by Ann Tatlock
“I always thought so.”
“You both look happy.”
“We were.”
Jon-Paul seemed to glance at her, then away. Was he wondering, even as she was, why she didn’t say, We are? But he didn’t ask. When he spoke, he merely said, “I’m glad to see Seth’s face too. Now I can picture him when I talk to him.”
“Something sighted people take for granted, of course.”
“We take everything for granted, until we don’t have it anymore.”
Jane pursed her lips as she nodded. “You’re right about that.”
Jon-Paul slid the photo back across the table. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad to put a face to a voice.”
Jane picked up the photo and gently ran her thumb over the image of Seth’s face. They had been happy then, both of them. Back during that brief time when they could take even happiness for granted.
She tucked the photo into her pocketbook, picked up her fork and, staring at the untouched plate of greens, wondered where her appetite had gone.
25
By the time Jane got home that evening, she was nursing a headache. The few moments spent listening to Jon-Paul play “Clair de Lune” seemed like days ago instead of hours. After their lunch at the Eden Grille, she had spent an interminable amount of time in Seth’s room, listening to him rant about everything from the tasteless hospital food to the lack of progress he was making in physical therapy.
———
“I hate that sip-and-puff chair,” he had said.
“But why?”
“Because I feel like a fool. First of all, I’m puffing into a tube to get the thing to go, and I feel ridiculous. And then it doesn’t go where I want it to go. I’m tired of bumping into the walls.”
“But you’ll get the hang of it, Seth. It’ll just take some time.”
“I don’t want to get the hang of it, Jane. Don’t you get it? I want to walk.” His jaw tightened as his eyes grew moist.
Jane drew in a ragged breath. “I understand,” she said.
“No, you don’t. You can’t.”
“I’m trying, Seth.”
“You walk in here, and you walk back out again. You don’t have a clue what I’d give to do that.”
Jane knew that if his tears spilled over, he wouldn’t be able to wipe them away. He would hate that. He would be left feeling all the more helpless.
“Okay, Seth,” she said, “you won’t walk again, but you’ve got to keep moving forward. You’ve got to find out what you can do and then learn how to do those things.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to. If you can’t do it for yourself, can’t you do it for me?”
He didn’t answer. His tears seemed to have dried up, distilled by the heat of anger. He turned his face away.
“Listen, Seth, I read about a guy with injuries like yours. I don’t remember how he ended up a quadriplegic, but after he went through rehab he went back to school and earned a degree in business and—”
“I don’t care, Jane. I don’t care what other people have done.” His face was crimson, his voice strained. “All right, I won’t walk again. Okay, I could accept that if I could just use my hands. But I can’t. I never will.”
“But your injury is incomplete, Seth. We don’t know how much movement you’ll regain.”
“Whatever it is, it won’t be enough. I won’t be able to do the things I wanted to do. I’ll never pick up another tool. I’ll never build anything again.”
———
Their conversation, circular and fruitless, had left her frazzled and worn out. She dropped her pocketbook on the kitchen table and stepped out back with the dogs to let them romp in the fenced-in yard. Smiling as she watched the tail-wagging Roscoe and Juniper frolic and sniff the grass for a time, she lowered herself into one of the lawn chairs on the deck. And then she lowered her face to her hands and wept.
It’s too much. Too much.
She saw the afternoon cloned and multiplied until it stretched out to a lifetime of failure, frustration, anger. This could be it, from now until death parted them. Was it what she wanted?
She lifted her head and breathed deeply. The memory of Pritchard Park flashed through her mind. Four nights ago she was dancing with Ted, and she had laughed. Once, it had been that way with Seth. They too had danced. They had walked and swum and cross-country skied and bicycled along mountain trails. They had strolled through the streets of Troy, and they had climbed to the top of Chimney Rock where he had asked her to be his wife.
They would never do those things again. And yet, he was still Seth.
I’m so tired I can’t think straight.
