Elliot

by Dale Mayer

  Of course most of the men and women here were stubborn, driven and incredibly capable due to their very natures. They had been placed in a position of having to reorient themselves to this new reality of physical injuries. In Elliot’s case, she understood how close he came to being a paraplegic. She knew he understood that as well. There was always a sense of being grateful for as far as he’d come. But at the same time, he was exhausted. His sleep patterns were constantly disrupted with the PTSD, so his medical team readjusted Elliot’s rehab schedule day to day, not wanting to wake Elliot from any sleep he got—sleep was the primary goal for him. That kind of long-term drain on his energy wasn’t good either. But she had no permanent solution for him. She wished she did.

  Originally he’d taken sleeping pills, but he hated the way they made him feel. Instead of him waking up a dozen times, he woke up a half-dozen times, but each was horrific enough that his nightmares ripped him into wakefulness through the sleeping pills. Often he never got back to sleep. So Sicily understood that was not an improvement either. During the day, he worked himself to the bone during his physical therapy routines, and sometimes he did collapse, but often that was a short-term solution only.

  “His counselors are working through the emotional aspects,” Jenna said. “But post-traumatic stress isn’t something anybody can deal with overnight.”

  If he could get some sleep, that would help. But like so many times before, she was at a loss as to how to handle that or otherwise help him. In cases like this, possibly traditional medicine wasn’t the answer. She was open to the idea of alternative therapies, but she’d yet to hear of any that worked either.

  She checked her watch. It was after five a.m., almost time for her shift to end. She rose from her chair and began her rounds again. She went the long way around, coming to Elliot’s room last. As she passed his room, she slowed with her ear cocked to hear how he was doing. An odd sound came from within, and she poked her head around the open door to see him lying in bed, chanting something in a very low tone. She hesitated to interrupt because she wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep. He’d been known to talk in his sleep before and even to carry on a complete conversation. As she went to withdraw, he turned his head and stared at her.

  “Good morning, Sicily.”

  She froze and hesitantly took a step inside. “I didn’t want to disturb you, if you were sleeping or doing something.”

  He smiled. “Well, I got some sleep, so I’m feeling a little better.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “A little sleep is good. But the fact that you’re awake at this hour isn’t.”

  “I’ve been trying to meditate. It’s supposed to be good for my soul. Slow down the thoughts in my mind, reduce the stress going through my system.”

  She nodded. “Meditation is good for all of us.”

  “Do you do it?” he challenged.

  “No. Not anymore. I used to, but like so many routines, it fell by the wayside,” she confessed.

  He nodded. “It’s so much easier if you have somebody to do it with. I was speaking to Shane about adding yoga to my schedule, but no yoga teacher is on staff.”

  “Several people here are comfortable enough with yoga to show you some moves,” she said lightly. “It’s something I do myself every morning.”

  “Every morning, as in your ‘morning’ before you go to work, or as in right now as you come off shift?”

  She chuckled. “Normally I head to my room, switch out of my uniform and sleep for a few hours. When I wake up, I do some yoga.”

  “I rarely see you during the day.”

  “I’m here. But I’m not on shift, so I usually don’t come upstairs. I help downstairs a lot. I have a bike, and I like to go riding every day. I do a lot of walking too.” She shrugged. “It’s hard getting used to the night shift, but once you’re in the routine, it does leave the bulk of the day to do the things you want to do.”

  “Yeah, like sleep.”

  She grinned. “Sure, but I start work at ten p.m., so considering I’m off at six a.m.—in another ten minutes or so—I’ve got all morning to sleep. I usually get a solid six-and-a-half to seven hours, and then I have most of the afternoon and the evening to myself.”

  “Then why don’t you stop by and visit when you’re off?”

  “Maybe I will,” she said lightly. “It’s kind of hard to visit my work area and not have it feel like it’s my job.”

  “True enough. Even when I was an active SEAL, I hung out with my SEAL buddies in my time off. Hard to know sometimes when a workday started and a workday ended. Could you show me a few yoga poses?”

  His leer and suggestive waggling eyebrow movements made her laugh. “I could,” she said, crossing her arms. “But would you listen to me?”

  “It depends on what body contortions you’re able to do,” he said with a big grin. “I might get a little sidetracked.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I do have a couple moves that might help you sleep.”

  He raised his eyebrows at her. “Hell, those I’d like to try.” He motioned to the space beside the bed. “Care to demonstrate?”

  She shot him a suspicious look, but seeing only curiosity in his gaze, she nodded. She glanced down at the watch on her wrist. “Technically my shift is done. So here’s a ten-minute yoga lesson. If you’re interested, we can do more when I come back on tonight.”

  She slowly went through several moves meant to de-stress, unwind and relax the muscles from a long day. It occurred to her she should do her yoga before she went to bed instead. That would most likely be of more value to her too.

  She took her time and showed him the different arm and hand positions. “It’s important to work on your breathing. Every movement you make, you inhale and exhale. Don’t focus so much on getting through the exercises but on sinking into each position and getting your breathing right.”

  “Right. We work on the breathing for physiotherapy as well.”

