After listening to her grandfather's story at breakfast the other morning, JJ thought maybe something had, and, instead of being so restrained, her grandmother would have been better off to find a balance between self-control and self-expression all year long.
JJ was finally learning that lesson herself.
Ham materialized beside her. He followed the direc tion of her gaze. "Me and Miz Beth, we always strung garlands up the stairs."
"I know. Unfortunately, what goes up must come down. It will make a lot of extra work for you and Esperanza."
"How 'bout I make some of those greenery arrange ments? I know how. Miz Beth and me, we'd work on 'em together."
In the past, JJ would have told Ham not to bother; she'd order something from the florist. Now she said, "If you feel like it, that would be lovely."
"How many?"
"You know which vases she used. Make as many ar rangements as you like."
The jerky little nod of his head was Ham's only sign of assent, but that was Ham. Ham didn't waste words. He also didn't walk away, so she knew he had another talking point on his agenda.
"Your man. He's got shell shock, don't he?"
"Shell shock?"
"That's what they used to call it. Guy had been in battle, shells exploding all around him. Sometimes there wouldn't be a mark on him. Afterwards he was a little strange—sometimes a lot strange. He couldn't sleep. Stared at nothing. Shook.
"In Vietnam, they told us won't no such thing as shell shock. It was 'combat fatigue.' 'Course, soldiers kept getting it, so then, they called it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
"Guy feels out of it. Disconnected. He don't know who he is, but he's not himself. Can't focus. Can't make plans. Doesn't always remember what he did yesterday. Family can't put their finger on it, but they know he don't behave like he used to. Don't live up to his responsibilities. His wife leaves him. His folks, they try, but they don't know what to do. After a while, he figures they're better off without him. He's a grown man—they're not supposed to be looking after him. He doesn't make sense to anyone, least of all to himself."
"Ham, you're talking about yourself, aren't you? Do you think traumatic brain injury is why you drank?"
"I reckon why a man's a drunk don't make no never mind."
JJ saw that he wasn't going to answer. She didn't want to make him uncomfortable by probing further. Still, his nonanswer was an answer of sorts. His reaction to being asked to discuss his own experience and draw inferences from it was similar to David's. The fear that David didn't want her to know about his problems lessened.
"Watch out for your man, JJ," Ham told her. "He don't know how to ask for what he needs."
Chapter 50
"I AM BOUND AND DETERMINED I'M GOING TO FIND somewhere that can help David. I've read brochures on the Internet until I'm cross-eyed," JJ complained to Bronwyn. She was unloading on Bronwyn, and she knew it.
David stonewalled her every effort. She was in the dark trying to understand what he needed. But after Ham's revelations, she understood David was not de liberately being obstructive. "I see lots of therapies, but nothing that fits him. What's going on with him is so subtle, yet so pervasive. But the programs I can find are designed for someone much worse than he is."
"That's true."
"Being competent is so much a part of him. If they ask him questions about his self-help skills, they're just going to make him mad. One woman just wouldn't lis ten. She asked, 'Can he dress himself?' I told her he could put on his wetsuit by himself, surf for six hours, and remove it by himself."
She huffed in frustration. "Do you know what her next question was? 'How about preparing simple meals for himself?'" JJ laughed ironically. "I know they have their list they have to go through. It's just so frustrat ing trying to ask for what he needs, when I don't know exactly what that is, myself.
"And you know the other thing? I've finally realized the 'therapy' they are talking about is to teach him skills and strategies for coping with the brain damage. I'm not faulting that, but I finally understood nothing they do will actually heal the damage. It's like the difference between a broken leg and an amputated one. With both, you might need crutches, but if the leg was broken, it will heal. You will have two working legs again. Oh, Bronwyn. I understand why he wants to deny that the TBI is a problem. I want to deny it, too."
JJ swiped at tears she had sworn she wasn't going to shed. "You know what he told me? He dreamed he died in Afghanistan, and it felt wonderful. He was happy. I'm not sure he's happy he lived. And now I read about the high incidence of suicide in those returning from Iraq and Afghanistan."
"Are you worried about suicide?"
"I don't know. A little. He won't tell me how he feels, but I'm afraid if he becomes hopeless…"
"Okay, I've been doing some research, too," Bronwyn told her. "I've found what might be good news. Brain dam age is not as inevitably permanent as was once thought. Some researchers feel that some of the injury associated with blasts is caused by damage to the nerve synapses in the brain, and they can regrow. Something that I think worth looking into is hyperbaric oxygen therapy."
"Hyperbaric—is that like the pressure chamber they use for divers who have the bends?"