She wiped both cheeks with the palms of her hands and dug her cell phone out of her jeans pocket.
What do you want?
She wanted exactly what Seth wanted. She wanted her old life back, the one that had been so full of promise. But she could never have it back.
Then?
She didn’t know.
“Life’s gearshift’s got no reverse . . .”
But what did moving forward mean? And where was she going?
She flipped open the phone and punched in a familiar number.
“Rayburn House. Peter Morrow speaking.”
“Dad?”
“Jane? What’s up?”
Jane wiped a stray tear, took another deep breath. “Nothing, really. Just thought I’d call and see how things are at home.”
“Everything’s fine. Busy—which is good. We’ve actually got a full house at the moment. Your grandmother’s overseeing dinner right now.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good, then.” Her father had never remarried. He had drifted in and out of relationships in the dozen years since Meredith Morrow’s death, but he had never committed.
“So how are things in Asheville? How’s Seth?”
“He’s doing pretty well. They’ve got him learning how to use a sip-and-puff wheelchair. He moves it by blowing into a tube.”
“No kidding. So he’ll be able to get around by himself?”
“Eventually, yeah.”
“Good deal.” Peter Morrow had married the wrong person to begin with and had consequently lived a sad and lonely life. He had never said as much to Jane, but she knew he wanted something different for her. When Seth was wounded, father and daughter had cried together for the second time in their lives. His empathy for her offered a rare glimpse into her father’s wounded heart.
“He’s struggling, though. I mean, it’s hard.”
A moment passed before he said, “I can only imagine.”
“But of course it’s a big adjustment. People do adjust, though. I met a guy here named Jon-Paul. He went blind as a teenager, but he’s told me how he learned to cope with it all.”
“Oh?”
She was rambling. She didn’t know what she was trying to say, didn’t even know why she had called.
“Yeah. I’m meeting lots of interesting people here, Dad.”
“Oh yeah? Hey, that’s good.”
She wanted to ask him what she should do, but she had already asked him once. When Seth was at Walter Reed, telling her not to come.
“What should I do, Dad?”
“I can’t tell you what to do, Jane. But I’ll support you in whatever you decide.”
If she asked again, he’d undoubtedly just say the same thing again. Of course he couldn’t tell her what to do. Only she could decide.
“You should see the Penlands’ house, Dad,” she went on. “It’s really beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve got it all to myself this summer.”
“Uh-huh.” He paused, then, “Listen, Jane, I should tell you, the caterer called. They want to know whether they should refund your deposit.”
“Oh?” The caterer she had hired for the wedding reception. “Um, yeah, I guess so. Tell them, though, that . . . tell them we’ll be rescheduling and we’ll get back in touch with them then.”
“All right.” Silence. Th
en, “You know, honey, if it gets to be too much there, you can always come home, whenever you want. Your room’s waiting for you.”
She’d had her own apartment in Troy before the engagement. Afterward, she had moved back to the Rayburn House to save money for the wedding.
“Okay. Thanks, Dad.”
“I mean, even if you just need a few days away. A little bit of a break, you know. It might be a long summer.”
“All right. But I’m taking care of the dogs for Diana, you know. I’m not sure what I’d do . . .”
“Oh yes. Well, bring them along with you, if you need to come home.”
Come home. The idea was appealing and depressing at the same time.
“So is there anything else new with you and Gram?”
Her father let go a brief laugh. “No, it’s pretty much the same-old, same-old around here.”
Jane nodded. “Okay, well—”
“Listen, do you want to talk to your grandmother? I can have her pick up the extension in the kitchen.”
“No, that’s all right.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. We talked a long time on Saturday. And I know she gets frazzled at dinnertime, so I’ll catch her later.”
“All right.”
Silence again. Then, “Well, I’ll let you go, Dad.”
“Okay, honey. Take care of yourself.”
“I will. And . . . Dad?”
“Yeah, Janie?”
She didn’t know where it came from, but the question was poised on her lips, begging to be asked. Do you think Mom ever loved me?
