Love Notes

by Savannah Kade

  She was practically screaming. And she was shaking.

  He’d even stopped rubbing his jaw.

  But she had to get herself together. It had been so long since she’d had any kind of outburst, since she’d said or done anything to acknowledge that part of her life. She stalked off, thinking again how nice it would be to saddle Thunder and ride away.

  TJ’s voice pulled her back. “I’d take what you have in a heartbeat.”

  That stopped her and made her blood run cold. “No you wouldn’t. You lost your legs. Get over it. I had my heart ripped out. And it’s never come back.”

  “That’s just it. You had someone who loved you. For how long?”

  “Five years.”

  “Whatever pain you’re in, it’s because someone loved you for five years. I’ve never had that—not for a day. So you can go to hell.”

  He was turning to go inside. But the porch wasn’t wide enough for a graceful exit, he had to turn and maneuver a couple of times. Norah came back to the porch, breathing deeply, tears running down her face.

  “Don’t go.” She didn’t wait for his reply, just sat herself back down on the edge of the porch, where she usually watched the sunset.

  She felt his hand in her hair before she heard him. “We’re a sad pair aren’t we? Just drowning in our sorrows.”

  He still didn’t speak, so she grabbed his hand and held her cheek against the back of it. His skin was smooth and warm, and she closed her eyes. Her father was the only one who’d been able to comfort her. She wasn’t even sure if this was comfort now.

  But she took another breath and tried again. “TJ, I want you to go to therapy. Please.”

  “Why?”

  Somehow she knew that her answer mattered. That what she said would change things, one way or another. “Because this isn’t you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “Yes, I do. I hear your voice on the radio, and I remember what you were like.”

  He sighed. “What if I fail? How would you handle it if you’d tried to rescue them and you’d failed?”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. But I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d had the opportunity and never tried. Trying and succeeding is the only survivable option. But not trying is guaranteed failure.”

  She looked up at him. Again wondering why she’d gotten involved. “Why would you fail? TJ, you’ve never failed. You made everyone in school do whatever you wanted. You got a punk-slash-country band on the radio, crossing over into the pop market. The world has to watch out when you decide what you’re going to do. It’s in the basket.”

  He laughed. She wondered what he’d decided. And why it mattered.

  Chapter 10

  TJ watched as another truck appeared at the front door with yet another medical logo on it. The neighbors had to wonder what the hell was going on out here. Another man in another uniform got another big box out and dollied it up the front ramp.

  Norah, as usual, met him, signed for it and looked excited. She had done far more to heal him than he had. But he had logged the hours, and the hours were excruciating. Some of the exercises were ridiculous, some embarrassing, and some downright painful. But he did them.

  Sometimes therapy was awful because it was so boring. He spent hours each day in a hot pool with a therapist bending and flexing limbs that didn’t work. With Norah’s help, of course, he was laid out on what they affectionately referred to as ‘the rack’ and tilted at various angles. He was hooked up to wires and given electrical stimulation to each of his muscles. Where he could see, if not feel, them twitch.

  All of this was designed to keep his muscles limber and his blood flowing, so that when the feeling returned, he’d have something he could use.

  So far, nothing had returned.

  The therapy was also to keep him healthy while he was paralyzed. He’d been doing his own research. This process was all about keeping unused limbs from getting sores, blood clots, infections, or any of a host of other problems.

  He liked Norah’s assessment of him: that he could take on the world and it had better watch out. He didn’t know if she was right, but he chose to believe it.

  And Norah had stuck.

  Far superior to any of her three predecessors, Norah seemed to understand. She had empathy. And no wonder. In the end, he figured he really did have it easier than she had. Although the only comparison he could muster was imagining if his brother lost Kelsey. That thought alone was enough to bring him almost to tears for what JD would go through. For all he hated putting up with their hand-holding and nuzzling and hiding in a corner to make out, he loved his brother, and his brother loved Kelsey.

  Norah had endured another plate smashing. She had walked in right after he’d broken two and was throwing the third. He had frozen as she appeared in the doorway, time slowing as he watched the plate sail against the wall, all of a foot away from her. She flinched as it hit, shattering and spraying shards. But she was Norah, and she simply wiped away the smears of blood on her leg, and walked over to where the plates were stacked on the counter.

  She picked up the top one and held the rim in her fingertips, as though it were an old record. She turned partly away from him, holding the plate out as though it might bite, and let it go.

  It wasn’t the strong, physical release he had gotten from flinging them. But a quieter, softer letting go that told him worlds about what was still inside her. When it shattered at her bare feet, spots of blood showed where the shards had nicked her again, but she didn’t care. She simply picked up another plate and handed it to him.

  He handed it back, the desire to break something had fled the instant blood welled on her legs.

  Norah broke the remaining two plates without a word. Lifting each one high and just letting it go. She seemed more interested in the physics of it, in watching the shards skitter and jump, than she did in letting off any steam. There was no steam in her—just a quiet desire to watch things shatter.

  Later, they swept it up together. She had handed him the broom, and taken up the dustpan for herself.

