“No. I’m fine. I just want to be by myself. Is that too much to ask?”
“You’ve been crying.”
I lifted my chin. “Yeah, sometimes it gets to me. I’ve talked to the psychiatrist about it. It’s normal to go back and forth, she says. You told me yourself that there would be a lot of rough times before it gets better. Right?”
“Yes. I did.” The mattress dipped as she sat on the edge of the bed beside me. Before I could withdraw, she grabbed my hand. “But I also said I wouldn’t let you wallow, didn’t I?”
“I’m blind, Mary.” I fought back tears saying it aloud still shot a bolt of fiery regret through the center of my chest. “I don’t feel like skipping through the house and singing.”
“Of course you don’t.” She squeezed my fingers. “I’m trying to give you some space. I know you need time to process. But sometimes the remedy is human contact.” She was quiet a moment and her voice was noticeably softer when she continued. “Sager just called me. He’s worried about you. He said you’ve been avoiding his calls.”
I glanced away, not that I could see anything. It was only that I didn’t want her to see my expression and what it might give away. “Did you tell him… the truth?” I held my breath.
“No, but I don’t agree with you keeping it from him.”
“I know.” I slowly exhaled the pent up breath. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve put me and your friend April in an uncomfortable position.”
I nodded. What could I say to defend myself? She was right. Pressure built behind my eyes. “I can’t tell him right now. I just can’t. I explained why.” My throat constricted, the lies and the regret like a noose that seemed to grow tighter every day.
“I understand that you’ve headed down a path that you shouldn’t have taken and now you feel it’s too late to turn back.”
“So you think I should tell him now? While he is on the road? Over the phone? Lose him along with everything else in my life that matters to me?” I tried to tug my hand free. “I probably should. I probably deserve that.” I thought about my anger at God. The rosary remained on the nightstand, but I refused to put it back on.
“No, you do not. Stop it, Melinda. Calm down.” Her grip tightening on my fingers, she stroked her other hand soothingly over my hair. I let out a shuddering sigh at the tender though unexpected touch. “It’s ok. We’ll handle it when he returns. He cares about you very much. There’s a good chance he’ll understand.”
“Not much of one.” My fingers flexed nervously. “There are so many girls out there waiting and willing to take my place. They follow the guys around from venue to venue. I hear their voices in the background when he calls. He downplays it, but any one of them would be better for him than me.”
“Groupies don’t care about him as a person. I think he’s mature enough to have learned that lesson by now. Having a beautiful woman like you love him is a gift of infinite value. How do you figure they are better for him than you?”
“They can see. That’s infinitely better.”
“I don’t think that is the part that will matter to him. It’s the deceit that will hurt him the most.”
“I’m already letting him down though, and he doesn’t even know yet that I’m permanently disabled. Don’t you understand?” My voice grew shrill with the panic I felt. “He wants me to fly out to his next stop. He wants…” I trailed off. I couldn’t tell her about how the last phone call had ended. I couldn’t even give him what he wanted over the phone. “He doesn’t say it outright but I feel the pressure. Shaina is with War right now. Lace visited Bryan already. They’re being supportive girlfriends. He keeps making excuses for me, but in the end I’m only a burden.”
“Those couples went through a lot of trials before they got to where they are now. Relationships are about give and take. Highs and lows. A journey you commit to taking together. Your memories are skewed to support your current emotional state. I don’t think that you’re really being objective. Don’t give up. Don’t push Sager away. Don’t withdraw into yourself. Let him in. Tell him the truth and trust him to handle it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Melinda
“But it’s hard.” A new batch of frustrated tears pricked my eyes.
“Sure it is. But you’re doing much better than you were when we first started three weeks ago,” Grant, my rehabilitation trainer encouraged me in his patient voice, the one I had loved at the beginning of our training, but one that made me bristle with irritation now. How could he stay so even keeled when he was blind just like me?
“But you still struggle, especially when you try to do things the same way you used to. You can see Melinda, you just have to learn to see in a different way than you did before. You’ve got to permanently change your mindset. Use your other senses to fill in the gaps. Accept. Adjust. Stop looking backward so you can move forward.”
“Ok.” I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t impeding my vision. But it was tickling my nose. “Take me through that last exercise again.”
“That’s the spirit.” Grant squeezed my shoulder, his words and gentle manner reminding me of Sager. A swift pang of longing nearly doubled me over. It had been too long since I had felt his touch.
“You’re doing well with your cane. But you really should consider getting on the waiting list for a guide dog, too. Regardless, I think you’re ready to start practicing away from the house. I’ll take you downtown tomorrow. We’ll ride the bus, do some street crossings and other things. Learn the paths you’ll need for your regular routine.”
“I don’t have a regular routine,” I muttered. “I’ m not sure what I’ll do now that I can’t ski anymore.”
“Who says you can’t ski anymore?”
I put my hands on my hips and gave him what felt like was an incredulous look. “I can’t see, Grant. I wouldn’t make it onto the lift, let alone down the trails.”
“You need to stop being such a defeatist. Employ that dogged determination of yours. Stop focusing on what you can’t do anymore and start focusing on all the things you can. The list is a lot longer than you think. Sure skiing would be hard, but not impossible. You know about the Para-Alpine Ski Team, don’t you?”