“What is it, Janie?” her father asked again.
She shook it off. It was too late for all that now. “Tell Gram not to work too hard.”
He laughed again. “You know those words will only fall on deaf ears.”
She pretended to chuckle. “Yeah, I guess. Well, bye, Dad.”
Closing the phone, she looked out over the yard. Juniper was stretched out in a ray of lingering sunlight while Roscoe pawed at the grass by the hedge. A few of the tulips Diana had planted were still in bloom in the small garden, while trails of moonflower vines hugged the fence. The summer evening was infused with a loveliness that suggested serenity and rest.
O beauty . . .
Jane shut her eyes, breathed deeply.
. . . are you not enough?
Jane wanted it to be enough, but she knew the truth only too well. Blossoms fell, vines withered, people didn’t stay. What then would satisfy the ache? Was there a love anywhere in this vast creation that didn’t disappoint? Surely there was a place to lay one’s heart where it wouldn’t be broken.
“Oh, God.” Jane put her head back, spoke aloud. “I’m so tired. Please hear my prayer and tell me what to do.”
26
Jane paused in the doorway of Seth’s room, brought up short by the unexpected sight. Seth grinned up from the bed. Sausalito sat in a folding chair on one side of Seth’s bed while Hoboken sat on the other side, both with open laptops balanced on their knees. Jon-Paul stood at the window, as though looking out, both hands at the small of his back.
“Am I late for the party?” Jane asked.
Jon-Paul turned toward her voice and smiled. “Yes, you are, in fact. We’re having a LAN party. Come on in and join us.”
“A land party?” Jane stepped to the vinyl chair and sat down, crossing her legs. “What’s a land party?”
“Oh, Jane,” Seth said with a mock sigh, “you’re hopelessly technically challenged.”
“Yes, and you’ve always known that. So what’s a land party?”
Hoboken looked up from his laptop. “That’s L-A-N,” he explained. “It stands for local area network, Miss Jane.”
Jane stared at Hoboken a moment. “That tells me exactly nothing,” she said.
Hoboken laughed. “It’s simple, really. When people say they’re having a LAN party, they all come together with their computers and hook up with each other to play a game online. Right now, Seth and Jon-Paul are playing chess.”
“Playing chess?”
“Yes. I’m moving for Jon-Paul and Saus is moving for Seth.”
“You are?”
Sausalito joined the conversation with a nod. “They just tell us which piece they want to move where, and we do it.”
“Yeah,” said Seth. “Which means we have to trust them to get it right. Of course, if I lose, I can blame Sausalito for messing up somewhere, just like he messed up when he was sending that e-mail to Mom and Dad for me.”
“No, no, no, Mr. Seth.” Sausalito shook his head. “I know what I’m doing. I won’t mess up. We’re going to win.”
“That’s what you think, cousin,” Hoboken said. “Mr. Jonny is a clever man. I think you have met your match.”
“Listen, Hoboken,” Seth said, “who’s playing this game—Saus or me?”
“You are, of course, Mr. Seth.”
“And I happen to have been the chess champ of Troy High, so I’d say I can give Jon-Paul here a run for his money.”
“Hmm,” Jon-Paul said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe we should be playing for money.”
Seth shook his head. “I’d hate to see you go into debt.”
“Go into debt, nothing!” Jon-Paul laughed. “I could use the extra change in my pocket.”
“No one’s going to win anything,” Sausalito interjected, “unless somebody makes the next move.”
“Whose turn is it?” Jon-Paul asked.
Hoboken laughed loudly. “Have you forgotten, Mr. Jonny? It’s your turn. I’ve been waiting a very long time for you to tell me your next move. If you don’t tell me soon, I’ll have to make it for you.”
“You can’t do that,” Seth said. “If you do, Jon-Paul forfeits the game.”
“Not so fast, Mr. Seth,” Sausalito said. “I’ve played chess with my cousin there many times. Believe me, you should go ahead and let him make the moves for Mr. Jonny. You are sure to win, then.”