  That was when he realized what was better about Norah than any of the nurses. She just assumed he was capable. There were none of the preformed ideas about what patients with his condition could and couldn’t do. She just gave him her bags to carry, or asked him to fetch her something, or handed him the broom.

  She had even laughed later that evening when she fixed dinner, only to realize they had nothing to eat on. They went plate shopping, with his money of course, but Norah still rejected several styles simply because they didn’t look like they would break well.

  And now, she jumped up and down like a kid because some big box had arrived for him.

  He sighed, wondering what kind of torture device he’d gotten now. He was partly grateful that he and his brother were wealthy enough to afford all these sick playthings. He could have been doing this at the mercy of the state or insurance adjusters. “What’s in the box?”

  “A stander.”

  “The stander, huh?” He wasn’t sure what to make of the thing. It was exactly like it sounded—a robotic stand-up wheelchair.

  Sitting in his chair was bad; he was shorter than everyone else, and he was used to being a tall man. If he was standing, he’d regain his usual height, and then some. It would be just as awkward, but taller.

  Norah was already cutting the box open in the middle of the living room, simply hacking at the sides rather than tipping it. He worried sometimes about the things she lifted. But she was much stronger than her willowy frame gave hint to.

  She handed him a box cutter, and while they were hacking at it another delivery truck arrived. “Get that, will you?”

  He put down the cutter and opened the front door to a man with a pristine folded wheelchair. The man didn’t wait for a question or ‘hello.’ He must have taken one look at TJ in his chair and known he was delivering to the right place. “Sign for this?”

&n
bsp; As soon as he did, the man disappeared back into his truck, leaving TJ with the chair and no good way to carry it. Eventually he got it lifted and settled, then backed his own chair into the living room. “Norah, what is this?”

  She glanced back at him, “Lightweight chair.”

  “Thank you.” His sarcasm said he could see that much. “Why?”

  She grinned, her full lips and wide smile showing just how excited she was over his new wheelchair. “Look!”

  She popped the thing open with just a flick of her wrists. Somehow the chair managed to look both technologically new and old-fashioned at the same time. “It’s skinnier, you’ll fit more places.”

  “It’s manual.” He countered.

  She threw him the most taken-aback face he’d ever seen on her. “What? You’re not strong enough to work this thing?”

  Then, with no warning, she hopped in it, propped her feet up, and raced away from him. She was gone around the back, and he couldn’t keep up. He was at the mercy of the battery and the layout of the house. There were no straight open paths to build up any speed.

  He heard the crash in the back room and laughed. Until Norah shouted. “Ow!”

  He arrived to find her near tears and nursing her elbow, but really none the worse for wear. “I think that right there is a really good reason for me not to use that thing.” But he pulled her arm away and looked over the elbow. She hadn’t broken any skin, but she probably would sport a bruise by tomorrow.

  True to form, she frowned at him. “What are you afraid of, getting buff?”

  “I’m plenty buff.” Of course, the moment it was out of his mouth, he realized it was an old reaction. His legs weren’t, not anymore. His arms were okay, but not what they had been.

  Norah’s cocked head and her clear gaze told him she realized exactly that. She reached out from her chair to his and grabbed his biceps. “This powered chair is turning you into a girly man. You could be ripped.”

  He hadn’t been lifting weights, it was dangerous with his weak grasp. And he wasn’t powering himself around except with the little joystick at the arm of his chair. He sighed. “JD and I discussed this. People get their fingers caught in the spokes all the time. I might recover, but then not have use of my crushed fingers.”

  She sniffed and rubbed her elbow. “I know, that’s why I ordered this one.” Reaching down, she demonstrated, flipping the two handles out and back in flush against the side of the chair.

  With a look, he realized that he could either use the circular railing that ran along the rim, or use the handles, to power the wheels. “All right, we’ll try it. Back in the living room so we can trade.”

  “Sweet.” She grabbed the wheel rims, unconcerned for her own fingers, and raced off more like a kid than a grown woman, bruised elbow forgotten.

  Chapter 11

  “Wow.”

  Norah looked up, startled by the voice. “I know, but it’s how I dance. And Kelsey said this one was supposed to look like practice.” She knew she looked odd to anyone who hadn’t danced more than casually.

  TJ looked her up and down, trying to figure out what she was wearing. Just a sleeveless plum leotard, with gray thick-knit leggings that folded over at her waist and puddled around her ankles for the best warmth.

  “What’s that shirt?”

  “Old dancer’s trick.” She held her arm out for him to finger the fabric of the clingy sleeve. “It’s tights.”

  He blinked. “I clearly don’t know anything about ballet, but I’m confident tights go on the other end of your body.”

  The laugh just came out. “Not when you’re a dancer. Anything goes anywhere it needs to for easy movement and warm loose muscles. See?” She explained how you just cut the legs off the tights at the knee, then cut the crotch out in a big circle, turned it upside down, and voila, shirt with a built in bra. “Warmth without heat, built-in stretch for movement. This is good stuff. What’s funny is that the dance stores sell them for about ten times the price of cutting your own.”