"That's right. Also for diabetic wounds, gangrene. Helping broken bones to heal. Crush injuries. There are reports that hyperbaric oxygen therapy helps TBI. It's considered off-label, meaning it's not an FDA approved use of HBOT—that's the abbreviation for hy perbaric oxygen therapy—but the Air Force has a grant to research HBOT's effectiveness with brain injury. I don't know when they are supposed to release their find ings. No reputable medical person is going to tell you it will work, but there is reason to think it might—and no reason to think it will make him worse."
"Where do I take him?" Not that getting him to agree would be easy. He stonewalled her every suggestion.
"I found an HBOT center in California run by for mer SEALs."
"SEALs?" The upsurge of hope made JJ dizzy. "I think he would listen to SEALs!"
"Why don't you give them a call?"
JJ pushed the off button on her phone. She stared out the window a long time, thinking about all she had learned about HBOT, its role in treating TBI, and treat ment protocols.
Raul Chavez, former SEAL and former hospital corpsman, had spent most of an hour listening to her and talking about hyperbaric oxygen therapy and how it worked.
Hyperbaric therapy forced more oxygen into tis sues. It wouldn't restore lost brain cells—he was careful to make that clear. However, it could speed healing. A possibility with mild TBI was that many cells were still alive but not functioning because they were starved for oxygen or had lost connections to other cells. If they could get oxygen, the cells could, in effect, turn on again. They could regrow the tiny connections to other cells and the capillaries that sup plied blood.
Raul wasn't surprised by some of David's attitudes. JJ was comforted to have someone who understood both the problem and what it meant to be a SEAL.
"He's in horrible pain sometimes," she told Raul, "and I've begun to think he's in some pain all of the time. Why won't he tell the doctors? There are medications that could be tried, but he refuses to consider them."
"Oh, I can answer that."
"Then please do."
"The docs have most likely suggested anti-seizure drugs or serotonin re-uptake inhibitors—antidepressants. If he takes either one, there goes his security clearance. Without security clearance, he can't operate."
"So, even if the drugs work, they will prevent him from operating."
"If they offer the drugs and he refuses them, he is seen as noncompliant. Which would be another reason for medical discharge."
"He really is between a rock and a hard place. I see now why he would rather try to live with the pain and hope it will go away.
"He either can't or won't tell me what it's like on the inside to have TBI. A Vietnam vet I know told me he has shell shock. He said it's the same t
hing as combat fatigue and PTSD."
"He might be right. Kevlar helmets make injuries survivable that wouldn't have been in previous wars, and since IEDs are the weapon of choice in Iraq and Afghanistan, there is even more possibility of the blast type of brain injury. Some of the symptoms of PTSD are indistinguishable from blast TBI."
"He keeps saying, 'I just want my life back.' At first I thought he was saying he wanted to operate again, but now I think he means something more."
"Did you know him before his injury."
"Briefly. Not well."
"Is he the same man?"
"No."
"That's his problem."
When she finished the call, JJ understood what was driving some of the behavior that had seemed so unreason able. She knew why David resisted consulting specialists. He wanted to leave no record of being treated for TBI.
Therefore, the best news of all was that it was pos sible to buy HBOT chambers for use in the home.
JJ thanked the technicians who had driven overnight to deliver and set up the hyperbaric oxygen therapy cham ber in one of the upstairs bedrooms in her grandfather's house—the best location, she and Lucas had agreed. "Shoot, if it's here, I might try it myself," he'd said. "Maybe it will make my brain work better, too."
JJ had ordered a top-of-the-line, single-person cham ber, made of a shiny white fabric that stretched over a metal form. The technicians demonstrated the set-up procedure and let her climb in to try it. It was roomy enough for two people to sit in, or for even a large adult to lie down.
Feeling the most hopeful and celebratory she'd felt in a while, JJ peeled the paper off the sticky-tab of a huge, red velvet bow. She placed it on the HBOT at a jaunty angle.
Chapter 51
"I HAVE SOMETHING TO SHOW YOU." DAVID ALLOWED JJ TO take his arm and lead him toward the stairs in her grandfather's house. Her cheeks were pink, she was smiling, and there was a light in her eyes he hadn't seen in a while. He knew she was fretting over him. He hated it. She'd married a SEAL because she wanted someone who would stay away. Nothing seemed to convince her he didn't want or need her to take care of him. She'd finally stopped with her suggestions of topflight neu rologists and therapy centers a few days ago.
He'd already made up his mind that if the docs wouldn't return him to duty, he'd take the medical dis charge and get out of her life.
The pain wasn't bad this afternoon. It was easy to go along with her lightened mood. Too frequently, he hadn't been able to. Getting back into shape was harder than he had thought. Running with a headache wasn't pleasant, but he'd done it before. He had thought if he stayed with it, he would eventually be able to run even when running brought on attacks of nerve pain.