  She nodded. When she had done her ten minutes, she slowly stood up, stretched high to the sky and let out a deep breath. “That’s my morning workout. It’s simple. It’s fast, but it makes me feel so much better.”

  When she turned to look at him, he stood by his bed in his boxers, stretching for the sky as if imitating her movements.

  She stared at him, bemused. “Have you been following along?”

  “Only for the last position. But if you want to repeat from the beginning,” he said, “I’d like to give a couple of those a try.”

  She stepped back a little farther and went through the first couple of exercises with him as he did his best to get into the positions—adapting his damaged body as best as he could. She pointed out where he’d overextended his knees and elbows, touching where the muscles were tense.

  “Breathe. Let the tension release and relax.”

  By the time he’d gone through the ones he could do easily, or at least capably, another fifteen minutes had gone by. He sat down on the bed, his expression one of surprise. “I do feel better. It’s like the tension always strumming through me has eased back, and it’s not quite so taut.”

  “Exactly.” She grinned at him. “Now the dining hall’s open, and it’s breakfast time.”

  “Have breakfast with me?” he wheedled. “I hate eating alone.”

  She smiled. “Fine, let’s get breakfast, but you are not going out in that state of undress. Get some clothes on, and then we’ll go down together.”

  “Where will you be then?” He walked gingerly to the closet and pulled out a pair of lightweight jeans and a T-shirt.

  “I have to return to the office and sign out. I’ll be back here in five minutes.”

  Suddenly feeling like a giddy schoolgirl, she slipped from the room and raced to her office. She’d left her computer on. She logged off and shut down her station. She walked over to the board and signed out at her normal time.

  Then Sandra walked in to start her day. “Don’t you look spry this morning? I don’t know
how you do the night shift. And for so long.”

  “I don’t mind it. There are advantages.”

  “You can always ask to have your shift switched. So you know, we’ll be hiring some new people. It’s a good time for you to switch to daytime if you want.”

  “It’s something to consider, but it hasn’t been an issue for me.”

  “Your choice.” Sandra studied the shift board for a moment and then looked at the big chalkboard where they put up any alerts and notices. “Quiet night?”

  Sicily nodded. “Very much so,” she confirmed. “Even Elliot didn’t have a terrible night.”

  “That’s good news, indeed,” Sandra said.

  Sicily walked from the room and headed toward Elliot’s. He sat on the side of his bed with his tablet in his hand.

  “Are you sure you can fit in breakfast?” she teased.

  He looked up with a grin. “I was the one waiting for you.”

  She nodded at the crutches beside him. “Are you using those today?”

  “I thought I would try. I was checking my schedule, to see how arduous it’ll be. If I do too much first off …” He shook his head. “Well, I’m sure you have a good idea what happens then.”

  She chuckled. “Indeed, I do.” She turned on her heel and led the way to the dining hall. She slowed her pace slightly, so she didn’t appear to be racing away. But neither would she make it too easy on him. If he was giving the crutches a try, then she would see how well he handled them.

  By the time he made it to the large open dining room, Elliot was wondering at the wisdom of the crutches. They did force him to keep his back straight. He wasn’t using his brace and hadn’t worn it for the last couple weeks. He loved being free of the constriction. At the same time, there was a certain comfort in knowing his back would be safe and secure with it on. It was kind of a toss-up sometimes. But as his back strengthened, it was just as important that he used his core muscles to help his balance. As he slowly improved, everything integrated. He couldn’t strengthen one part of his body and ignore the rest.

  He stared at the long line of people with their trays, and he realized with his crutches, it would be that much harder to carry his food.

  Sicily stepped up beside him. “You fill it, and I’ll take it to the table.”

  He nodded his head. “I won’t argue with that.”

  He loaded his plate with sausages, ham, eggs, and hash browns, grabbing toast and a bowl of fresh fruit for good measure. As he walked along the buffet, he realized one of the differences in being here, with the women around, was that there were no secrets. Something was very freeing about that. Before he’d felt as if he had to keep up a front. Keep up the big strong man appearance. As a SEAL, he was one of the best fighters in the country. That meant he always had a certain image to project and to maintain.

  But now things were different. Sicily saw into him and saw who he was inside better than most women he’d ever met. He did not want to let go of that. He wanted to deepen it, to make it more … so much more.

  He wasn’t sure that was kosher. Although he would have to be blind not to see the various relationships between staff and patients at Hathaway House. Not the protocol of most medical facilities, but he had seen friendships blossom and relationships grow. Even Dani, the owner, was engaged to Aaron, one of the former patients. Elliot was happy for them. Dani was a beautiful woman, inside and out, and Aaron, well, Aaron was a former SEAL. They had friends in common. At the same time, it was good to know Aaron had found love in a place like this, and it underscored what Elliot was considering himself.

  The people here saw who the patients were at a level most other people never had the chance to see. They saw the patients face trauma, nightmares, physical injuries and imperfections that only showed up under these circumstances. Most of the time, nonmedical individuals didn’t deal with this stress or emotional baggage, except for spouses and other family members of injured veterans.

