waiting. Sure, Lark was waiting, but she was humming merrily behind the sliding door. At one point, Mrs. D. knocked discreetly, but Lark just said that they were fine, which seemed to be enough for the housekeeper.

  When she was ready, Sheridan realized her mistake. She had forgotten to bring towels close enough. “Lesson number one, make preparations,” she muttered to herself.

  “What? You okay?” Lark asked.

  “Forgot the towels.”

  “No worries.” The shower door opened a few inches, and two towels landed on Sheridan’s lap. “I’m draping one over the wheelie too.”

  “Thanks.” Sheridan had to laugh. So it was that easy. Like two friends helping each other out. Not the usual feeling of being the patient, not to be trusted to handle anything on her own. Instead, Lark seemed to assume that Sheridan could do just about anything, unless she asked for help.

  It proved rather difficult to move from the shower seat with a towel wrapped around her, and yet another towel around her hair. She was so exhausted now that her hands trembled and her arms were very weak. “Lark?”

  “Yes?”

  “I—I need help getting back. I’m tangled in the towel.” She cringed at how pathetic she sounded, but Lark seemed to take the request in stride as well.

  “All right, hang in there.” Lark opened the door and pulled at the towel. “There. Now come my way. Good.”

  Sheridan managed to move into the chair and sat slumped with fatigue, but with a sense of accomplishment that she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I also need to get dressed,” Sheridan confessed. “I’m exhausted.” It wasn’t hard to admit, for once; instead, she had a reason to be tired.

  “Let me dry your hair first.” Lark wrapped a robe around Sheridan’s shoulders and began to brush it.

  “This isn’t really in your job description.” Sheridan looked at Lark’s reflection in the mirror, only now realizing that her physical therapist was dressed in silk pajamas under a terry-cloth robe. “And it’s the middle of the night.”

  “Shh, never mind. It’s in my contract to help you function, and this is one way of doing just that. I think we covered quite a bit of ground.” Lark grabbed the hairdryer. “It means a lot to me to see you succeed.” After that baffling statement, Lark switched on the hairdryer.

  Lark’s magic fingers were back in Sheridan’s wet hair, brushing through it as she dried it, strand by strand. It didn’t
take long, but the process was hypnotizing, and Sheridan couldn’t take her eyes from their reflection. She jumped, startled, when Lark switched off the hairdryer and placed it on the counter.

  “There we go. Not bad, if I do say so myself.”

  “It looks fine.” Nervous, suddenly, at how it would feel to have Lark help her dress without feeling utterly vulnerable, Sheridan withdrew, knowing full well how short she sounded. “If you give me the tank top and boxers, I’ll ask Mrs. D for help.”

  “I think she went back to bed. I told her you were fine and that we could manage.”

  Great. Frustrated, Sheridan wanted to groan, but didn’t object when Lark wheeled her back into the bedroom. The room was immaculate, and only a soft light burned. With Lark’s help, Sheridan pulled herself over onto the bed. The towel slipped off completely in the process, but Lark merely tucked the robe closed around her.

  “Are you able to put these on yourself?” Lark held out the tank top and boxers.

  “The tank top. My feet are too far away to put on the boxers.”

  “Hmm. I need to introduce you to a couple of nifty tools that’ll make you a lot more independent. Honestly, I’m surprised that you haven’t had a visit from an occupational therapist from the rehab clinic you stayed at, to make sure you had everything you need.”

  Sheridan felt her cheeks go warm. Not again. What was it about this woman that flustered her so? “I think there was a woman here who tried.” Sheridan shrugged and avoided Lark’s eyes. “I wasn’t ready for her.” The truth was that Sheridan had run the poor woman off in a formidable explosion of anger. Regretfully, she now shook her head. “I’m afraid I was quite rude.”

  Lark was quiet for a moment, as if pondering what to say. “It was too soon, probably. I think you’d be more inclined to listen to her now. Or I can order a few items that I think you’d find useful, if you trust me to.”

  Sheridan opened her mouth to speak, then shut it just as quickly when an unexpected thought struck her. Trust her? It wasn’t in her nature to be overly trusting. She found her natural habit of suspecting ulterior motives a lifesaver, professionally and privately. And still, Lark’s golden brown eyes, darkened by an unreadable emotion, made Sheridan almost trust her, no questions asked. Dangerous. Sheridan took a deep breath. “Sure. Order anything you want.”

  “Okay.” Lark pulled the boxers over Sheridan’s feet and up her calves. When she reached mid-thigh, she stopped and tipped her head back to look at her. Sounding breathless, she spoke quickly. “From here you know how to do it.”

  “Roll from side to side.” Sheridan swallowed, feeling the dryness in her mouth as she gripped the lining of the boxers hard. “Not very dignified, but practical.”

  “Very practical.” Lark’s eyes grew even darker, and her hand covered Sheridan’s for a moment.

  “You can go back to your room. I’ve kept you up long enough,” Sheridan murmured.

  “No worries. I’ll do a quick cleanup of the bathroom, then check on you. Only way I can sleep, you know.”

  “What do you mean?” Sheridan held on to the boxers under the robe, afraid they’d slip down her legs again. She needed to steer Lark out of the room, or she wouldn’t be able to exhale.

  “I sleep better if my client is safely tucked in, no matter her age.” Lark winked, rose from the floor, and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Sheridan eventually managed to haul the boxers up and over her hips. Shaking the robe off her shoulders, she eased on the tank top and felt much better for simply being covered. She wanted to lie down and pull the covers up, but stared gloomily at her dead legs. She had some feeling in them, but not all over. Unable to move them, she hated her legs, despised them some days. Now she studied them and tried for the first time since she came home from the rehab clinic to determine how she could perhaps drag them onto the bed by herself. Thinking outside the box. That’s my claim to fame in the business world.