I nodded, thinking about the sit skier who could do jumps and the amputee that balanced on one leg. They had used the same ski techs that the non-disabled skiers used.
“Well, Mac Marcoux is one of them. He’s a visually impaired skier. He only has six percent peripheral vision. But he skis competitively being guided by a sighted skier who goes ahead of him wearing a radio head set. He has four world cup medals. He won a gold and two bronzes in the Sochi Olympics. You could do something like that, Melinda, if you set your mind to it. It’s all about adjusting your expectations and pursuing your desires. Some people are diabetic. Some have heart problems. Some struggle with depression. You’re blind. I’m blind. We all have our battles to fight and limitations to overcome. You just have to take the next step. Engage. Attempt. Rise to the challenge.”
• • •
Sager
“Hey,” Melinda said in greeting. She was sounding better and better every time I called and being more open about her feelings, which was great. But I found myself feeling more the opposite. I was tired of the road and desperate to see her. “What’s going on?” she asked. “What’s all that noise in the background?”
“It’s King. He’s drunk off his ass. He’s doing karaoke at the hotel sushi bar. Let me step outside.” Humid Orlando air coated my skin. It was like being in a sauna outdoors even though it was technically still winter. “Is this better?” I asked her.
“Much. I just hear something that sounds like a bunch of rushing water.”
“That’s the fountain. It’s really big. Man, I didn’t remember you having such good hearing.”
“Yeah. I guess there are still some things you don’t know about me, Mr. Observant. What did you do today? How did the show go?”
“I slept mostly. The show went great. We’re totally tight on stage easily picking up each other’s cues, rebuilding trust, rekindling the old magic, making the huge venues feel like they are our own personal clubs. It’s pretty cool. What did you do?”
“Nothing that exciting. I invited April over. We listened to music. Talked some. It was nice.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“You mostly. She’s a big fan. Says I chose the responsible one in the group.”
“That sounds boring.”
“Boring is the last word I would use to describe you.”
“What words would you use?”
“Sexy. Smart. Talented.”
“I like those much better. How’d it go with the psychiatrist today?”
“It went pretty well. We talked about my trust issues. How I need to learn to ask for help more often.” This psychiatrist sounded like she was hitting some important points. I liked her already. “We’ve also starting working on my emotional triggers.”
“So you’re making a lot of progress then?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you identify any triggers?” I pressed.
“A few.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Rejection. Situations where I really stand to lose something that matters to me. I need to develop more confidence to take those things head on instead of avoiding them or running from them, like I did from you after the first time we slept together.” She let out a long breath. “I need to be comfortable in my own skin. Accept myself for who I am at a healthy body weight. Find a way to forgive myself when I do fail. Once I can do those things it’ll be less likely that I’ll fall back into old destructive behaviors.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Melinda
Being downtown was a revelation without my sight. I missed the view of the surrounding mountains and the ocean, but as Grant had suggested, I reminded myself of the things that I could enjoy. I could smell the brine of the ocean. I could hear the gulls crying overhead. I even took pleasure in the audible crosswalk signal, a sound that once had only annoyed me. And because of my changed perspective, I noticed things I never had before. The mouthwatering aroma of vanilla and Nutella at the crepe place. The savory aroma of a Japa Dog. The onions. The sauerkraut. I ate two of them, and I’d never tasted anything so good. My heightened senses certainly contributed to the experience, but I also thought it might be something more significant. The ideas Grant had planted were taking root, and the encouragement from Sager each night gave me the extra confidence I had once lacked. Even without my sight. Maybe I could even ski again. And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t lose Sager when I told him the truth.
Adjust. Engage. Attempt. Rise to the challenge
The impossible seemed doable today.
After I finished my session with Grant, Stan arrived. I asked him to drive me to the University of British Columbia, a corner near the student center where there was always someone singing or playing for an impromptu audience.
I went by myself using my cane. I took it slowly. I stumbled a bit getting up onto the curb and again on the steps. But I did it alone. Taking a seat with my cane tucked in the crook of my arm, I listened for a while to a busker with a guitar. I wasn’t in a rush. I had nowhere else to go. The sound of the chords washed over me. The tune he played was simple, but it resonated with me. I remembered things I had forgotten or maybe only set aside in order to pursue skiing.
Music had always been a big part of my life. My dad played all the time. Every Christmas. Every birthday. Every major milestone in my life had involved live music.
I had been introduced early, and it had permeated me, though I had held the allure in check.
When the musician finished his set, I got up, went over and thanked him, thrusting a bill into his hands. I knew it was a twenty because of the concept development lessons Grant had taught me. Like many of the things we practiced constantly it was becoming second nature to me.
“Be organized,” he told me. “Know your environment and how you fit into it. Know where your stuff is, Melinda. Put things where you can find them and remember. Get into that habit. It will make your life easier.” And it had. Before getting on the bus with him, I had put the denominations in sequential order in different dividers of my wallet.