“No one’s going to make any moves for me,” Jon-Paul interjected, pointing an index finger into the air. “I’m almost ready. Just give me another minute to think.”
When he turned back toward the window, Jane moved to Hoboken and studied the laptop over his shoulder. Diana had taught her to play chess when they were both teenagers. Jane wasn’t particularly fond of the game, but at least she knew which piece was which and how each could move. “So—” she said, intending to ask a question, but Jon-Paul shushed her.
“Genius at work here.” He rose up on his toes and back down. “I need quiet. All right, Hoboken. Here’s my move. Knight to queen’s bishop 3. Got it?”
Hoboken tapped at the keyboard. “Got it.”
“Your move, Mr. Seth,” Sausalito said.
“So,” Jane tried again, “you guys have to remember all the moves? You have to remember where all the pieces are on the chess board?”
“That’s right,” Seth said. “It adds a whole new layer of challenge to the game.”
“Except,” Sausalito added, “if they need a reminder, we can tell them what is where.”
“You weren’t supposed to tell her that, Saus,” Seth complained. “Now she won’t be nearly so impressed.”
Jane laughed. “Don’t worry about that. I’m impressed enough as it is. How long has this game been going on?”
Hoboken looked at his watch. “About thirty minutes.”
“Won’t it take you all day to finish?”
“At the rate we’re going,” Seth said, “it’s going to take a couple of months.”
“Hardly!” Jon-Paul cried. “A couple of weeks, max.”
Jane looked from Hoboken to Sausalito and back again. “What if you guys get caught doing this?”
“Get caught?” Hoboken shrugged. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”
“What about, you know, your jobs . . . taking care of the patients?”
“Oh!” Hoboken laughed. “This is our day off. We’re not working. We just came
in for the fun. Don’t you see we are not in uniform?”
Jane hadn’t noticed the jeans and T-shirts they were wearing instead of the aide uniforms. “So you’ve come in on your day off?”
“Of course,” Sausalito said. “We couldn’t miss this. But we are here only an hour since we have classes this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Seth said, “and I’ve got a busy schedule too, you know. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. The afternoon soaps.”
Jane smiled at Seth. He returned it. How different his mood was today from yesterday.
“So, Mr. Seth,” Sausalito said. “Time’s wasting. It’s your move, you know.”
Seth shut his eyes, opened them again. “All right, I’m thinking. I can see it all perfectly in my mind’s eye.”
“So can I, Seth,” Jon-Paul said, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’re going to be in trouble soon.”
“That’s what you think,” Seth countered. “I’m full of surprises. Now, quiet please while I concentrate.”
Jane moved back to the vinyl chair and sat quietly, taking in the scene being played out in the room. Seth occupied with the game, rising to the challenge, even animated by it. The cousins from Uganda, casting the occasional competitive glance at each other. Jon-Paul, standing calmly by the window, a tiny smile at the corner of his lips. He knows what he’s doing, Jane thought. And she was grateful.
Before Seth could call out his move, a man Jane didn’t recognize wheeled himself up to Seth’s door. “What’s going on, comrades?” he asked.
Sausalito looked up from his laptop. “Hello, Mr. George. We’re in the middle of a chess game here. Seth Ballantine versus Jon-Paul Pearcy. It’s a fierce competition.”
“Oh yeah?” George asked. “Well, how about if I take on the winner?”
Seth turned his head toward the door. “The game probably won’t be over for some time yet, but I’ll be glad to take you on as soon as I’m finished with Jon-Paul here.”
“Hold on there, Seth,” Jon-Paul said. “Not so fast. We’re only just getting started. I’ve barely had the chance yet to show my stuff.”
“Well, listen,” George said, “whoever wins goes up against me next. Or . . .” He paused a moment as he backed up his wheelchair and looked up and down the corridor. “Hey, Glen!” he hollered. “Come down here a minute.”