  Sheridan began to push herself backward, until her calves rested on the edge of the bed. She lay down, then began to pivot and lie down on her pillow. Her legs were still at an awkward angle, but they were at least on the bed and she pulled the covers up, rather pleased with her first attempt.

  Lark came back into the bedroom and stopped by the bed with a broad smile. “Hey, good job!” She slipped her hands under the covers and straightened Sheridan’s legs. “Soon you’ll get the hang of doing this yourself without a problem.”

  “If you say so.” It was hard to believe, but Sheridan felt reluctantly optimistic.

  “I do say so.” Lark inspected the bedside table and moved the buzzer closer to Sheridan’s bed. “You have everything here within reach. Time for all of us to sleep.”

  “Yes. Good night.” Sheridan sank farther into the mattress and the pillows, exhausted.

  Lark stood motionless for a while. “Good night, Sheridan. Sleep well.”

  The door closed behind her and Sheridan stared at it for long seconds. Was that the cause of the sudden darkness, or was it because Lark wasn’t here? Grasping the corner of her pillow, she shut her eyes tightly and willed sleep to come. She was going to need all of her strength when it was time to face Lark in the morning.

  Chapter Six

  Lark continued her interrupted stroll toward the kitchen to find something to drink. Frowning, she thought a stiff whisky would probably do her better than the juice she had originally planned. Watching Sheridan in excruciating pain had affected her tremendously. “To say the least,” she murmured to herself. “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

  The kitchen was deserted, with only a faint light coming from the counter next to the refrigerator. She opened the door and picked up a small juice carton. As she looked around, Lark tried to figure out where the kitchen staff kept the glasses, but had to resort to opening the cabinets one by one.

  “Can I help you?”

  Lark cried out and dropped the carton on the counter. She barely registered that it didn’t break before she whirled around. “Mrs. D!”

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you, Lark. Glasses are in that cabinet.” Mrs. D pointed to Lark’s right. “Cook and the two boys that serve keep a tight ship. Glad that thing didn’t break. We’d be in here scrubbing things spotless until daybreak.”

  The dry humor wasn’t wasted on Lark, who laughed a little louder than called for. “You took five years off my life.”

  “I hope not. That wouldn’t sit well with Sheridan.”

  “What? Why?” Lark nearly dropped the glass she’d just pulled out, and she glared at Mrs. D. “Stop doing that!”

  “I can see you’re going to be good for Sheridan. Let’s not risk your health by scaring you to death, eh?”

  “Good idea.” Carefully, in case Mrs. D caused her to flinch again, Lark poured herself some orange juice. “Want some?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Lark filled another glass for Mrs. D, who took a seat by the stainless-steel kitchen island. “Join me for a little bit. I won’t keep you long.”

  Lark sat down and sipped her drink. “You were saying about Sheridan?”

  “She may not realize it yet, but you’re just what and who she needs to push her toward healing. I think with time you’ll see this as well. Sheridan isn’t easy to get to know, it’s true, and has been like that ever since she was a little girl. A tomboy at heart, she wore cute little dresses for her mother’s sake. You have to understand that Sheridan idolized her father back then, but loved her mother even more. She would do anything, even things that were completely out of character, to make her mother happy. When Mrs. Ward passed away, Sheridan blamed her father, and they never quite reconciled.”

  “They never spoke? But she was so young?” Lark asked, horrified.

  “Oh, of course they spoke. They both loved Ward Industries. But they never resolved the part that entailed Mrs. Ward.”

  “Why are you telling me this? I’d think you’re the type who would never break a confidence even if so
meone dragged you over hot coals.”

  “True.” Mrs. D smiled faintly. “But this is about Sheridan and her healing. She’d be on my case and string me up if she knew, but I’ve worked here long enough to love her like she was my own child. If I don’t tell you things that might help you overlook her ways, she may end up firing you and…she can’t afford to.” The last words came out as a broken whisper.

  Lark placed her hand on Mrs. D’s. “I hear you. And as for that, Sheridan won’t hear from me that you told me about her father. I know her mother died of cancer of the pancreas, it was mentioned in her medical file, but why did Sheridan blame her father?”

  Mrs. D shook her head. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t tell you that.”

  “All right.”

  “Not that I wouldn’t if I could, since it would give you valuable insight into Sheridan’s mind, but…even I don’t know the full story. I have my theories, but since I’m not sure, I’d better keep them to myself.”

  “Smart thinking. Cheers, Mrs. D.” Lark raised her glass. “Sheridan has a very good substitute for a mother in you.”

  “Don’t tell her that.” Mrs. D. clinked her glass against Lark’s. “Sheridan cares for me like a family member, but to her, Mrs. Ward was as close to an angel as any human being can be.”

  They sat in silence for a moment before Mrs. D placed their glasses in the dishwasher and said good night. Lark padded back to her room and switched on her computer. It was obviously too late to call her family in Boerne or her friend in Austin, but she might have an e-mail.

  To her dismay, her inbox only had spam, which Lark deleted with a curse. She went to her hotmail account, the one she used when she corresponded with people outside her immediate family and friends. A while back, she’d struck up a conversation with another woman, Debbie, who was a member of the physical therapist mailing list Lark belonged to.

  Debbie was fun, lighthearted, and always ready to goof off in a chat room. Lark knew Debbie wanted more from her, she’d have to be blind not to see this, but she wasn’t ready for any mindless flings in cyberspace. Or she hadn’t been, at least. Her body’s reactions these last few days indicated that perhaps she was ready to have a fling, no matter what kind.