I retraced my steps to where Stan waited at the curb. He opened the back door, and I got inside the car, admitting to myself that I really liked this chauffeur business. It sure beat the hell out of public transportation.
When we arrived back at the house, I went straight to my room on the ground floor. I navigated to the nightstand and considered reaching for the rosary that lay on top of it right beside me each night as I slept. I contemplated all that had happened. I was pretty sure there was a God. The world seemed too structured and orderly to have come about accidently. But was he the benevolent loving being that Sager thought he was? And if he was, could he forgive me all my faults and lies? I wasn’t ready to decide.
At my desk I used the voice activated computer, asking it to take me to my Spotify playlists. I listened to song after song that brought back memories. Some bitter. Some sweet. It all reminded me yet again of my love for music and the power it held. To elevate. To rejuvenate. I did have something I could do besides skiing that could fulfill me. And if I were very brave and found someone who could be my sighted radio guide, I could probably even resume skiing recreationally.
“Play ‘Purple Rain’.” I needed to hear the chord structure again. There was something within it that reminded me of the “Beauty” song. Something with the soulful bass line and the scintillating guitar riffs. An element that I thought was missing in the current version of the Tempest song. Was it the keyboards?
“Miss Belle, dinner is served in the main dining room,” Stan announced formally.
I jumped. I hadn’t realized it was so late. “Thanks for letting me know.” Cross out the being chauffeured around as my favorite thing about living with Mary Timmons. Having dinner cooked by someone else and not having to do the dishes, that was number one.
“Will Mary be joining me tonight?” I hoped. She worked through dinner most evenings, but when she didn’t I had discovered that I thoroughly enjoyed her company. She had an insightfulness that reminded me of Sager. And a surprisingly tender heart like his. She had showered me with attention since I had arrived and then some. Except for Sager I had never had someone so readily affectionate with me, though she seemed embarrassed when I tried to return it. Almost as if she didn’t think she was worthy of it, which I didn’t understand. How many people would’ve taken in an employee, much less a blind girl, and rearranged their whole house for her? And not only that, I remembered the second night I had slept beneath her roof. It had been a really rough first day for me in an unfamiliar environment. There had been a loud crash after dinner and Stan had hurried upstairs while I stood in the foyer my heart hammering nervously until I heard him chastise her a moment later.
“You are forty-seven years old Madame. You cannot absorb the falls that Miss Belle can. I know you want to understand what she is going through. But blindfolding yourself is not the answer. You must open up a dialogue with her instead.”
Most importantly, though, I had found something in her home that I had never experienced on my own…
“…and if you will allow it, to be loved.”
“Ms. Timmons awaits your company,” Stan reminded me, bringing my thoughts back to the present.
“Yes. Sorry. I drifted off for a minute. I’m coming.” I stood, pocketed my cell and reached for my cane holding it in a practiced grip. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”
“As you will, Miss Belle.”
Twenty steps, a left turn and twenty more steps brought me down the long hallway to the formal dining room. I could tell it blazed with light. A familiar shadow approached, and I ducked my head into her shoulder receiving the warm hug Mary gave me.
“How did it go downtown toda
y?” she asked, her voice an octave lower than usual before she kissed the top of my head. She always seemed to know what I was doing every day and inquired about my progress and my feelings. The hug and the kisses she had only begun to offer recently. It did wonders for my battered heart. I speculated whether extending those simple affections healed her hurts as much as they did mine.
“It went really well.” I moved to take my seat on one end of the table. Stan pulled out my chair for me. I heard the legs of her chair scrape the hardwood floor as she took her seat on the other end.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“You are welcome,” he replied formally.
“Stan said you went to the campus. Are you thinking about reenrolling?”
“No.” I shook my head and picked up my spoon eager to have a taste of the soup beneath my nose. My appetite had returned under the watchful eye of my nutritionist, the counsel of my psychiatrist and the encouragement of Mary and Stan. The steam from the bowl rose bathing my face in its warm heat. The aroma was rich and creamy, and if I was right it was lobster bisque, one of my favorites. I took a bite. It was. “Mmm,” I murmured. “This is delicious.”
“I’m glad you like it. I remembered you eating several cups at Black Cat Records’ last record launch.” She paused, and I heard a scrape of silver on fine china from her end. “Mmm. You are correct. This is perfect. Give my compliments to Cook will you Stan?”
“Yes, Ms. Timmons. She will be pleased. She enjoys planning menus for two now. She says it allows her to be more creative.”
“Excellent.”
“Yes. A win for us both,” I parroted.
“So if not school, have you given any thought to what else you might do?”
“I’m exploring my options.” My answer was enigmatic. I wasn’t ready to commit to anything yet. I knew what she wanted me to do. She wanted me back in the studio, doing my own thing. She had wanted that back while I had still been skiing, and she had mentioned it since I had moved in more than once. But she wasn’t pushing. I think she understood that it had to be my decision. Ricocheting around my room had given me some ideas musically. However, I was taking it day by day like I was doing with Sager. My upturned life seemed more manageable that way. When I thought beyond that to the future, there was only one certain thing in it for me. One thing that I wanted, one thing that I needed above all of the rest.
The Complete Tempest World Box Set Page 156