He grinned. "Baby Jane, I think I've seen it before, but I'm perfectly willing to look at it again."
JJ poked him in the chest. "Not that. This is special."
"That's pretty special, too."
"Stop with the double entendre. I'm serious."
"Okay," he clicked his fingers for Brinkley to
stop snuffling around the hall and follow them up the curving stairs.
At the top of the steps, JJ led him to one of the guest rooms. She threw open the door with a big smile. "I imagine you know what this is."
"It's a hyperbaric chamber. What's it for?"
"It's for you, silly."
"Why?"
"I told you about it. That HBOT is useful in treat ing TBI."
"Oh yeah. The place the SEALs are running out in California." He'd made a note to work out how to use his Navy connections to try it.
He'd been a little chagrined that JJ had discovered this use for HBOT, but not because he was a SEAL and should have known. He was a combat medic. When SEALs needed hyperbaric treatment, the Navy had spe cially trained technicians. The real reason he didn't know was that his reading was still too slow and he lost his place too easily to use the Internet effectively.
JJ lovingly patted the cloth cylinder that looked like a cross between a backpacking tent and a space capsule. "You refused to go there, so I figured it would just have to come to you."
"You bought it?"
"Yes. I could have rented, but renting was so expensive—"
"You bought it?"
"Yes."
"A thirty-thousand-dollar piece of equipment?"
"Twenty-nine. But with delivery and insurance, yes, a little over thirty thousand."
"David needs an HBOT, so I'll just pick up the phone and order one?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Any problem you see, you solve it by throwing money at it. Do you think you can make me better by throwing money at this problem, too?"
"Throw money at it! Where did you get the idea I do that?"
"You do it all the time." He mimed a phone to his ear. "'Would you send over an HBOT, please? I'd like it delivered in an hour.' You want an example? We can start with the fact that you wanted to pay me to marry you and then get out of your life."
"Don't go all holy and self-righteous on me! You mar ried me to get the money for your brothers and sister."
"Haven't you figured it out yet? I married you because I friggin' wanted you. I don't want your money. I don't want your stuff. I don't want friggin' thirty-thousand-dollar Christmas presents. I want you, dammit. I love you."
"I know."
"You do?"
"Yes, and I love you, too," she snapped, obviously unimpressed by his declaration. "I'm not trying to buy love from you or prove my love or anything else. Your problem with this is your issue. Not mine."
"Issue? What do you mean?" Anyway, when had it become about him?
JJ crossed her arms under her breasts and tapped her toe. "When you were a kid, you decided that everybody was supposed to be part of the family but you. Everybody was supposed to get your mother's love and attention but you. They were younger, more fragile, and needed support more than you did. You came to that conclu sion when you recognized that she was overwhelmed because you are strong and generous and willing to sac rifice yourself to look after people."
"Wait a minute. You've been talking to Elle. This is her theory."
"I happen to think she's right, but I had already con cluded it on my own. If we're going to make a family, at some point you have to decide the family's resources are for you, too." She poked him in the chest with a sharp fingernail.
David backed away, but she came after him. "When are you going to figure it out?" She poked him again. "The money comes with me. Are we married or not? I thought we were. I thought that meant I was supposed to do things for you occasionally. You've given me so much the last few weeks. Out of your vitality, you've given me life. Not money, but a kind of abundance I didn't know existed." Her eyes shot out icy green sparks. "But you're saying it's only supposed to flow one way—from you to me.
"I guess it comes down to this. You married me, but are you going to let me marry you?" She threw up her hands. "What the hell. You don't want to let me share in your life. Fine. Use the HBOT. If it works, you can have your life back. That's what you always say you want. You got along without me before. We don't have to wait a year. I'll set you free to go have your life. We can be divorced by the end of January."
"You can't do that. What about your grandfather?"
"What about him?"
"He'll say you reneged. He'll carry out his threat to sell Caruthers."
"Let him. I can live without it."
"You can?"
"My umpty-great-grandfather built that business. I can build another one—or find something I like better. I can take the people who want to come with me and help the others to find something else."
"But you love it."
"I thought I loved the business because it gave me security and felt like a family. I found out it's the other way around. It gave me security and felt like a family because I loved it. Caruthers was a place that made my world safe and orderly when I was a child. But I'm not a child anymore. I have security inside myself.
In my heart. In the love I feel for you, for all of you. I can lose the business… I can even lose you, but I can't lose love I give."
He went for the part of that he understood. "You love me?"
"Yes. I don't want to be married to you so I can save a business or save other people. Not anymore. I want to be married to you, just because I do. But no more deals. No more contracts. No more quid pro quo. Just love."
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