  He fingered the fabric a little more before she reclaimed her arm, “Come on, let’s go.”

  He had therapy to get to, and she was meeting Kelsey at ten thirty.

  But he stopped her again. “What’s with the pants? It’s ninety outside.”

  “I know. But it’s not ninety in the studio. This is what I dance in. And,” she added, “I haven’t worked out in a while, so I need to be plenty warm before I get there. Let’s get.”

  He conceded, using the new manual chair to get down the front incline and up the access ramp into the van. When they arrived at the treatment center, Norah simply stopped at the curb and waited while he let himself down. It would be faster if she came around, but she got the impression from him that he didn’t want the help.

  So she smiled when he pushed the access ramp back up and closed the door. Then she felt guilty because she was glad to not go with him today. She knew it was her job, and she knew she was keeping him motivated when she went. But he often fell. Each time she and the therapist would watch him drag himself back up and try again. Each time he did, more determined than the last.

  The first time the therapist had held her back from reaching for him, her heart had broken. She still felt guilty about yelling at him on the porch that day, because on some level he was right. Maybe it was better to be her. She would heal eventually, wouldn’t she? But he didn’t know if he would. And she’d had no idea, when she slapped him and told him to ‘fix his problem,’ just how much back-breaking, heart-breaking labor went into getting better.

  So far they hadn’t seen any progress.

  He was stronger. He was healthier.

  But she’d caught him trying to touch his fingers to his thumbs and not able to do it. His feet still didn’t twitch. Periodically, she would bump or touch his leg, on purpose, to see if he would notice. He never did.

  She parked in front of the dance studio, shoving thoughts of TJ out of her head. There was a summer camp having practice in one of the rooms. At least it made her some money.

  It also meant that the air conditioning would be on. Which was good, because TJ was right and the thick knit pants were making her blast the air in the car as the sun beat down.

  Quietly, she let herself into the unused studio room and flipped the lights. Instantly the room looked ten times larger, the lights illuminating not only the room itself but its reflected counterparts on three walls. Barres lined two, and Norah breathed deep. There was rosin for the pointe shoes, a lingering scent of leather and satin, and wood from the floor. The specialized floor was built with a wood plank surface pressed down over several feet of foam and bolted there. If you laid on your belly at the doorway you could see the slight upward bow in the middle of the room, and when tap classes all worked in time, the whole floor bounced.

  Norah smiled. It was hers.

  She set down her bag and dug out her ponytail holders. With a few quick flips of her wrist, she had her hair up. She turned her music on, situating herself in the middle of the floor as she pulled on worn ballet shoes.

  Just sitting there, she realized that she hadn’t been here since she’d taken the job with TJ. And that had been too long. She warmed up, wondering what she’d lost while she hadn’t been paying attention. She started with simple ballet stretches and exercises.

  At ten, when Kelsey didn’t show, she practiced turns. Then leg lifts.

  “Holy shit!”

  Norah jerked at the sound of the voice, and found Kelsey standing in the doorway, her camera in hand and looking already used.

  Kelsey spoke again. “I am so sorry I startled you, I was getting the best shots, but damn, I don’t think you could push my leg that high, let alone have me just lift it and hold it there.”

  That was typical Kelsey, it seemed. No wonder JD loved the woman. She was taking pictures unbeknownst to her subject, but she just made it all okay. “I was a principle dancer with the Houston Ballet for three years. It’s a requirement.”


  “Well, I am damned impressed.”

  “You swear a lot for a woman who looks as wholesome as you do.” Norah motioned to the Ellie-May style pigtails and jeans.

  Kelsey shrugged. “There aren’t any kids around.”

  “Actually, there’s a summer camp in the next room.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  Norah laughed.

  But Kelsey shook it off. “Can you do that again?”

  “Of course.” Norah turned to the mirror out of habit, her feet automatically locking into a clean fifth position, and her arm held out for balance. She lifted her right leg with her toe at her knee, and then extended her leg out sideways and lifted, ending with her knee nearly touching her shoulder.

  Kelsey snapped photos.

  Norah held.

  She was used to this, she had posed for calendars and ads and stills when she was with the ballet. Although it had been a while, it came back. The major difference was that Kelsey was not a dance photographer. She didn’t know the terminology, and didn’t know how to get Norah to do what she wanted without resorting to “like the last time” and “that thing with your leg back”. So Norah began educating her in the phrasing. That way when Kelsey came back to work with the students, her life would be much easier.

  Kelsey had her re-do the warm-ups, finding some of that photo-worthy. Then went through most of the routine again with her pointe shoes on. The morning was punctuated by a few little ‘Jesus’s and ‘wow’s from Kelsey.

  Norah held back her grins. She hadn’t atrophied too badly while at TJ’s. For the first time in a long time, she simply enjoyed the stretch of muscles under her skin. She was grateful for her own body—that it responded to her commands and did it gracefully.

  She shut down the photo session at one. She was hungry and she had to go get TJ, she explained. Kelsey stopped her and fished in her purse for a moment, before producing a check. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but it’s working.”