  Many relationships existed on the surface only and never touched the deeper layers. There was no need to unless somebody was involved in some sort of major trauma. Most people never found out who they were on the inside at that level. Once a trauma happened to one half of a pair, then the other partner was pulled in, whether they wanted to be or not. They couldn’t avoid seeing what the injured person was going through.

  The best relationships grew out of times of stress, when you saw how the other person acted at the worst point in their life. If you still respected that person and still loved and appreciated who they were at that point, then the relationship had every reason to flourish. But so many other people would take one look and crack. They couldn’t handle seeing the other person in pain, realizing they didn’t have it in them to be supportive or to be there for that person during the hard times.

  “Shall we sit over there?” Sicily pointed to the sunny side of the deck, interrupting his musings.

  “Sure.” He let her lead, then followed.

  He always figured when he was in a relationship he was there not for a good time but for a long time. But he’d been the first to admit that hadn’t worked out so well. Now maybe that would change. He was no longer leaving the country on a regular basis, and his work was no longer dangerous. Hell, he didn’t even have a job. That was a real issue. Sure, he had a pension, but it wasn’t the same thing. He still intended to be a fully functioning member of society, paying taxes and putting money away for retirement. That had not changed. He just didn’t know what he wanted to do. Although he was leaning toward business. He just had no idea what facet. He was who he was on the inside, and he was the same person he’d always been. Now the person on the inside was a little stronger. He was a little wearier, and he’d seen a whole lot more of the world and of himself than he’d have liked, but it was all good. He could do this. Most of the time.

  “Thanks for the invite,” Sicily said.

  Given a choice, he’d do this every day. “You’re welcome.” If Sicily was his, he could do this all the time.

  Until all those memories came out of the shadows and attacked him, like some enemy who he knew existed but had never seen. One of the most frustrating things for him was that he didn’t necessarily know when or how the attacks would happen or from what corner. He knew that they were coming, and they would give him hell.

  He’d been through a battery of psychological tests. He knew who he was on the inside, so when he’d hit the bottom, there hadn’t been any ugly surprises. The biggest surprise was how deep and bottomless that well of falling seemed to be. But as soon as he landed, he took stock and got back on his feet and then crawled up again. It was not easy, not fast and certainly didn’t happen without help, but he had made it.

  As he looked around at the people beside him, he realized this was exactly where he needed to be. Everyone here was in the same place mentally. Sure, there were ups and downs and some differences, but they were all on the path to recovery. They had all turned the mental corner and were doing what they needed to do for their own sakes. Not that they didn’t care about their friends, family, children or spouses, but the rehab patients had to do what they had to do right now. So they were here, doing what they did best, and that was dealing with life. A new life.

  He settled in to enjoy his meal.

  Chapter 3

  When breakfast was over, Sicily walked alongside Elliot to his room. They exchanged a quick goodbye, and after seeing one of his medical team arriving, Sicily left him, fatigued but restless. Smiling to herself, she went to see Stan at the vet clinic. She was too wired-up and excited for sleep. That was so unlike her.

  As she walked into the clinic, Stan was at the front counter, studying the appointment book for the day. He looked up and flashed a smile her way. “Hey, don’t you look great? But aren’t you supposed to be in bed now?”

  “Just had breakfast and I’m still a little too wired to go to bed. I thought maybe you could use a hand for an hour or two.” She gave him a sly look. “Or rather I was
hoping an animal or two might need a cuddle.”

  “That’s more like the truth. There are always cages to clean, stalls to muck out and dogs to walk.”

  She grinned. “Bunnies to cuddle, dogs to brush and cats to comb?”

  He nodded. “Always those too.” He led her into the back room. “We have six rescues. Mom had kittens as soon as she landed. Smart mom. She knew exactly where she was safe.”

  Sicily fell in love as soon as she saw them. The mom was a huge black medium-haired cat, and the look in her eye was one of gratitude that she was, indeed, safe and sound. She let Sicily stroke her for a long while. When the cat started to squirm, Sicily headed back to the waiting room at the front counter.

  “Now those are adorable kittens.”

  Stan smiled. “They are cuties.”

  “Do you have more people at reception these days?” Sicily asked curiously. “Every time I’m here, somebody new seems to be at the desk.”

  “We’ve started some job-sharing initiatives, and since we’ve increased our hours, we have more shifts to cover,” Stan said with a big smile. “We are open on Saturdays now too. It’s not so much that you see a lot of new people. There are five of us now, working throughout the week.”

  “Wow. Good for you.” As she watched a great big German shepherd walked in on the end of a leash, its regal head high, ears pointed and nose up. “How lucky you guys are.”

  Stan chuckled. “I love being around the animals, but it can be tough when the news isn’t good.”

  “I know that feeling well.”

  “I hear you used to work in an ER in Detroit,” Stan queried.

  “I did for a couple years. But after a while, I couldn’t do it anymore. So much death and fighting, shootings and violence,” she said quietly. “Hathaway House is much more my style.”

  “At least everyone upstairs wants to be here, but when it comes to the patients down here, that’s not always the case,” Stan said slowly.